STROLL
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 This weekly process of churning out 1200 words on the weekly Torah reading
or some other
topical issue has almost become second nature to me.  There is a simple
basic formula, find a specific
problem, repackage a couple of famous rabbinical comments, add a personal
insight and voila an
article is birthed.  It seems to get easier with each installment, but this
week I’ve hit a road block.  I
just can not get started.  It is not that I don’t have material.  The entire
d’var Torah is sitting here
beside me.  I just can not get the brutal murder of Ya’akov (Kobi) Mandel
out of mind, away from my
fogged vision.
	 Ya’akov and his friend, Yosef Ashiron, apparently played hooky Tuesday to
go explore the
wonders of the Chariton Canyon and cave just beyond their backyards in the
settlement of Tekoah,
twelve kilometers (seven miles) east of Efrat, us.  It is all too familiar,
the canyon, the community, the
boy.  I have taken the Yeshiva to that awesome canyon a dozen times.
Memories flood my
consciousness.  Walking to Chariton from Efrat in the blissfully calm
pre-intifada days, encountering
a B’nai Akiva group in the cave who were amazed at Rabbi Riskin’s necktie in
the cavern, continuing
on to Herodion near Arab children playing, seemingly delighted by our
presence, so many more misty
images.
	 The community is where my daughter lives with her husband.  We have many
former
neighbors who moved there from Efrat.  A friendly, warm village where
observant and so-called
secular (I can’t think of them as secular when so many of them are
spiritually connected) mix together
in easy going harmony.  I did reserve duty on their busses in quieter times
(I hope the army would not
trust soldiers of my martial limitations to protect them in this semi-state
of war, but one never knows).
Nice people, private homes, gardens, suburbia on the edge of the desert.
	 But the boy...How well does an adult know other people’s kids?  I remember
him.  He’s been
in my house; I in his.  He and his siblings would good naturedly disturb
when I went to talk with his
parents. My daughters baby sat for them.  He was one of those kids who, when
you say ‘hello’ to them
in the streets, always answered in a friendly way.  Very active, very sweet.
   Shy, attractive smile.   His
father, Seth, learned in the Yeshiva.  He is so wise and warm that we sought
him out more than he us.
He and his wife Sherry, from their days as a Hillel family at University of
Maryland, through his time
at Or Sameach, until today give so much that the unfairness of taking from
them hurts.
	 So, what did I want to write about this week?  Our parsha, like our lives,
has blessings and
curses.  Why do the curses out number the blessings?  But the coincidence
(What is a coincidence?
Are there coincidences?) is that I want to write about taking a walk,
stroll, tiyul.  In Vayikra XXVI:12
it says, “And I will walk in your midst and I will be for you a God.”  This
image charms while
simultaneously discomforting us with its anthropomorphism.  We are so used
to singing (You know in
‘Yigdal’ at the end of Friday night services.) the paraphrase of Maimonides’
principle that “He has no
likeness of a body, and no body,” that we are not at ease with this image of
Hashem strolling arm in
arm with us.  So, instead, we set aside this picture and start analyzing the
metaphor.
	 The simplest approach would be to say that this describes our potential for
being
accompanied by Hashem’s supervision.  Rashi says the image declares that we
can get close to
Hashem without trauma, while maintaining respectful awe.  Rabbi Ya’akov
Mecklenberg
(mid-nineteenth century Germany) who diligently sought literal meaning,
found a hint in the
grammatical construction.  He says that the usage (‘hitpael’ which usually
is reflexive) here is an
‘intensive’ form.  The blessing is that Hashem is with us wherever we may
go, not limited to specific
actions or places (like the Temple or Eretz Yisroel).
	 There are other commentaries (the Malbim, for example) who say the emphasis
should be on
the word ‘b’tochachem’, in your midst.  The image is not so much that Hashem
surrounds and
embraces us and our actions, but that He actually penetrates into us.  We
are blessed by walking
around fortified and guided by His presence within us.  This presence both
strengthens us and inspires
those we encounter.
	 But I find the explanation which most speaks to me in the Panim Yafot.  The
Panim Yafot
was written in the seventeenth century by Rabbi Pinchas Halevy Horowitz, an
ancestor of the
Bostonner Rebbes.  Rav Horowitz first explains that in mystical circles
mankind is quite often referred
to as ‘m’haleich’ or the ‘walking being’.  This is based on a verse in
Zacharya (III:7), “And I have
placed you the walking amongst these who stand.”  Now, the ‘standers’ are
angels.  (This is in
contrast to the usual reference to man as the ‘speaking being’.)  Man is
movement; angel is static.
Man does not stay put.  He ascends or descends the spiritual spectrum.
	 Our blessing of Hashem ‘afoot’ in our midst, therefore, means that He
sustains our efforts at
piety.  This fits in so well with our entire parsha.  We are told that if we
“walk within My statutes” we
will be blessed.  And ultimately the blessing is to have this endeavor
enhanced.  We walk in His path
and He reciprocates by ‘walking’ with us.  So, that our relationship is
further cemented, as He
becomes our God and we become His people.
	 Now I sit here having just returned from the funeral in the darkened glade
by Kibbutz Kfar
Etziyon.  These two innocent young men, just entered into their commitment
to Hashem and His laws,
went to walk our holy land with Him.  And never returned.  How do I
reconcile; how do I deal with
this?  Kobi’s younger brother, Daniel, said it all in his tearful remarks,
“I was on a bus in the Golan
on a tiyul with my class.  A little after eight in the morning, the teacher
came over to me to tell me
that two boys from Tekoah had been murdered, but the names haven’t been
released.  I started to cry.
My friends gathered round me to assure me that it couldn’t be Kobi.  Ten
minutes later, the bus pulled
over.  My teacher took just me off the bus.  The teacher, the guide, and the
driver came toward me,
and I knew.  They didn’t have to say anything.  I felt terrible.  I didn’t
feel bad for Kobi.  I knew he
was fine.  But I would miss him so much.  He wouldn’t be there to hug me
when I came home.  He
wouldn’t be there anymore.”
  	 Kobi is still walking, walking with Hashem.  But, oh Hashem, Hashem, oh
God, we need
You to walk with us.
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COUNT
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 It’s time, again, for our annual attempt to understand the meaning of
s’firat
ha’omer, the counting of the omer.  To most traditional Jews when they hear
s’fira,
they immediately think about the rules of mourning connected to this period.
   The
discussion turns to which thirty-three days do I refrain from music and
shaving.  But
these later customs are superimposed over an older Biblical, spiritual
framework.
Without belittling the tragedy of Rebbe Akiva’s students or our mourning
their
memory, I will ignore that important aspect of these seven weeks (and save
it for
another article).  I, instead, want to focus on the original meaning of this
season, and
what we should concentrate on as we count up to receiving the Torah at
Shavuot.
	 The source for the mitzva of counting the omer appears in this week’s Torah
reading.  The text (Vayikra XXIII:15 & 16) states, “And you should count for
yourselves from the day after shabbat (in this case the first day of
Pesach), from the
day of your bringing the omer which is waved (by the cohen in the temple);
seven
complete (perfect) weeks there should be.  Until the day after the seventh
week, you
should count 50 days; and you should sacrifice a new offering to Hashem.”
The verses
then go on to describe the procedure of the sacrifice.  This sacrifice is
connected to the
bringing of the ‘omer’ which is a measure of barley.  The process is
described as
‘bikurim’ or first fruits.  So, the question arises, why is this mitzva
embedded in
chapter twenty-three of Vayikra, where all the holidays are discussed?
Shouldn’t this
be covered elsewhere with sacrifices and first fruit mizvot?
	 Before we get to that central issue, I want to digress a bit.  There is a
midrash
quoted by the S’fat Emet (in his Torah for 5644, 1884) that says,
“Concerning these
days it is said (Psalms XXXVII:18), ‘Hashem knows the days of the innocent
(‘t’mimim’ is the Hebrew word used here and concerning the weeks of the omer
counting, and it can mean complete, perfect or innocent).’”  The Rebbe then
goes on
to ask how can we be ‘t’mimim’ (in all its senses)?  He responds that we
accomplish
this when we do Hashem’s will.  Our relation to perfection is in direct
proportion to
our relation to Him who is perfection.  He goes on to say that our
aspirations to
perfection derive from our roots.  This period between the exodus and the
epiphany is
referred to by the prophet Jeremiah as ‘your youth’ (Jeremiah II:2), these
days are our
national roots.  Therefore, just as dedicating our first fruits from our
produce imbues
the entire crop with sanctity, so, too, consecrating ourselves during this
incubation
time of our people sets the tone for our future.  The Rebbe then concludes
that this
focus now similarly sets the tone for our spiritual year (remember Nissan
the month of
Pesach begins the spiritual calendar).
	 The S’fat Emet expresses a similar idea in his Torah for 5642 (1882), but
in a
different idiom.  Here the Rebbe makes his point in a way which addresses
our initial
question.  He says, “The days of s’fira are mentioned among the
holidays...like chol
hamoed (the semi-holidays during Pesach and Sukot) which have sanctity
before and
after them, from the departure from Egypt until receiving the Torah.”  He
then goes on
to quote the midrash we stated above that we achieve our modicum of
perfection by
following the Divine will.  While in the other Torah the Rebbe discusses
this perfection
pursuit process as comparable to the sacrifice of first fruits, here he
emphasizes the
sanctified nature of these days.
	 These days are for perfecting because there is an aspect of perfection in
this so
symmetrical period.  Therefore, the Rebbe says, the reference in the verse
and midrash
to days of perfection alludes to these days for aspiring ‘perfect ones’.
This raises the
days and weeks of this time frame to the status of quasi holidays eligible
for mention in
the section of set times or ‘moadim’.
	 Just as sitting in a sukkah for seven days or eating matzo for seven days
establishes a spiritual connection of some sort between us and the idea
these practices
engender (whatever that idea may be I will reserve for another article), so,
too,
counting the omer over this seven week period connects us to the idea of
preparing for
receiving the Torah.  The Rebbe expresses this by saying, “These days
support
purification.”  They are an aid to our cleansing ourselves to make ready for
standing at
the foot of  Mount Sinai.  How do they aid us in this endeavor?  The Rebbe
says by
reminding us that a sterilization is necessary.  We must request purity,
because it is
ultimately a gift from Hashem.  So, every day when counting we are reminding
ourselves to petition for our purity.  We daily hammer home the idea to
prepare for the
approaching divine presence.
	 The Rebbe then says that this internal preparation which includes a
purification
process is a repository from which we draw on the rest of the year.  This is
another
similarity to the festivals.  The three pilgrimage festivals are the times
for deciding our
budget for Hashem’s dispensing our physical needs.  We get our allotment of
grain on
Pesach, fruits on Shavuot, rain on Sukot, but our annual quota of spiritual
purity is
dispensed during s’firat ha’omer.
	 The Rebbe of Izhbitz in the Mei Hashiloach explains that as shabbat and yom
tov are for Torah study, these days are also for trying to learn or
understand Torah
concepts.  He says that when the Jews left Egypt they didn’t understand the
magnitude
of what happened or the ‘light’ which had been granted us.  The Izhbitzer
compares
this to a father who is traveling with his son and sees a treasure.  The
father instructs
his son to gather and carry as much as he can.  The son doesn’t understand
the value of
the material he is gathering, but the father says, “For now, just get as
much as you can,
later you’ll understand why.”  So, too, when we left Egypt in haste we
didn’t grasp the
true significance of the new reality unleashed, but the 49 days until
Shavuot were for
assimilating this experience.  He refers to this as enlightenment, imbibing
the light.  It is
for this reason that many (not me) have the custom of reciting Psalm 66
after the
nightly count.  This Psalm (which also has 49 words and discusses praising
Hashem for
agricultural bounty, which provide other reasons for reciting it) begins
with a request
to Hashem to bless us with enlightenment, His ‘light’.
	 The Slonimer Rebbe in his Netivot Shalom says the word ‘usfartem’ (usually
translated ‘and you should count’) doesn’t refer to counting but to ‘sapir’
or sapphires.
These days are each a treasure bestowed upon us by Hashem for the dual
Shavuot
preparation of purification and contemplation.  We want to be ready for our
annual
rendezvous with Him at Mount Sinai by being worthy of this honor.  This
worthiness
depends on us cleansing ourselves and thinking deeply about our relationship
with
Hashem.  Both objectives require His help, but our desire.  May we take
advantage of
this opportunity which His gift of the mitzva of s’firat ha’omer provides
us.
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HOLY
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 The second of this week’s Torah readings is a rare example of the title
perfectly
describing the content of the parsha.  We name our parshiot after the first
important
word of the section, and quite often there is little or no correlation with
the subject
matter coming up (That, of course, doesn’t stop us rabbi types from trying
to make a
big deal of how appropriate the designation is.).  But this week ‘Kedoshim’
or ‘holy
ones’ succinctly depicts our material.  This reading is about being holy.
One who
follows the instructions will end up a holy individual.  That’s a tall
order, and I’d like
to examine two verses which I believe help one to achieve this objective.
	 Before I warm to the task at hand, I’d like to mention that our parsha
states the
most important idea in this territory.  We are told, “Be holy, because I am
Holy
(Vayikra XIX:3).”  This is not only true, but, I think, to a certain extent
self evident.
We are informed many times throughout Torah (or at least in the rabbinical
explanations of the verses) of the importance of emulating Hashem.
Sometimes this is
very clear advice, e. g. “Be kind just as He is kind.”    But being holy is
a less clear
idea, and we, therefore, need more help with more specific instructions.
So,
ultimately, as important as it is to be informed that our attempt at
holiness derives from
Hashem it doesn’t help that much in a practical way.
	 One more introductory (or editorial) remark.  Many Jews think of
sanctifying
God’s name as best exemplified by martyrdom.  I disagree, and believe
strongly that so
does our parsha (Amongst our authorities only Reb Yehuda Hachasid in the
13th
Century believed martyrdom was a positive concept that one should feel
deprived if
not able to accomplish) .  We discuss at great length in our parsha how to
live, not
how to die.  At the end of the first of this week’s double portion we are
exhorted to
live within Torah (Yayikra XVIII:5).  We have a Torah of life, and must work
hard at
living to fulfill it.
	 Now, the two verses I really want to discuss.  In the third verse of
Kedoshim it
states, “You should fear (be in awe of), each of  you, your mother and your
father, and
my sabbaths you should observe.”  Further along (verse 30) we have what
seems a
continuation of this idea, “My sabbaths you should observe, and my
sanctuaries you
should fear.”  The halachic interpretation of these verses is very clear and
very famous.
We must respect our parents, and that respect is related to our respect for
Hashem,
because they are partners with Him in our creation.  But His laws can not be
circumvented by our parents.  If they tell us to transgress His sabbath we
must ignore
them.  They are equally required to observe His commandments, and,
therefore, can
not abridge their performance.
	 Our Sages understand the second verse to instruct us that the building of
the
mishkan (and by extension the temple) does not defer sabbath observance.
Construction, like all the other thirty-nine specified acts must cease on
shabbat.
	 Having recorded this midrashic interpretation I must point out that when
reading the verses we get another impression.  These two verses look like
those
syllogisms we learned to learn to love on standardized tests.  A is to B as
B is to ‘?’
(How’s that for bringing back bad memories?  How many of you have the urge
to peek
at the computer next to you?).  In that format we are saying shabbat is more
important
than parents and the sanctuary is greater than shabbat.
	 Oh, really?  Well, the halacha seems to say the opposite.  There are three
types
of kedusha.  The famous verse from Isaiah (VI:3) informs us of this fact
when it
records the call of the angels to each other, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord
of Hosts!”
The angels proclaim in that way because sanctity comes in three varieties
(no, not
because the angels stuttered).  They are:  1) place, 2)  time, and 3) people
(Kabbalists
say olam [world], shana [year], nefesh [life force], but you get the idea).
In normal
halachic usage we say the sanctity of time supercedes place, because you can
not build
the mishkan on shabbat.  Plus, we say people are holier than time because
you
transgress shabbat to save a life.  So, how come our verses seem to demand
the
opposite order?
	 Before I attempt to solve this conundrum, I just want to point out that our
verses state the greatest example of each category.  Parents should be to us
the
greatest example of man’s potential to be God-like, because we should
recognize their
creative power in ourselves.  They invested in and earned our respect, awe,
love.
Shabbat is our greatest moed or special time.  This may not always be
expressed
psychologically (We get much more excited by the less frequent holidays than
by our
weekly shabbat.), but it is halachically.  Shabbat is the only sanctified
time whose
transgression earns us ‘skilah’ (stoning).  And the holiest place in the
world is within
the temple or mishkan (This may be disputed by Arafat, but not by any of
us.).
	 So, what are we being taught by the order in our verses?  I think the key
to the
answer is found in the S’fat Emet.  In his Torah for 1887, the Rebbe states,
“The
general rule in all these cases is that wherever there is renewal of the
light from on high
we call that phenomenon ‘holy’.”  The Rebbe then goes on to explain that
this renewal
always produces ‘neshama’ soul.  Parents, of course, do this in their
birthing a new
Jew.  Shabbat endows us with ‘neshama yeteira’  or extra soul.  And our
sages tell us
Adam Harishon, our first ancestor was created on the Temple Mount.
	 We see this spiritual enhancement or renewal which we call kedusha reaching
us from Hashem.  It somehow descends upon us from on high.  The Temple
represents
that point of interface between this earth and the heavenly, spiritual
realm.  Kedusha
enters our domain through this portal.  So, the temple is the first symbol
of sanctity,
the highest source in this sense.  Next, we feel charged by sanctity on our
sabbaths and
holidays.  These holy or special times engulf us in an ambiance of kedusha.
The last
and least obvious source of sanctity are those extraordinary personalities
in our midst
who inspire us to spiritual attainment.
	 The verse is recording in ascending order the sources of kedusha renewal.
Since kedusha springs from this ‘light from on high’, the origins which are
higher and
further from us are the primary sources.  Kedusha, according to Rashi, means
separate
and transcendent.  So, this ‘light’ descends upon us through this three
stage process.
The halacha, on the other hand, is describing the importance of each of
these sources
to us.  Kedusha may originate with the temple, but I get it from my more
immanent
source, the souls around me.
	 There are two procedures going on.  Hashem is spewing out kedusha in a top
to bottom operation, and we are seeking kedusha in a bottom-up endeavor.
The verse
gives preference in its order to Hashem’s apparatus; the halacha gives
precedence in its
degrees of severity to our enterprise.  We must try to understand both
processes.
Because the ultimate goal of kedusha is that rendezvous with Hashem at the
interface.
We believe Hashem’s effort to extent down mirrors our striving to reach up.
I pray
our learning this week’s parsha inspires us to increase our exertions.
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PRAYER PRIMER
by Rabbi David Walk

The custom of learning (perhaps I'm being too optimistic, maybe I should say
'reading') Pirkei Avot is very old.  By the year 1000 it was already
widespread.  It seems that the original practice was to study this material
from Pesach to Shavuot. This was considered a preparation for our annual
acceptance of the Torah on Shavuot. It really makes sense.  The period of
s'firot ha'omer must be seen as a vehicle for spiritual ascent.  We are
counting up our levels, not counting down to the next holiday. And Pirkei
Avot is a marvelous 'how to' text for guiding the interface between this
world and the spiritual realm.

It seems that the original version of this convention was only until
Shavuot, and only at a later date was it extended until Rosh Hashanah (It is
my custom to only study it until Shavuot.).  Also, it was only during the
sixteenth century that the sixth chapter, which really isn't part of the
tractate, was added. This addition perfectly fit the six shabbatot between
the holidays.  So, this week I'd like to take a look at a mishne instead of
a verse.

In this week's chapter there is a mishne which has always interested me.
Chapter two mishne 18 states:  Rabbi Shimon says, "Be careful in the
recitation of Shema and in prayer.  And when you pray do not make your
prayer a set thing, rather a plea for mercy and supplication before the
Omnipresent...And do not be a wicked person before yourself."

Let's take a look at the three component parts of this dictum separately.
What do we mean by 'careful' or 'zahir'?  The most common approach is to
explain it as concern for the times when shema and shmoneh esreh (the
eighteen blessing [really nineteen for the last 1900 years] service which is
the central prayer of Judaism) must be performed.  In other words, the
efficacy of these religious acts is connected to the technical point of when
they are recited; they are defined by their time frame.  The Maharal
MiPrague (Rabbi Yehuda Loew) takes a different tack.  He explains be careful
and, therefore, cognizant of the idea of each recitation.  When we recite
shema remember that we are accepting upon ourselves the yoke of divine
suzerainty. And when we say our shmoneh esreh we are doing divine service in
place of the sacrifices. In both explanations:  be aware, be concerned.

The second part of the mishne centers on the word 'set' or 'keva'.  There
are four approaches to this term:  1)  burden, do not perform prayer as if
you are just relieving yourself of an unwanted load, 2)  fixed, unchanging,
therefore this interpretation would require inserting new material in your
prayer, 3) unemotional, that just the positive intention to pray is not
enough, the person must be emotionally involved, 4)  early, this idea is
that 'zahir' means do not daven late and 'keva' is do not daven before the
correct time, just to get it over with.

The final piece of the mishne is about considering oneself wicked or 'rasha
'. There are basically two ways to deal with this phrase.  The first method
has the expression meaning do not use this as an excuse to sin.  I am a
sinner anyway, what difference does it make if do another?  Or the term
'bifnei atzmecha' means 'alone'. As if to say I can sin when no one is
looking.  "Don't be wicked when you are all alone."  The other explanation
says do not despair.  Do not stop yourself from repenting because you assume
you are too evil to ever make it back.  No one is so far that Hashem will
not accept him back.  Nothing stands before the power of teshuva.

I would like to integrate these three parts.  I think there is one unified
and crucial message in our mishne.  The first two ideas must work together.
When you pray two different issues must be considered.  'Be careful' to
fulfill all the technical details.  But do not 'set' your prayer without
spirit and emotion.  Listen to both the Lithuanians, who clamor for details,
and the Chasidim who insist on emotion. Do not compromise on either!  And
when Rabbi Shimon says not to consider yourself evil he is referring to the
idea in the Rambam (Hilchot Teshuva Chapter 7 Halalcha 7) when he describes
the wicked who tries to pray as "He cries out and is not answered." When you
pray do not think you are not worthy of the effort.

I believe that our mishne is addressing the three weapons utilized by the
yetzer hara, evil inclination (really the dark side of our own personality)
to prevent us from praying effectively (now that is a good book idea,
Effective Praying, of course, we all know it would sell better if I called
it the Seven Habits of Effective Prayer, but, alas, there are only three).
The first is sloth.  There's that old yetzer hara telling you, "Don't worry,
there's plenty of time.  A couple of more minutes of sleep will do you
good."  To this our mishne says, 'be careful'.  The second is inattention.
How many times does our mind wander during our silent devotion (did someone
say, 'every'?)? Those interruptions are another part of us short-circuiting
the prayer process.  How often do we pray with our lips and not our hearts
(did someone say, 'very' ?)?  To this our mishne says, 'do not allow your
pray to become set'.  The third is despair.  We quite often think to
ourselves, "Who am I kidding?  Why would Hashem bother with the prayers of
someone like me?  This whole activity is a waste."  But it is not true. God
is a loving, caring, forgiving parent.  A parent without our shortcomings.
To this our mishne says, 'do not view yourself as evil'.  Rabbi Shimon
promises, "Do it right and it works."

The Slonimer Rebbe (Rabbi Shalom Noach Barkovsky) in Netivot Shalom asks the
following question, "Why is there a special warning about shema and prayer
more than the other 613 mitzvot?  Why does he establish shema and prayer as
the foundation for everything?"  The Rebbe offers an interesting answer
which almost reflects a position taken in the famous demographic study of
America's Jews from a decade ago. In that study the authors decided on three
definitions of Jews for counting purposes: 1)  sociological Jews (Jews,
their spouses and children), 2)  halachic Jews, 3) affiliated Jews.  Well,
the Slonimer says, "Even though someone born to Jewish parents is a Jew
according to halacha, nevertheless the internal implication of a Jew is
higher than that. That he is a Jew in his own right.  His mind is the mind
of a Jew.  His heart is the heart of a Jew.  He is a Jew in all his being
and self...(through shema and prayer) the Jew recognizes that on one's own
one is nothing and all one's existence is from Hashem. That the ultimate
purpose and fulfillment of a Jew is to cling to Him and completely depend
upon Him."  Prayer takes a technical Jew and makes him a total Jew.

Prayer is very difficult.  I do not think I have made the enterprise easier.
But I hope I have heightened awareness of the issues.  I struggle with my
prayers every time I do them.  But the awareness and struggle contribute to
prayer's efficacy. May we all daven with care, concern and credibility.

HOLOCAUST
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 This Thursday is the annual commemoration of Yom Hashoah V’gevurah,
Holocaust Day.  In general I refrain from discussing the Holocaust.  I am
often
offended by the inane comments I hear, but I would like to share a thought
with you
about the more extensive topic of the nature of disaster, and then relate it
to the
Holocaust.  But before I do that, one editorial comment. Rabbi Soloveitchik
Z”L was
against the celebration of Yom Hashoah.  He felt that all tragedies should
be subsumed
within Tisha B’av, the decreed day of national mourning.  I am inclined to
not only
sympathize with that view (not that my agreement is of any value), but am
confident
that eventually that view will prevail.  However, in the short term while
the survivors
and their offspring are in our midst and want this special venue to express
their views,
we must not in any way disrupt this healthy outlet for their anguish.
Natural forces of
historic development will do the rest, to help this tragic episode find its
place with our
other national disasters on Tisha B’av.
	 The phenomenon of evil and destruction on this scale not only boggles the
mind, but makes relevant reaction difficult.  B”H our sages have given us
guidance on
how to react. In the mishne in B’rachot (54a) we are told the following
halachic rule:
“On good tidings one should say, ‘Blessed is the Good One who makes good’,
on bad
tidings one should say, ‘Blessed is the true Judge.’”  The mishne goes on to
explain
that one blesses on evil similarly (in the same blessing format) to the way
one blesses
on good.  This is, of course, very hard to do, but the instructions get even
more
difficult.  The mishne finally states that one is, “obligated to bless on
evil just as one
blesses for good.”
	 The Talmud (60b) wants to know what is this new ‘obligation’.  We’ve
already
been told that we bless on the bad stuff and we do it with the same kind of
blessings.
So, the gemara explains, “Rava says this halacha is needed to teach us to
accept them
in happiness.”  We recite the different blessings with equal fervor.  Now,
that’s not
easy.  I want to interject that this is different than the case of Reb
Nachum Ish Gam Zu
(Ta’anit 21a) who thought everything was good.  Here we are expected to
bless with
adulation even though we are convinced we are dealing with something bad.
If I don’t
see the redeeming qualities within this incident, how can I bless with joy?
   I am told to
believe that eventually I will understand the beneficial necessity of this
occurrence.
	 In tractate Pesachim (50a) we are told:  “’On that day Hashem will be one
and
His name will be one (Zacharya XIV:9).’  And is He not one now?  Rather, now
we
bless on evil, ‘the true Judge,’ and on good things, ‘The Good and the One
who does
good.’  But in the future they will bless on everything, ‘The Good and the
One who
does good.’”  So, in some way our perspective concerning good and bad will
differ
from the way it is now.  This future messianic period will give us a new
point of view.
	 On this passage in the Talmud the Maharsha (Rabbi Shmuel Edels) observes
that in Eicha (III:38) it says, “Is it not that out of the mouth of the Most
High emerges
both evils and good?”  The Maharsha notices that ‘evils’ is plural and
‘good’ is
singular.   It seems to him that good has an objective reality while evil
has a different
face to each observer.  Therefore there seem to be many evils.  Evil, like
beauty, is in
the eye of the beholder.  But Mashiach will bring objectivity to the world.
Mashiach
will, “smite the land with rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips
he will slay
the wicked (Isaiah XI:4).”  This is not a description of halitosis, but of
supernatural
powers of elucidation.  He will be a master of education, not warfare or
miracles.  He
will make us see the role of every event.
	 But what will he make us understand about evil?  Rebbe Nachman of Breslav
in
his Likutei Maharan (Torah 65, section 3) explains that the unity described
in that
passage from Pesachim is the aspect of ‘tachlis’ or purpose.  We will in the
future see
the overall purpose of the divine plan.  We will in this approaching epoch
understand
the place of all events in the mosaic of history.  Just as most people, when
they mature,
understand and even appreciate many of the lessons and even punishments of
their
youth, so, too, we will comprehend the necessity of the harsh events of our
past.  They
will remain harsh, but we will be able to intelligently deal with them, and
see their
proper place.
	 I do not understand the holocaust, but I have faith that someday I or my
descendants will.  I am pained by the premature speculation that goes on
about the
reasons for the holocaust.  It just tortures the survivors and tarnishes the
image of the
martyrs.  I can not countenance the apologists who say, “It paved the way
for the
Medina.”  I do not want a state at that cost (I remember in the euphoric
aftermath of
the Six Day War, the Rav Z”L mourned the hundreds of dead soldiers, and
said, “I
would give up the Kotel for one of their lives!”).
	  Rabbi Klonimos Kalman Shapiro the Piaszena Rebbe was a great Jewish
educator in the decades before the Holocaust, and was trapped in the Warsaw
Ghetto.
There he became the Rebbe of the Ghetto and continued to teach Torah until
his
murder in 1943.  His teachings miraculously survived in the ashes of the
Ghetto.  In the
last Torah of this collection, called Aish HaKodesh, he wrote, “’And this I
saw in the
affliction of My people in Egypt...That I knew their pain. (Shmot III:7)’
Why is it
written that Hashem knew their pain after it has already written that He saw
it?  That
there is a father who knows the great good an operation will do for his
child,
nevertheless he can’t bring himself to stand and watch the operation in
progress.  This
is because, I believe, there is a great difference between knowledge of
suffering  and
the witnessing of it.  And even when he is sure it is for the best, he can
only feel the
pain of his child.  And the exile of Egypt like all the exiles and
oppressions were for the
good of Israel.  Nevertheless, Hashem tells us that He saw the pain, and
since He was
an eyewitness He knew only the pain of His children, not the good which
would evolve
from the pain.  Just the pain.”  The Rebbe’s p’shat is right.  Hashem who
knows the
answers, focused on the suffering, so must we.  Forget about explanations;
they will
come in good time.  Just catalogue the calamity, and remember.  Witness!
	 As a child I never knew about the Holocaust until the capture of Adolph
Eichman in May 1960.  That was wrong.  I was angry at my parents and
teachers for
hiding this atrocity from my generation.  I felt then and still feel now the
only indignity
left to afflict the martyrs with is indifference.  I quickly tried to make
up for lost time,
and read as much as possible about the destruction.  I wanted the
impossible; I wanted
to understand.  I was wrong, but the effort was worthwhile.  All we can do
is
remember, but that is our critical role.  We owe it to the dead and the
survivors.  We
owe it to the future of mankind.  Let us remember....


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REDEMPTION
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 As we all enjoy our chol hamoed, (Let me point out to those unfortunates
reading this in galut, that in Eretz Yisrael it’s more moed [holiday] than
chol
[weekday], while out there in barbarous lands it is more chol than moed.), I
would like
to share a thought about the last day of Pesach.  Shvi’i shel Pesach is a
bit of an orphan
in the realm of holidays.  It has the only Yom Tov kiddush without the
‘shehechiyanu’
blessing, but more importantly it seems devoid of its own voice or message.
It is just
the last day of Pesach, identity-less.
	 Well, of course, that’s not true.  This is just the kind of vacuum we rabbi
types
love to fill.  It is the anniversary of kriyat yam suf, the splitting of the
Suf Sea (I have
mentioned before, in my article ‘Eyewitness’ for B’shalach, that there is a
problem
figuring out which body of water this is.  And for the present it shall
remain a
problem.).  It is also described by many commentaries as the day of ‘geulah’
or
redemption.  In the famous midrash based on the beginning of parshat V’eyra,
the four
languages of redemption are used to describe four steps in the exodus
process:  1)
v’hitzalti, ‘and I saved’ is the beginning of the ten plagues and the
stoppage of the
slave labor (probably Rosh Hashanah), 2)  v’hotzeti, ‘and I took out’, is
the actual
departure from Egypt on the fifteenth of Nissan, 3)  v’go’alti, ‘and I
redeemed’, is the
last day of Pesach and the splitting of the sea, 4)  v’lokachti, ‘and I
took’, is the
language of marriage and is Shavu’ot and the metaphoric wedding service of
Mount
Sinai.
	 Now, we have our direction of inquiry.  What is the meaning of ‘geulah’?
What happened on shvi’i shel Pesach which fulfills this meaning?  And what
is the
relationship to the splitting of the sea?
	 Geulah or redemption is usually understood to mean the removal of physical
oppression.  Everyday in our prayers (shmoneh esreh) we beseech Hashem to,
“See us
in our affliction, and fight our cause, and redeem us.”  We want to be saved
from those
who are bothering us.  In this way the experience at the sea, indeed,
fulfills this
requirement.  We witnessed the total destruction of Egypt’s ability to
further oppress
us.  It is interesting to note that the midrash says that each Jew saw their
own task
master drown.  Both on the national and individual level the burden was
lifted and
permanently removed.  Redemption was this total freedom; the horizon was
cloudless.
	 I believe this interpretation to be true, but there is another approach.
The
Maharal M’Prague (Rabbi Yehuda Loew) suggests an alternative.  On the Rashi
to
Shmot II:14 when Moshe Rabbeinu confronts the Jew who was fighting with his
colleague.  The recalcitrant Jew (either Datan or Aviram,  the wicked Edward
G.
Robinson character in the movie ‘The Ten Commandments’ was Dathan) says,
“Are
you going to kill me, as you killed the Egyptian.”  So the verse records
that Moshe
was afraid.  Now, Rashi comments that the fear was that the Jews were not
worthy of
redemption, because, “he was worried when he saw within Israel wicked tale
bearers.”
Those who reveal secrets are not worthy of redemption.
	 The Maharal picks up that point to explain that, “Redemption is drawn from
the highest inner level.  It is not open.  And one who reveals (opens up)
items is the
opposite of this.  He is attaching himself to the lowest level.  Therefore,
when he
observed informers within Israel, he assumed that the Jews deserved the
enslavement...because they bear tales, reveal the secret, and it is fitting
that they reside
in slavery the lowest, outermost level.”
	 In the Hebrew language the word we use as the opposite of geulah is galut.
We normally translate galut as exile.  Now, the word galut really means
revealed or
open.  In galut we are outside, unprotected  This is a linguistic support
for the
Maharal’s position.  True redemption happens inside.
	 But, what is this inner process that results in redemption?  Rebbe Nachman
of
Breslav says (Likutei Maharan 7:a), “Know that the essence of galut is
nothing but a
lack of faith...and when this ends, and faith increases, then the mashiach
will come,
because the essence of faith depends upon this.”  Well, shvi’i shel Pesach
is definitely a
day of great faith.  It is the day the Torah testifies (Shmot XIV:31), “And
they believed
in Hashem and Moshe His servant.”  The splitting of the sea transformed the
Jews into
a special category of believers.
	 What is special about the level of belief, faith exhibited at the sea?  The
Sfat
Emet explains (in his Torah for 5638, 1878)that there are two levels of
hiddeness from
Hashem and spiritual reality.  The first level occurs when the physical,
natural world
blinds us to the real and wondrous nature of the creation (Wordsworth’s ‘The
world is
too much with me.”).  The second level happens to someone who already
recognizes
the existence and control of Hashem over our world, but is limited in
ability to grasp
that there is a realm (olam haba) beyond this one.  When the Jews left Egypt
the first
level was achieved.  The total nullification of nature at the sea helped
them to attain the
higher level.  The second stage brings an awareness of Hashem and His power
which
will make the observer an ‘oved Hashem’ a worshipper of Hashem.  On the
first day of
Pesach we left the service of Egypt; on the last day we entered the service
of Hashem.
This new level of belief in Hashem gave them the perspective to see the
‘tikun’ (fixing
and improvement) of the geulah for everything that went before.  They
appreciated the
entire Egypt experience, because of the revelation happening now.  And this
realization
caused them to break into the song, prayer at the shores of the sea
(perhaps, the Rebbe
points out, this is the secret of connecting geulah to t’fila).  This
completed the geulah
process in the hearts of the Jews (from 5643, 1883).
	 We see that there seem to be two different redemptions.  One is mentioned
daily in our prayers, and concerns saving us from out present difficulties.
The other
described by the Maharal is an internal process leading to a spiritual
enlightenment.  I
believe that these are two separate operations which don’t have to happen
together.
These two kinds of redemption are referred to in the blessing of geulah we
recite after
shema every morning.  In this long blessing for Hashem who has redeemed us,
we
remember the exodus from Egypt and Hashem “Who redeemed us from Egypt
(mimitzrayim).”  Then, before quoting the great declaration of faith from
our song by
the sea, “Hashem will rule forever!”,  we say, “A new song they, who were
redeemed
to (l’ shim’cho) your Name, sang.”  The two different prepositions used by
the Men of
the Great Assembly when they wrote the prayer are to teach us the two forms
of
geulah.  One is from a specific oppression, and the other, greater
redemption is to
Hashem and His divine service.
	 On shvi’i shel Pesach, at the shores of the just closed, still roiling
waters we
witnessed the greatest example of both redemptions.  The Egyptians were
totally
destroyed, unable to bother us again, and Hashem revealed His power so
clearly that
the belief penetrated to our innermost hearts.  We hope and pray that our
reliving those
events again this year will provide the spark to regain a portion of that
inspiration to
proclaim with fervor our belief in ‘Hashem and His servant Moshe.”

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LET THE FOURS BE WITH YOU
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 One of the outstanding features of our annual Pesach seder is the
ubiquitous
nature of the number four.  No matter how many examples I could give
somebody out
there would come up with more, but let me just mention a few important
instances.
The four:  cups of wine, sons, questions (really differences), verses from
the first fruits
ceremony.  We will take a look at all of these, but eventually I would like
to arrive at a
reason for the symbolism of four.
	 Before I get going on the essence of the issue, I would like to say
something
about the five cups of wine position.  I believe as a halachic stance, it is
invalid.  There
are many reasons given for the four cups.  In the main source, Talmud
Yerulshalmi
(chapter ten, halacha one), the first of four reasons given is the four
languages of
redemption from Shmot chapter six (‘took out’, ‘deliver’, ‘redeem’, ‘take’).
   Now,
there are, in fact, five terms of redemption (‘bring’ which is connected to
coming to
Eretz Yisrael).  This fifth term is the catalyst for all the excitement
about having a fifth
cup. Well, let’s get real.  The mishne only talks about four cups, the
Yerushalmi asks
for the source of the ‘four cups’, other sources only related to the number
four are
mentioned, and, most importantly, all of these sources are merely supports
for the
rabbinical decree to drink four cups.  The four cups are connected to four
mitzvot
which our sages decided to enhance with a ‘cup of victory’ (T’hillim
CXVI:13).  These
are:  kiddush, magid (recitation of the story), grace after the meal, and
hallel.
	 The putative existence of the fifth cup, I believe, hints at a very nice
idea.  At
the seder we commemorate the exodus from Egypt, but we are, as well, praying
and
preparing for the future salvation.  This cup (which we associate with
Elyahu the
Prophet) is alluding to that anticipated event, may it come speedily in our
day.
	 There is an idea in the explanation of the Vilna Gaon which makes the
number
four integral to the seder process.  On the passage, “Blessed is the
Omnipresent
(‘makom’), Blessed is He.  Blessed is the Giver of the Torah, Blessed is
He,” the Gaon
explains that this describes the two creations of the world.   That Hashem
is the place
in which the cosmos resides depicts the physical creation of matter and
energy, the
stuff of the universe.  Hashem as the Giver of the Torah represents the
spiritual
creation, with the Torah as the blueprint for the world.  So, we have two
creations,
and within each there is a revealed and a hidden aspect.  The appellations
‘Omnipresent’ and ‘Giver’ apply to the revealed nature of each act.  We
believers see
Hashem’s involvement in these activities.
	 But the term ‘He’ refers to those aspects of creation and His involvement
which we don’t recognize, hidden.  We joyously proclaim our faith that
Hashem
caused the exodus.  We are less open about the fact that Hashem pulled the
strings of
history is such a way that caused us to be slaves in the first place.  We
obliquely refer
to this less than happy fact in the statement, “And He who stood up for our
ancestors
and for us.  That not only one alone stood against us to destroy us, but in
every
generation they arise to wipe us out.  But the Holy One Blessed be He saves
us from
their hands.”  Well, thanks a lot.  But couldn’t He, with just a little
foresight, keep us
from a ‘Perils of Pauline’ existence.  Yes, He could, but this is also part
of the plan.  In
the Covenant between the parts (brit bein habitarim) He clearly tells us
that we’re in
for bad times.  “Things are going to get a lot worse before they get
better,” is a pretty
good forecast for most of Jewish history.  These troubles and exiles are
called ‘hester
panim’ or His hiddeness.  We don’t associate the troubles with Hashem, in
fact, we
pray to Him to remove them.
	 So, now we’ve got it.  1)  ‘Hamakom’ creates the physical world that we
observe and credit Him with 2)  ‘He’ creates the physical realities which
we, in our
present state (The Talmud in masechet Pesachim 50a anticipates a future in
which we
will bless Hashem joyously for all events), don’t recognize as His handiwork
3)  the
‘Giver’ provides us with the Torah which we acknowledge as His work 4)  ‘He’
establishes uncomfortable spiritual realities which we don’t identify as
His.  This
foursome lines up exactly with the two versions of our redemption featured
in the
seder.  We trace our historic success as physically from (1)slavery to (2)
freedom and
spiritually from (3) idolatry to (4) divine service.  These are the versions
of degradation
(g’nut)and praiseworthiness (shevach) as presented in the Talmud (Pesachim
116a) by
Rav and Shmuel.  This is also reflected in the four differences identified
in the mah
nishtana.  Two are associated with the degradation (g’nut) namely matzah and
maror,
and two, dipping and reclining, are associated with a praiseworthy status
(shevach).
We see this in the sons as well, two of whom (‘wise’ and ‘simple’) are
identified as
positive characters and two (‘wicked’ and ‘the one who doesn’t know to ask’)
as
negative.  The number four is very intimately involved with the organization
of the
seder and the delivery of its message of salvation.
	 So, we can build the number four and its importance internally without
regard
to outside reference.  But, you know, in Judaism we like to connect ideas to
each other
and we use numbers as universal symbols.  So, where does ‘four’ come from
and what
does it stand for?  I believe we have to look at that section where the
number four just
keeps appearing.  In the first chapter of Yechezkal (the famous ‘ma’aseh
merkava’ or
divine chariot) the number four in various guises appears fourteen times.
The message
of this four laden chapter is divine presence and supervision.  As the Jews
are going
into the Babylonian exile, God informs us that He is not abandoning us.  He
is,
k’viyachol, going into galut as well.  A very important and uplifting
message for the
bedraggled masses approaching Babylon and anticipating oblivion.
	 The appearance of this number fourteen times is also interesting.  Fourteen
(‘yod’, ‘daled’) is also the Hebrew word for ‘hand’.  Fourteen is also the
number of
joints in the human hand (Stop counting!  It’s true.).  So, we’re being told
that ‘four’
represents the presence of God and the ‘hand’ of Hashem.  I just want to
point out that
four is the number used by our sages (and the Book of Daniel) to describe
the
historical enemies of Israel.  You may use different nation names, but we
always talk
about the four kingdoms which oppress us.
	 The number four represents hashgacha or divine supervision.  Therefore, it
makes perfect sense that we utilize it during our Pesach seder which
commemorates
the greatest example of divine control over history.  No event displayed
Hashem’s
suzerainty like the exodus from Egypt and, therefore, no celebration more
relates to
the number four.  May we all succeed in an inspirational seder, and thereby
merit to
witness the power of the number four again in our days.

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SACRIFICE
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 This week we begin reading the book of Vayikra, and we are confronted again
by the specter of animal sacrifices.  Many of us (especially the squeamish,
like me) find
this a disturbing topic.  This year animal sacrifices got a bad name during
the Moslem
month of Al Hiyeh, when gross scenes were broadcast widely.  Some of us felt
like
cheering when a sheep struck back, and pushed his would-be sacrificer off a
rooftop in
Cairo (man 4,673,598-sheep 1).
	 So, before I begin my weekly search for meaning in a Biblical verse, I
would
like to reassure you (and me) about Jewish sacrifices.  The Mishne in Pirkei
Avot
(chapter 5, mishne 5) states that ten miracles took place in the Temple.
The first three
interest me:  1)  no woman ever miscarried from the smell of the sacrifice
meat, 2)  no
sacrifice meat ever went rotten, 3)  and no fly was ever seen in the
slaughter area.  I
believe that our sages are informing us that the beit hamikdash with all its
ceremonies
was always impressive, never gross.  The dignity of man and beast was
maintained. We
may continue to pray for the speedy rebuilding of the Temple without qualm.
	 In our parsha we have a verse whose syntax has spawned many comments.
“Speak to the Children of Israel, and say to them, ‘a man when he will
sacrifice from
(amongst) you a sacrifice to God...’”  The two points that are discussed are
the use of
the word for ‘man’, namely ‘adam’, and the word order.  Why doesn’t the
verse state
more clearly “when a man of you will sacrifice”?  Why is the ‘from you
(mikem)’
separated from the noun to which it is connected?  Also, the format is
repetitive.
	 First of all, let me state a general rule.  When a mitzvah is given
conditionally,
we are discussing a non-obligatory precept.  Here the verse says ‘when (kee)
a man
will bring’ so it is conditioned on his desire to sacrifice, no obligation
is upon him.  In
our case the Rashbam (Rav Shmuel ben Meir, Rashi’s grandson) specifies that
we are
discussing a volitional sacrifice.  So, please, keep in mind that many of
the positions we
will present are only valid for voluntary sacrifices.
	 Reb Yonatan Eibeshitz explains that Hashem commands mitzvot for the
purpose of guiding our development to emulate Him.  We are to be merciful,
kind, etc.
because He is.  So, Reb Yonatan asks where do we see Hashem bring a
sacrifice?
Where is this element of emulation in the mitzvah of sacrifices?  In
response, he
declares that the deaths of  Nadav and Avihu, the children of Aharon
(Vayikra, chapter
XI) as the paradigm for sacrifices.  They were pure and free of blemish.  We
sacrifice
from the choice of our flocks, because so does He.
	 After this general comment on sacrifices, Reb Yonatan explains the use of
the
term ‘adam’ for man in our verse.  On the divine throne above the chariot as
described
in the first chapter of Yechezkel are carved four faces:  man, ox, lion, and
eagle.  The
emphasis on man, ‘adam’, is to inform us that our intent in bringing this
sacrifice is
based in our human thought process.  There is no animal or foolish intent.
Ultimately
we must sacrifice the animal.  We often think that we have much in common
with the
beast (and we do), but at some point the Torah, Hashem and our soul require
us to
part company.
	 The Izhbitzer in the Mei Hashiloach tells us that the verse is concerned
about
the attitude of the sacrificer.  We don’t want to say ‘when one of you
bring’, because
that may imply that the benefactor is someone who considers himself exalted
or better
than others.  Sacrifice is an act of contrition, humility.
	 The Kli Yakar is also concerned for the attitude of the person bringing the
sacrifice.  He says that the two literary problems (word order and ‘adam’)
are to
prevent us from stumbling into the errors of the original sacrificers.  In
the fourth
chapter of B’reishit when Kayin (Cain) and Hevel (Abel) bring their
offerings to
Hashem each one is guilty of a shortcoming.  Kayin doesn’t bring from the
best of his
produce (The Kli Yakar points out at this point that we bring animal
sacrifices
primarily because we believe this animal spirit is a replacement for
sacrificing our own
soul.  But Hashem allowed the impoverished to replace produce, but it must
be worthy
of the role.).  While Hevel does bring his choice beast, but he brought it
not of his own
volition but as a result of peer pressure.  The normally negative trait of
jealousy
spurred him to this spiritual act.  Therefore, our verse is written in the
singular.  Our
sacrifice must be as if we are Adam, the only man.  He owned all without
competition,
and gave freely from all he had.  Adam gave without regard to what others
(what
others?) might think.  So must we behave.
	 The Kli Yakar makes another comment which brings us to a major point for
development.  He says, “Mikem means from yourself really (mamesh), through
fasts
and a broken spirit that’s the sacrifice to Hashem alone, but the verse goes
on to say
‘your sacrifices (plural)’ because the physical animal is eaten by you and
the cohanim
as well as burnt to Hashem.”  What Hashem wants is an act of the spirit.
The animal
itself is a prop to get us to the right frame of mind.  Hashem wants us, not
the beast.
	 Rabbi Ovadya S’forno says similarly to this, “When you sacrifice from your
very self in confession and submission, as in the verse ‘bullocks of our
lips (Hoshea
XIV:3)’ and as they say ‘the offerings of God are a broken spirit (T’hillim
LI:19)’,
because He doesn’t want fools who sacrifice without prior contrition.”  A
fool thinks
that the Temple service was a physical act, and doesn’t understand the
reality that it is
a spiritual and emotional act.
	 The Slonimer Rebbe in Netivot Shalom says that the term ‘adam’ is used to
describe the highest of four levels existent within man (the others ‘g’vir’,
‘enosh’,
‘ish’).  When man is on this highest of spiritual levels he can discern two
kinds of
shortcomings within himself:  1)  a deficiency within his animal self, which
requires him
to sacrifice ‘from the beast’, 2)  a lacking in the sentient self, that
portion from Hashem
on high which resides within us all.  This second insufficiency requires a
more difficult
act of repentance.  This t’shuva process is meant to bring us back into
contact with
Him.  And for this no mere symbolic, external, physical is enough.  We must
sacrifice
ourselves.  This brings us to the very meaning of the word for sacrifice,
‘l’hakriv’,
which means to make close.  The act of submission, of sacrificing ourselves,
allows us
back into His presence.
	 With Pesach approaching we must become aware of the connection between
the paschal sacrifice and b’rit milah (circumcision).  Only the circumcised
may
consume the korban pesach, and the verse in Yechezkel (XVI:6) repeats the
refrain,
“In your blood there is life,” once for korban pesach and once for b’rit
milah.  The
lamb was the animal sacrifice removing the beast.  The circumcision
represents the
sacrifice we do within to remove all shortcomings which delay out
redemption.  As we
prepare for the feast of redemption, let’s prepare internally for the
redemption still to
come.


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PROUD
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 The Izhbitzer makes an interesting comment on the decorations of the Cohen
Gadol’s garment, which get listed again in this week’s Torah reading
(Pekudei).  On
the bottom edge of the robe the Torah tells us there should be “a bell and a
pomegranate, a bell and a pomegranate.”  Well, in the Mei Shiloach, the
Izhbitzer
explains that this arrangement (and repetition) describes a positive
psychological reality
of people.  That we should be striving to achieve a balance between self
confidence
and self-consciousness, pride and embarrassment.  The pomegranate is
described by
our sages as representing fullness and confidence (A Jew is described as a
pomegranate
full of mitzvot. There is the tradition that a pomegranate contains 613
seeds.), while
the bell is hollow, empty promoting a feeling of insecurity.
	 First of all I like that idea.  We need this balance of feeling good and
worry
about our spiritual status.  I feel this promotes healthy growth.  But let’s
say we’re
supposed to be proud of certain religious accomplishments, what attainments
should
engender this?  Here I have some help from Yirmiyahu (IX:22,23), “Let not
the wise
man be proud of his wisdom, nor let the mighty man be proud of his might,
let not the
rich man be proud of his wealth.  But let him be proud of this:  That he
understands
and knows Me, that I am the Lord who exercises mercy, justice and
righteousness in
the earth; for in these things do I delight.”
	 (I want to point out that these three traits which seem to be denigrated
here are
highlighted in the mishne, “Who is the wise man...who is the mighty
man...who is the
rich man?[Pirkei Avot, chapter four mishne one]” The Netziv [Rabbi Naftali
Zvi
Yehuda Berlin, the Rosh Yeshiva of Volozhin] points out that there is the
normal
approach to these traits and then the special mishnaic approach.  The normal
approach
is always negative, but the mishnaic examples can be praiseworthy.  Let us
assume that
our verse is discussing the normal colloquial usage.)
	 Okay, we are being instructed that the only achievements worthy of our
pride
are in our knowledge of Hashem.  How do I characterize this ‘knowledge’?  In
last
week’s parsha we were told quite clearly that our knowledge of Hashem is
very
limited.  We can not see or understand Him. So, is this demand of
Yirmiyahu’s
impossible?  I believe that there is a midrashic approach to our problem
which we will
find helpful.
	 This week we not only read the weekly Torah portion, but we also finish the
yearly cycle of the four parshiyot.  These four readings are connected to
the special
events of these two months.  Parshat Shekalim describes the donation of a
half shekel
to the temple for buying the daily and holiday sacrifices.  We read this on
or before
Rosh Chodesh Adar, because the half shekel was collected in Adar.  Parshat
Zachor
fulfills the obligation of remembering the attack of Amalek annually, and is
read the
shabbat before Purim.  We, of course, identify Haman Agagi as a descendant
of
Amalek.  Parshat Para reminds us of the need to purify ourselves from the
impurity of
contact with the dead so that we may participate in the Pesach sacrifice,
and is read
after Purim.  The last in the series which we are to read this shabbat is
Parshat
Hachodesh, which describes the process of sanctifying the new moon and
thereby
establishing our calendar.
	 It seems that a correspondence exists between the four items in the verse
from
Yirmiyahu and our four special Torah readings.  We have wealth and the
section of
donating money for the communal sacrifices.  We have might and the eternal
battle
against Amalek.  We have wisdom and the mitzvah which epitomizes ‘chok’ or
the
precepts beyond our intellectual grasp.  We are being instructed that these
elements
which can lead to problematic vanity must be enlisted (and thereby
sublimated) to
divine service.  But what about Parshat Hachodesh?  What does this material
contribute to our ‘knowledge of Hashem’?
	 Before we answer this question let us take a quick look at the verses.
Hashem
instructs Moshe Rabbeinu and Aharon that they are to establish this new moon
as the
first month of the year.  (Of course, I am adding midrashic material.)  And
then the
observance of Pesach will be begin on the tenth of the month with the taking
of the
lamb, and culminate on the fourteenth with its sacrifice.  That night (the
fifteenth) the
sacrifice will be consumed with matzo.  Our Sages emphasize that the
expression ‘this
month shall be to you’ means that we decide when rosh chodesh is regardless
of when
the astronomical event (appearance of the new moon or ‘moad’) occurs.  When
we
bless the coming month on the shabbat before rosh chodesh we announce when
the
‘molad’ will take place.  Often the event and rosh chodesh don’t coincide.
(As I write
this, it is the twentieth of Adar, but for the Moslems it is the
twenty-first of Al-hijeh,
because they strictly follow the physical reality.)   All this means that we
Jews dictate a
spiritual reality which controls the calendar and the holidays.  It is
Pesach not because
we are fifteen days after the first new moon of the spring, but because we
proclaimed it
the fifteenth of Nissan.
	 We are endowed through this mitzvah of kiddush hachodesh with a godlike
power over reality.  We create facts and heaven acquiesces.  We ‘know’ God
by in
some way acting like Him and with Him.  We are being made partners by this
mitzvah.
	 The verb ‘yodeah’ to know is used for our knowledge of Hashem.  We use
‘makir’ or recognize for knowing people, except ‘knowing’ is used for
spouses
(perhaps only for the sex act, but I would like to think for more of the
relationship).  I
assume that the more intimate ‘know’ is used for those partners we acquire
in life, our
spouse and our God.  We gain this ‘knowledge’ by emulation and empathy.  We
are
trying to act in God’s stead (and our spouse’s).  He made the new moon
appear on
Thursday but it would work out better for the Jewish Nation if we made rosh
chodesh
on Friday.  We are given that right and responsibility.
	 And then the verse in Yirmiyahu continues, we are supposed to know God who
“exercises mercy, justice and righteousness.”  We must use this awesome
responsibility
for the promotion of these values.  Only then do we truly ‘know’ God, and
feel
spiritually fulfilled.  Ultimately, we can not see God but we can intuit His
presence by
performing His will.  An enterprise worthy of the effort.


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VEIL
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 At the end of this week’s Torah reading we have an image which has
contributed to one of the oldest canards against Jews.  Moshe Rabbeinu
returns from
Hashem with a glow which is described as ‘keren ohr’.  Now the word ‘keren’
can be
translated as ‘horn’ so Michaelangelo puts horns on his great statue of
Moses, and we
are still stuck with the ridiculous assumption about our physiognomy.
(Well, isn’t that
why we cover our heads?  No!)  So, I would like to discuss this ‘keren’ and,
even
more importantly, the ‘masveh’ which is also mentioned in these final verses
of the
parsha.
	 Before we take on the ‘keren’ let us consider the ‘masveh’.  There are two
major approaches to understanding this word.  The first is that it means a
physical
object.  Within this point of view there are three interpretations:  1)
According to the
authoritative translation of Onkelos, it is ‘beit api’ a face enclosure or
some kind of
mask.  This idea is expanded upon in the Aramaic dictionary called the
Oruch.  There it
states:  “A face enclosure made from a garment with openings for the eyes,
nostrils,
and mouth.”  A ski mask.  2)  The other, more midrashic Aramaic translations
(Yonatan and Yerushalmi) render it ‘sudar’ or talit.  It would seem that in
this
explanation, Moshe was wearing his talit over his head.  3)  In other
sources (Lekach
Tov and Midrash Agada) ‘masveh’ is translated as ‘ts’nif’ which we usually
use to
mean ‘veil’.  Some sort of scarf or kerchief to cover the face.  For our
purposes I will
use the words ‘masveh’ and veil interchangeably.
	 But there is another approach.  Starting with the Ralbag (Rabbi Levi ben
Gershon or Gersonides) we have an alternative approach that the masveh was
not a
physical object but an expression.  This is how he formulates the idea:
“(When Moshe
returned after) forty days and forty nights without eating or drinking,
without doubt
this was through a great miracle, he arrived from this rendezvous with the
skin of his
face glowing (‘keren ohr’), this was splendor of thought which remained even
when
the Children of Israel wanted to speak to him...This required an effort on
his part to
separate from his unique closeness to Hashem, and this attempt to separate
is called
masveh.”  So, the masveh is very directly related to the keren ohr.  Moshe
saw that he
needed to turn away from Hashem to communicate with the Jews.
	 Now the Ralbag has opened up two new areas.  First he has said that the
veil
may be an action or concept rather than a physical object, and he has also
begun the
discussion of its purpose.  There are basically two ways to go on that issue
(with many
variations on the themes).  Either you can say that Moshe needed the masveh
to talk to
the Jews or he required it to protect himself when talking to Hashem.  The
keren ohr
by all accounts is the resulting situation when the masveh is removed.
	 All this is fine, but what does it do for me?  What can I learn from this?
Here,
again, there are a few interesting positions.  We can begin with the S’fat
Emet (Rabbi
Yehuda Arye Leib Alter, the second Gerer Rebbe).  The Rebbe in a comment in
Parshat V’yakhel (5657, 1897) says that we can learn the true meaning of the
veil from
its juxtaposition with the beginning of next week’s Torah reading and its
involvement
with the laws of Shabbat.  Our relationship to Shabbat is like Moshe
Rabbeinu’s
relationship to heaven.  When he was on high he didn’t require the veil;
upon on his
return he did.  During the week we are basically mundane creatures doing our
six days
of toil, but on Shabbat our true nature emerges and we may remove the mask
which is
our earthly disguise, and our splendor, keren ohr is displayed.
	 The Tiferet Shlomo (Reb Shlomo Hacohen of Radomsk) wrote about the
masveh as well.  When Moshe Rabbeinu turned to Hashem on behalf of the
Jewish
nation he removed the mask, because there was no embarrassment in praying
for the
welfare of others.  Indeed it is very praiseworthy.  When, on the other hand
Moshe
approached God for his own needs, he donned the veil to hide his shame in
begging for
himself.  Our sages did similarly for us in their design of the prayer
service.  We begin
our daily prayers with a long section of praises (p’sukei d’zimra), and then
we perform
the mitzvah of reciting the shema, and finally we begin the prayer which
contains our
requests, shmoneh esrei.  And even there we mask our requests in two ways.
First, we
again say three blessings of praise to Hashem, and only then do we chant the
thirteen
blessings of requests which we frame in the first person plural.  We are not
only
praying for ourselves, but for us all.  This p’shat is not as farfetched as
it seems at first
glance, because the major role of Moshe in our parsha is as the great
protector of the
Jews from God’s wrath after the sin of the Golden Calf.  In the context it
seems more
true.
	 I would like to share one more explanation for the veil found in the Maor
V’shemesh (Reb Kalman Kalonymous Halevy Epstein).  He suggests that the idea
of
zelem elokim (image of God) discussed in the beginning of B’reishit is that
names of
God can discerned on the faces of the truly pious.  He avers that in his
generation
(early nineteenth century) he has encountered such individuals.  The Rebbe
than goes
on to explain that the names are only the three four letter names of Hashem
(ehikeh,
and the tetragrammaton and the word we use to pronounce it).  Now the sum
total of
the letter values of these three words equals the value of the letters in
masveh (really it
is off by one, but there is a rule that the entirety of the material can
count for one).
Okay, Moshe upon his return from the ascent to heaven had all three names
superimposed on his face.  This was the keren ohr.  When he approached
Hashem the
great light of His presence overpowered the letters on Moshe’s face making
them
invisible; this was the masveh.  Also, when he would stop his own
comtemplations and
talk to the Jews he would lower his spiritual state so that the letters also
would fade.
From this awesome sight we infer the awe one must have before one’s teacher,
and the
modesty we must display when talking to our students.  We all exist in three
states:  1)
student, 2)  teacher, master, parent, 3) ourselves on our own.
	 We all wear masks.  Our parsha in various ways teaches us that it is
sometimes
necessary.  But we must be very careful in what we hide.  Without the mask
our true
self emerges and that is the, hopefully, keren ohr, glowing face of whom we
really are.
Everyone must diligently decide which face is our true identity.  Is it the
workaday
mundane image we portray in work or school?  Or is it the spiritual side
expressed in
synagogue or on Shabbat and Yom tov.  Only the unmasking can reveal the
splendor
of our personality.  But we must work out who we are.

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ESTHER?

by

Rabbi David Walk

There is a mishne in tractate Megila (chapter 2 mishne 3) which raises an
interesting question. The mishne states: “And from where should one read to
fulfill the obligation of reading the Megila? Rebbe Meir says, ‘All of it.’
Rebbe Yehuda says, ‘From “There was a Jewish man...(Esther II:5)”’ Rebbe
Yossi says, ‘From “After these events...(Ibid. III:1)”’” The Talmud (Megila
19a) explains the mishne to be based on the verse, “Then Esther the Queen,
and Mordechai the Jew, wrote down all the acts of power to confirm this
second letter (Ibid. IX:29).” The word for ‘power’ is ‘tokef’ which in
modern Hebrew means valid or in power. So, the argument in the mishne is
whose ‘power’ (or being in power) must we read about? R. Meir says
Achashverosh who is introduced in the first verse, Rebbe Yehuda says
Mordechai who is introduced in his verse, and Rebbe Yossi says Haman who is
introduced in the verse he quotes. Well, my question is, what about Esther?
Doesn’t anyone think she’s the essential character of the story?

Before we decipher the role of Esther, I would like to explain the argument
in the mishne. The mishne is assuming that the obligation to read the Megila
is not just the literary objective of knowing the story, but requires us to
understand some idea or lesson in the work. We read enough to get the idea
regardless of whether we have the story’s content.

So, according to Rebbe Meir we need the character of Achashverosh to
complete our task. Achashverosh is the most difficult character in the book
to understand. There is an argument whether he was foolish or wise. If wise
then he would be cynical to the point of evil. But whether wise or foolish
he sets a scene in the book’s first chapter that is (according to Rebbe
Meir) necessary to comprehend the story’s idea. This scene is of a country
and its new ruler reaching out to all its inhabitants equally to embrace
them. This is a band wagon the Jews can’t wait to jump aboard. Equality is
being offered these stateless citizens. The Jews participate in the banquets
with an enthusiasm equaled by no others. Even when (according to the
midrash) the utensils from the temple are employed our ancestors just accept
this as respect and continue to participate with pride in this new focus for
their patriotism. (The symbolism of this is acute. We are giving up our
dream of a future Jerusalem for a present Shushan.) The Purim events can
only be understood by clearly considering this assimiltionist tendency. We
got into trouble because we thought foolishly we were just like everyone
else. We must understand every misfortune stems from our misbehavior.

Not so, interjects Rebbe Yehuda. Our understanding of the story only
requires us to recognize the role of Mordechai. The true story begins with
his introduction. What we have to take from these events is that Hashem has
always prepared a salvation for whatever catastrophe awaits us. God’s
supervision of His people is ready for all contingencies.

Well, declares Rebbe Yossi, all this is interesting, but what we need is the
bad guy. We always pray for salvation “from dire straights to wide places,
from darkness to light, from bondage to redemption.” The focus should be on
the miraculous transition from bad to good. And the bad begins with the
entrance of Haman.

(Actually the Talmud makes a fourth suggestion in the name of Rebbe Shimon
Bar Yochai that we may read from “that night.(Ibid. V:1)” This opinion
concludes that it is the miraculous events which must be covered. So, in
this case the major character is God.)

It is remarkable that no one believes that Esther is main character in the
Megila of her name. In this case we should, perhaps, ask how come we name
the book after her? For that we may give the simple answer that Biblical
books may be named after the author not the main character (For example, the
book of Shmuel is named for the author, even though his students finished
it, but, of course, the main character is David Hamelech.). But this does
not relieve us of the responsibility of asking, what was Esther’s role in
the story?

There is an interesting approach to this problem in the Ohr Gedalyahu by Rav
Gedaliah Shor. Rav Shor describes the mystical nature of the phenomenon that
purposeful sins can be turned into merits through repentance done with love
(as opposed to fear). He explains how the ‘evil cause’ transforms into a
‘positive cause’. This is perhaps the nature of the ‘nahafochu’ or reversal
of fortunes which so permeates our Purim celebrations. The most striking
‘reversal’ is when Haman rushes to the palace for permission to execute
Mordechai, but is tricked into deciding a proper reward for him.

Rav Shor’s premise is that the mechanism behind the ‘reversals’ is teshuva,
repentance. He brings two examples. “When they (the Jews) sinned through
enjoying the banquet of Achashverosh (chapter I), by means of their teshuva
it transformed into the cause of their salvation.” We already discussed the
assimilationist tendencies of the Jews of Persian. The second case is more
important to us. Rav Shor paraphrases the S’fat Emet in explaining the
verse, “And should I come to the king against the custom?” In this
rhetorical question she is referring to Hashem the King of Kings. She admits
that she has sinned and questions her right to petition Him or bring the
redemption. But the reality is, yes, the power of teshuva is such that it
bestows the merit to approach Hashem with more confidence than ever before.
As the Rambam says in Hilchot Teshuva (chapter 7, halacha 7): “Last night
this one was distant from the God of Israel...,cried out and was not
answered...Today, he is attatched to the Divine Presence..., and his cries
are responded to immediately.”

So, now we see the role of Esther. She is the ba’alat teshuva, the repentant
who discovers the way back to Hashem in a way that brings her closer than
ever. She can become the instrument of the redemption.

It seems to me that our history is replete with two models of heroes,
usually working together. There is Yosef the zadik or righteous hero, and
there is Yehuda the ba’al teshuva hero. Yosef is a spiritual leader who
motivates others by his moral authority. Yehuda after initial shortcomings
is inspired to lead others politically or militarily. Mashiach Ben Yosef
will precede and inspire the Mashiach ben Yehuda (David). So, too, Mordechai
the zadik inspires Esther the repentant. But ultimately Esther (and Mashiach
ben David) gets the job done. In the final analysis Esther is the dominant
character in the Megila, but the story can’t start with her. She derives her
power from having been energized by another force. The story has to begin
before Esther can take over the field. That is why no one suggest we must
begin with her.

Esther’s behavior is paralleled to that of the nation. They both commit a
sin of assimilation, and then see the error of their ways when the society
at large rejects them. We say that the redemption of Purim was not complete,
because the Jews remained in the Diaspora, and continued to succumb to its
influences. But what we must remember and learn from the Purim saga is the
danger of cultural influences and, more importantly, our potential to
counteract it, the power of penitence. Esther is the most important
character because it is with her we must identify and emulate. We can become
her, and we must.



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BORING!
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 After the high excitement of the first six Torah readings of Shmot, we now
have the very boring material of the mishkan.  The portable temple or
tabernacle of the
desert is described in the kind of detail that makes one pine for a visit to
the dentist for
a root canal procedure.  And if all that wasn’t bad enough, the whole thing
gets
repeated a couple of weeks down the line.  I guess that’s in case anyone
stayed awake
through the first go round. What I would like to do this week is try to
understand
what’s going on with this material.
	 Before we can try to take on the problem of the details, and why they are
catalogued ad nauseam, I believe we must first try to get a perspective on
the meaning
of the temple.  Maybe developing an opinion on the purpose of having a
domicile for
Hashem in our midst will help us to formulate a position about these
parshiot.
Obviously it would be heresy to assume that in any way Hashem is truly
‘housed’ by
the temple.  Shlomo Hamelech said at the dedication of the first temple,
“Heavens and
earth can not contain You, how much less so this house which I have built.”
	 There is also a famous misconception about the need for this sanctuary.
Rashi
says that these parshiot are out of their correct chronology.  The command
to build the
mishkan, according to this scenario, came after the golden calf incident.
Based upon
this point of view many observers claim that Rashi believed that the
necessity for this
structure resulted from the sin.  R. Ovadiah Sforno forcefully argues that
Rashi held
that the mishkan was a l’chatchila, had always been planned for.  Such a
major part of
Torah and mitzvoth could not be just a sop to human frailties.  So, a major
approach to
understanding the temple is discarded (Even though many others continue to
accept
this explanation.).
	 Well, what is the value of this structure?  I believe that our more
rational
approaches fail us in this endeavor; we require more esoteric venues.  The
Malbim
(Rav Meir Leibish ben Yechiel Michal, in the mid-nineteenth century), a
normally very
rational source, explains the meaning in an essay entitled “Secrets of the
Mishkan.”  In
this work he describes how the mishkan (and, of course, later the temple)
and all its
accouterments are fraught with heavy symbolism.  He then begins to expound
upon
these symbols.  Without going into the details of every building reference,
utensil, or
furnishing (which the Malbim does) I can state that he proposes two ways of
explaining the overall idea of the mishkan.  First, the mishkan represents
the entirety of
creation.  All the details mentioned in the many verses of instructions on
how to build a
mishkan have direct correspondence to the physical and metaphysical worlds.
To
elucidate, let me give just one important example.  The heichal or sanctuary
building
contains two rooms.  One room is called the ‘holy’ and contains the
following three
items:  1)  the seven branched candelabrum, 2)  the table holding the
special bread, 3)
a golden altar upon which the incense was offered.  These three items
represent this
physical realm.  Our world is established upon Torah (the menorah), divine
service (the
golden altar), and acts of loving kindness (the bread holding table) all of
which are
reflected by these three items.  The other chamber is called the ‘holy of
holies’ (famous
for its part in the service of Yom Kippur, the only time this room is
entered).  In this
room resides one item only, the ark containing the tablets.  Just as the
outer room of
three items represents this three dimensional world (I know that this
universe contains
more dimensions, but for the sake of this symbol man normally thinks of this
world as
being 3D, this is a metaphor not a physics lecture) so this inner sanctum
represents the
spiritual realm where all is connected to the One.
	 The Malbim then goes on to explain that there is another way of looking at
this
structure.  It represents man.  The “holy of holies” is the brain; the altar
represents the
stomach, and so on.  These two powerful ways of understanding the temple are
not
contradictory, rather they complement each other.  And is one explanation
for why the
material is presented twice.  We say that the first approach describes the
mishkan as a
‘small universe (Olam Katan),’ and the other makes it a ‘big man (Adam
Gadol).’  The
mishkan becomes a visual aid or teaching device to understand our world,
ourselves,
and their relationship to Hashem.
	 Now we can understand the (or at least one of many) meaning of the temple.
The verse says, “Make for me a sanctuary and I will dwell in your midst.”
Hashem is
truly everywhere (to quote the famous philosophy of Chabad), but getting Him
into
our midst requires an effort.  That effort is fundamentally educational.  We
must
comprehend that through our service to Hashem we relate to the entirely of
creation.
We have cosmic impact  when we become connected to Hashem.  The temple is
the
symbol of that connectedness.  The midrash says that the point of contact
between this
world and spiritual sphere is the temple.  The first thing you encounter on
the other
side is the celestial temple.  The temple\mishkan is a portal.  It’s our
gateway to vaster
horizons.
	 All this is fine, but we don’t have a temple.  How can we fulfill the
temple’s
role without it?  More important, perhaps, is the question so often asked by
the
Netivot Shalom (Reb Shalom Noach Barkovsky, the Slonimer Rebbe) where is the
necessary eternity in this Torah precept if we can’t perform it?  The
Slonimer himself
gives the famous answer given concerning sacrifices, “All those involved in
the study
of the Torah about sacrifices the Torah considers it as if he has
accomplished the
sacrifice.”  So, our study of the temple, its parts and their meaning is
fulfilling the
mitzvah.  The S’fat Emet, I believe, adds to this answer.  He is concerned
with the
rabbinical statement that all those who don’t build the temple it is as if
they destroyed
it.  How, the Rebbe asks, can it be that all the righteous of the
generations since the
destruction are considered demolishers of the temple.  They are not, he
responds,
because the building of the temple, like redemption, is a process.  All
those who
contribute to the process will be reckoned builders.  This process is trying
to fathom
the deep meaning in all the vast details presented to us about the mishkan.
	 Yes, indeed it is boring to pore year after year over these building plans,
but
each article and instruction has a message that we must decipher.  It is a
puzzle and a
challenge to break the code.  And in this enigma is the path to an ever
closer
relationship with Hashem.  And now we can understand the Talmud in Brachot
33a,
“One who has knowledge it is as if he has built the temple.”  We must
utilize our
intellectual curiosity to break through the fog, and in the clarity attained
is a
continually developing image of the edifice and its role in our relationship
with
ourselves, the world and Hashem.

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LEGAL EXCITEMENT
By Rabbi David Walk
Last week's Torah reading ends with the spiritual bombast of the Lord giving
the Ten Commandments. Well, this week we start off with the ever popular
topic of Hebrew slaves (not really slaves, indentured servants, but you get
the idea). How could the Divine Editor allow the mundane to intrude like
this on the sublime? To compound the confusion, we return at the end of this
parsha to the moving declaration of our ancestors that, "We will do and we
will listen!" Why deposit all this dry material here? Why derail the
narrative flow?

Rashi explains that this material is placed here to demonstrate that even
the most technical and boring of halachic material was equally given at
Sinai. This idea is contained in a verse from Psalms (CXLVII), "He related
His words to Ya'akov (but the Hebrew is the same as the word for the
commandments in the decalogue); His laws and statutes to Israel." So, Hashem
juxtaposes all His various kinds of revealed data. It seems that we're being
informed that all God's laws are equally holy. But what does this mean? How
does this holiness express itself or, more importantly, affect us the
consumers?

The Netivot Shalom, Reb Shalom Noach Barkovsky of Slonim suggests the
following idea. One might think that the importance of civil laws is their
inherent logical truth. We (not necessarily me, mind you) look at well
functioning legal systems and are impressed by the ensuing social justice.
The Slonimer says, "No!" The greatness of our legal system is its divine
origin. Our system can't be compared to those of other nations. (This brings
up an interesting question. When gentiles are commanded to establish legal
systems is this a spiritual requirement akin to ours or merely an abhorrence
of anarchy?) The fact that our system, in most instances, seems to work in a
manner recognizable by us, is because we have a spark of divinity which
identifies with it. This is why our sages state, "That every judge who
judges with truth is a partner with Hashem in the creation of world." It's
interesting that it doesn't say a partner in the running of the world. The
reason is that justices true rulings derive from Torah which preceded the
world and indeed is the world's blueprint.

Reb Pinchas Halevy Horowitz in the Panim Yafot adds to this idea. He quotes
the mishne in Pirkei Avot, "Make His will, your will." And then explains
that this mishne helps us to understand a very difficult statement by the
Tanna Rebbe Yossi, "I never made a statement which I had to retract (in
Hebrew "returned from"). " How can that be? By our nature we're all
fallible. Reb Pinchas explains that all Rebbe Yossi's pronouncements were
given with reasoning based upon his understanding of Hashem's wishes. He
never turned away from this principle. We judge all situations through the
prism of our Torah perspective not our own independent reasoning. We write a
contract based upon Divine dicta just as we slaughter a cow by God's
directives. There's no objective difference. The fact that we sometimes
describe our civil laws as more logical is a subjective observation. I could
say that our intellectual vanity in these areas is our yetzer hara at work.

The Gerer Rebbe, Reb Yehuda Aryeh Leib Alter, in his S'fat Emet commentary
takes this idea one step further. We live in a false world where truth is in
hiding. This void can only be filled by Jews who possess truth only because
it was revealed to us by Hashem. The juxtaposition of these mundane laws and
the revelation at Sinai is, therefore, obvious. Civil law, social justice,
ethics, morality are all of divine source or spurious. The famous law that
we're not allowed to go to non-Jewish courts even when they give the same
decision must be modified. It only seemed to be the same decision. This also
fits the rabbinical statements that the Sanhedrin must sit within the temple
compound, because we must demonstrate that there is no separation of sacred
and secular in Judaism. (This fits nicely with the opinion of the Ramban
that the mishkan and later the Temple were a replacement for Mount Sinai.)
The seeming logic of our legal system is a mirage; all halacha is equally
His will not human logic.

This brings us to the opinion of Reb Kalman Kalonymus Halevy Epstein in his
Maor V'Shemesh. Everyone knows that the torah was given with trembling and
sweat. Every Jew at Mount Sinai was petrified by the awesome demonstration
of Hashem's power and presence. Now, it might seem that this reaction is
only related to the Ten Commandments. But the Talmud in Brachot 6a states,
"All mitzva performance and Torah study must be accomplished with trembling
and sweat," therefore, if someone is in an objective situation which
prevents him from performing a mitzva with the correct awe (like a
bridegroom on his wedding night for the reciting of Shema), he is free from
the obligation. We can extend this idea to Torah study. The Torah can only
be acquired by one who studies with the required religious zeal. Everyone
must feel when learning that he's reenacting the epiphany at Sinai.

Reb Epstein carries this point to the next step for us. We must pursue all
civil law with the same enthusiasm. We can't perform matters of honesty in a
rote manner. Integrity and social justice require the same excitement as our
ritual laws and divine service. "One must search his actions well and think
thoughts of t'shuva before these acts?one must stand with a broken heart
just like in prayer when accepting His yoke in these activities." Jewish law
requires us to be passionate for honesty. A storekeeper must count out
change with the devotion of reciting his confession.

Now we understand why these laws are placed here. They belong here because
the lesson is so important. My initial question contained an essential
falsehood. Nothing in the halachic universe is mundane.

I'm writing this week's article while visiting in the States. Actually
different parts were written at Johns Hopkins, U of Maryland and Princeton.
I'm noticing a remarkable growth of orthodox requirements being provided on
campus. The availability of kosher food and minyanim is being taken for
granted. The services my generation struggled to find are now commonplace.
And there is a commensurate blasé feeling about these commodities. The only
passion I observed on these campuses was for their college studies. Maybe
today in the modern orthodox world we should, sadly, demand that some of our
passion for the secular and mundane be applied to our Jewish life. I'd like
to see the fire I observed in a conversation about the Super Bowl (in
Baltimore, what are you going to do?) in a discussion about a Tosfot. We
more modern Jews in America and the diaspora need some fire in our belly.

Comments, ideas, questions? Send Rabbi Walk a note at:rwalk@...



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EPIPHANY
by Rabbi David Walk

This week's Torah reading records the most important event since the
Creation. Ma'amad Har Sinai or the revelation at Sinai could actually be
presented as more important than Creation. It is incumbent upon all of us to
think about how we relate to that seminal episode. Whenever the Torah
recounts a historical occurrence, we must ask what is the significance of
that incident to me, 3300 years later. We ask these questions at our Pesach
seder and in our sukkah, and we must equally consider it for the giving of
the Torah.

I want to try and understand the experience at the foot of Mt. Sinai, and
then ponder our connection to it. One of the verses describing the
overwhelming impression made by the incident says, "And they saw the thunder
and the lightening." So, the midrash explains, "They saw what is normally
heard, a unique event." For the more prosaic, there are those who describe
this to mean that sight is the greatest of our senses and, therefore, is
used in a general way to mean, "they sensed." But we have the souls of poets
and want a more inspiring approach.

The idea that the Jews saw what normally could be heard seems to describe a
sensory overload. As if the pyrotechnics at Sinai blew some neural fuses.
The complaint of the people to Moshe, "You speak to us and we will listen,
so that Hashem will not speak to us, lest we die," is a pretty strong
indication that the experience was overwhelming. Perhaps, this is what
prophecy is, but the prophets are in some way prepared or specially suited
to this intrusion on their nervous system. So, Moshe can respond, "Don't be
afraid." We on the hand cower, "distance ourselves, while Moshe approaches
the mist where Hashem is."

Moshe also informs us that all this is "in order that His fear will be upon
you so that you will not sin." Now we begin to see a purpose in this
pandemonium. Somehow, this attack on our senses leaves a positive spiritual
imprint on our collective psyche. This impact (like that of the exodus from
Egypt and splitting of the Yam Suf) is cross generational. Perhaps this is
what is meant by saying that all our souls were at the epiphany at Sinai.
There are a few ways of dealing with this dictum. Some say that we are all
sharing those 603,550 souls standing at the foot of Mt. Sinai; others that
all souls made that pilgrimage before settling within us (a feat easier for
entities not bound by the fourth dimension); still another possibility is
that the midrash is a literary allegory. But whatever your approach, we seem
to be acknowledging the impact of that event upon us all and for all time.

The S'fat Emet understands this phenomenon also as meta-sensory. He feels
that this "seeing the sounds" must be understood in conjunction with the
verse in D'varim VI:6, "I command you today." The Rebbe sees the true intent
of the verse must be understood in the use of the present tense. We received
this divine message on the soul wave length. The soul (as we alluded to
above) is a portion of the Godly implanted in us all. As a purely spiritual
component it is not bound by physical limitations of space and time.
Therefore, the soul is still experiencing it; the communication of Mt. Sinai
is continually resonating within us. This could explain the mishne in the
sixth chapter of Pirkei Avot, "That a voice comes from Sinai every day." But
how do we access it? When a Jew expends effort on Torah and mitzvoth this
spiritual enlightenment extends from his soul to his body. Concentrated
involvement in these activities can recreate ma'mad har Sinai. The rebbe
goes on to elucidate that this can most effectively be achieved on shabbat
when other spiritual factors contribute to a greater level of spiritual
ambiance. We, therefore have an eternal element to that momentous historical
event.

Reb Chayim Volozhin in Nefesh Hachayim takes this idea one step further. In
the eleventh chapter of the third section, Reb Chayim explains the mystical
idea that Hashem and His statements are one. By that we mean that when
Hashem in the creative process said, "Let there be," His spirit entered the
created object and its existence eternally depends upon Him. If you got that
point good, but if you didn't, don't worry. What concerns me is the next
thing Reb Chayim says. We are sadly oblivious to this permeation of Hashem's
presence in our midst. Our physical body blocks our ability to see this
spiritual reality. Our flesh and blood senses only perceive physical
reality. We miss a whole spiritual dimension to our world.

Reb Chayim goes on to explain that in olam haba ('the world to come') our
senses will be purified and clarified to the point of grasping this other
reality. "And all flesh will see together that the mouth of God speaks.
(Isaiah XL:5)" Well, this form of extra sensory perception already existed
once in the past, namely ma'amad har Sinai. The 'seeing what could normally
be heard, and the hearing of what could normally be seen' describes this
clarity of perception. This super sensitivity was achieved through a
diminishing of the physical world's hold over us. Without this drag on our
receptors we went beyond sensing to understanding. For the first time in
history people didn't see but, instead, grasped the meaning of what they
were inspecting. Our eyes didn't tell us 'what' but 'why', and that 'why' is
a spiritual reality. This meta-sensitivity perceived Hashem.

Now, let's add the S'fat Emet to the Reb Chayim. The rebbe says that the use
of the present tense in "they see the thunder" means that this special
sensory affect can be achieved eternally. And so does Reb Chayim. In the
fourteenth chapter of the fourth section of Nefesh Hachayim, he states,
"that just as at that holy convocation they all cleaved to His word, so,
too, whenever one truly is involved and toils in Torah, he becomes attached
to His words. Because all Torah is the utterances of God's mouth to Moshe
Rabbeinu. Even what the littlest student asks his rebbe. Every sincere
student of Torah in his little cubicle, that cubicle becomes immersed in the
flames of His speech, and ma'amad har Sinai is reenacted." Reb Chayim then
elucidates what a tremendous impact that has upon the entire world.

We have the story of the giving of the Torah and we study it, not for some
arcane historical curiosity, but because we want it to change our lives. The
act of Torah study attaches us to Him like no other endeavor. We are told
about the super sensitivity at Har Sinai, not for information, but for
emulation.

EYEWITNESS
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 Something very special happened at the splitting of Yam Suf (whatever body
of
water that was).  The Jews witnessed the event which our sages use as the
yardstick
for all other miracles.  The paradigm of wonders was performed.  But the
enormity of
the special effects is not what interests me.  After you’ve used up all your
superlatives,
what has been learned?  Instead I will try to analyze the proper response (
after the
obligatory ‘Wow!’) to the occurrence.  What is the human dimension and
reaction to
this awe inspiring feat?
	 The midrash weighs in with the famous observation, “That a maid servant
observed more at the sea than Isaiah, Ezekiel or all the other prophets.”
I’m not here
to malign maid servants, but the clear assumption is that our great prophets
who
glimpsed divine doings should have seen more than they.  What was there
about
watching the sea split that was so momentous?  Many commentaries (I saw this
first in
Reb Ya’akov Emden) believe it is the verse, “This is my God (Shmot XV:2)”
The use
of the demonstrative pronoun ‘this’ implies a clarity not achieved on other
occasions.
	 So, now we have the first side of our equation.  The nation stood gaping at
the
clearest manifestation of Hashem’s presence ever recorded.  So clear that
the simplest
among them raised their index fingers, and proclaimed, “This is God!”  I
don’t know
what they saw.  Perhaps it is beyond the power of literature to describe,
and, therefore,
the verses are unclear.  But our traditional; sources want us to know that
there was
never anything like it.
	 But now the more difficult and, therefore, more interesting question, how
did
they react to this apparition?  There is an indication in the verse.  The
verse goes on,
“This is my God v’anveihu.”  The problem is what does ‘v’anveihu’ mean?  The
most
authoritative translator is Onkelos, who renders it, “And I will build Him a
temple.”
The ‘navei’ means some sort of housing.  Having witnessed the Divine
presence I must
do something to keep it in my midst.  This, perhaps, explains why after the
Torah
readings about the epiphany we have the sections about the tabernacle.
	 The midrash in a less literal approach translates the word as ‘beautify’
(from
the Hebrew ‘noy’ or decoration).  From here the rabbis derive the halacha of
‘hidur
mitzvah’ or the obligation of spending extra to do a mitzvah in a prettier
way.  Other
sages say that we must beautify Him in the eyes of the world or praise Him.
I’m not
sure that fits in as well with the word but definitely expresses a
reasonable reaction.
Or, as expressed in another midrash, when I acknowledge Him I give him
splendor.
There was never a greater acknowledgment of Hashem than at the splitting of
the sea,
and, therefore, He was never more beautified.
	 There is another midrashic approach to the word that is similar to the
Hoshana
prayer, ‘ani v’hu’ (which has the same letters) meaning ‘I and He’.  In
other words, the
reaction was that we have to somehow emulate Him.  This is a quote from Abba
Shaul
in masechet Shabbat 133b. Another midrash says specifically that the
reaction was,
“Just as He is merciful, so, too, I must be merciful.”  A remarkable
reaction.
	 The Shem M’shmuel compares the two verbs in our phrase to get a better
understanding of ‘v’anveihu’.  The verse goes, “This is my God v’anveihu the
God of
my fathers and I will exalt Him (‘v’aromimenhu’).”  Now, before I get to the
Rebbe’s
idea, I must point out that something else is happening in our verse.  There
are
apparently two ways to get to Hashem.  One can arrive at the conclusion
himself
(“This is my God.”), or one can receive this as a tradition from his
ancestors (The God
of my fathers”) and mentors.  We seem to require both.  In our amidah prayer
everyday we talk about “our God and the God of our ancestors.” Our
relationship with
Hashem must be both intuited and received, unique and general.
	 The Rebbe says that two opposites are at work here.  Our relationship with
Hashem engenders two diametrically opposed reactions.  First, we are
overcome with
pride of our choseness by Him, and we, therefore, believe we can do
something to His
benefit, ‘v’anveihu’.  On the other hand we compare ourselves to His
exaltedness, and
can not but prostrate and humble ourselves before His majesty.  In other
words we’re
not sure what the word ‘v’anveihu’ means exactly, but it connotes pride of
proximity
to His Presence.
	 There is one last variation on the theme ‘v’anveihu’ which I would like to
explore.  Reb Moshe Feinstein in his collection of divre Torah called Dorash
Moshe
makes the following observation.  There are basically three translations for
the word
‘v’anveihu’:  1)  build a temple to house Him, 2)  beautify Him through
‘hidur mitzvah’
doing mitzvot in a beautiful way, 3)  to relate His praise.  Reb Moshe says
that they are
all dependent upon each other.  Just as whatever is truly important in one’s
physical
life one does everything possible to do it just right.  If it’s an apartment
or a car or a
special food, there is tremendous effort and expense invested to get it
perfect.  So, too,
with mizvot we are required to display equal endeavor.  Similarly, the most
important
items in one’s life we often hear praised very highly.  The enthusiasm of a
sports fan
for his championship team (I only know about this vicariously since I’m a
Red Sox fan,
but this is the year.) or an art connoisseur for a great work is readily
noticed by all
observers.  There is this natural tendency to gush about those things which
are the
focus of one’s life.
	 The word ‘v’anveihu’ means all those various forms of gushing.  This item
which gives me warm fuzzies all over, I want it near me, I want to beautify
it, and I
want to extol it.  Well, at the sea we felt that way about Hashem.  And that
is only
proper.  We should feel that the most important thing in our lives is the
Master of the
Universe.  These three translations are three complementary ways of
expressing this
ardor.  When we understand this great pride which this excitement might
engender, we
can well accept the Shem M’shmuel’s concern that this pride must be tempered
with
the reality check of our relative position to His.
	 That caveat not withstanding, Reb Moshe’s admonition to us to place Hashem
at the emotional core of our lives must be taken very seriously.  Perhaps
that is the
definition of the religious personality.  Reb Moshe quotes the verse in
Yirmiyahu, “Let
not the intelligent man glory in his wisdom, not the mighty in his power,
nor the rich in
his wealth, but let him who wants glory, glory in this, that he understands
and knows
Me.”  That is the message of our verse.  We must try to continue that
enthusiasm for
Hashem’s wonders begun at the shores of Yam Suf in our own world.
	 Reb Moshe concludes, “And someone who doesn’t feel pride in these ways, it
is because he doesn’t believe that Hashem is the most important thing in his
life.”  And
that’s sad.

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MEETING
by
Rabbi David Walk
	 This week’s parsh begins with the verse, “And Hashem spoke to Moshe, ‘Go
to Pharaoh, because I have hardened his heart and the hearts of his servants
in order
that I may place my signs in his midst.’”  Now this is a verse with issues.
I would like
to deal with just a couple of them, and to arrive at a couple of very
interesting
conclusions.
	 The most famous question asked about this verse is why the verb ‘bo’ (or
‘come’) is used for what clearly seems to require the verb ‘lech’ (or ‘go’).
   Before I
give an interpretation, I would like to point out that this is really a
non-question.  We
have already encounter this command verb in the previous two Torah readings.
   It does
seem to have the implication of ‘go’ in all instances.  Therefore, it must
be idiomatic
Biblical Hebrew to say, “Go!” with the word ‘bo’.  (We named our dog, of
blessed
memory, Beau.  So he must have had all sorts of problems with, “Stay,
Beau!”)  But
we’ve got all these commentaries giving their opinions about how to
understand it, so
whom am I to reject all these Torah thoughts.
	 Reb Yosef Bachur Shur, one of the Ba’alei Tosafot, is a literalist
commentary
who also asks this question.  He suggests that this usage “implies that I
(Hashem) am
going with you.”  That on this occasion Hashem accompanies Moshe for the
purpose
of hardening Pharaoh’s heart.  This encounter is significant for His resolve
to finish the
whole course of plagues.  If Pharaoh had relented earlier we might have had
fewer
plagues, thereby saving a lot of wine at our Pesach Seder.   Bachur Shur
says that the
first person form in the verb ‘shiti’ (I place) indicates a more direct
involvement of
Hashem in the process.  Therefore, we have a turning point in our drama.
	 Reb Aharon of Karlin in the Beit Aharon says on our verse that Pharaoh’s
name is a play on the word ‘oref’ or back of the neck.  This is that part of
the anatomy
which gets stiff and represents haughtiness and vanity.  So the Rebbe goes
on to say
that, therefore, Pharaoh is the embodiment of the ‘yetzer hara’ or evil
inclination.
One’s false grandeur is the source of our temptations.  When Hashem commands
Moshe to appear before Pharaoh it is to smash this yoke.  It is this yoke of
‘yetzer
hara’ which is the true bondage.  Then the Rebbe says that it is the heart
of Israel
which I hardened, that they endured this enslavement to the ‘yetzer hara’
Pharaoh.
	 The Karliner goes on to explain why this is necessary.  The ‘yetzer hara’
is
implanted in man for the purpose of giving man the enemy to combat.  Man is
supposed to spend his life guarding against and fighting this inclination.
The bondage
of Egypt is not only a template for all future Jewish history, but a
metaphor for the
personal struggles of every Jew.  This kind of personalization of national
destiny is
characteristic of much Chasidic Torah.  The Rebbe continues to explain that
the
description of God injecting His signs in ‘his’ midst at the end of the
verse, again refers
to Klal Yisroel.  When we fight this battle that’s when Hashem penetrates
our hearts.
Our closeness to Hashem derives from our alliance against this foe.  The
Rebbe says
the Hebrew word ‘otot’ or signs is related to binding (‘hitkashrut’ perhaps
this comes
from the binding of tefilin, which is called a sign).  The Rebbe concludes,
“When the
‘yetzer hatov’ (good inclination) overcomes the ‘yetzer hara’ then one is
bound to
Hashem more strongly than if one had no impediments.”
	 The second Gerrer Rebbe, Reb Yehuda Aryeh Leib Alter in his commentary the
S’fat Emet also sees Hashem hardening a heart other than Pharaoh’s.  He
begins with a
provocative idea.  The greatest wonder or miracle that emanates from Hashem
is the
ability of wicked people to perpetrate their evil.  Creating the universe
out of nothing is
a breeze for the Omnipotent, but ceding the right to act against Him is
remarkable.
Relinquishing power is unusual and difficult, therefore impressive.  Ask any
parent.
But this abetting evil is a travail and burdensome to Hashem.  The Rebbe
says that
concerning this Hashem is referred to as unfortunate or miserable.  The
hardening of
heart was for Moshe and the Jews who were to witness the obstinacy of
Pharaoh, but
should not lose hope.  Hashem says to Moshe that he is to go to Pharaoh
ultimately for
His signs and wonders to multiply.  Hashem allows disobedience but
eventually gains
the recognition and respect due Him.  We should be able to endure ‘hester
panim’
(God’s seeming disappearance from the historical landscape.), because we
must believe
that His glory will be revealed at the end of the separation.  This idea is
fundamental to
the exodus story.  Hashem could have redeemed Israel with one plague, but as
in the
creation of the world He did ten actions for the purpose of His further
involvement
with the righteous and the Jewish nation.  Therefore, the Rebbe concludes,
every
Jewish soul should know that Hashem is conducting the world’s affairs to the
best
advantage of Jews both individually and nationally.  That is the idea of our
verse and
the message of the redemption.
	 There is one more idea which I want to share with you. Reb Elimelech of
Lazhinsk in his book Noam Elimelech asks the same question with a couple of
twists
along the way.  He begins by asking why the language of coming instead of
the
language of going like everyone else.  But he goes on to add, and if Hashem
will
harden his heart, why go at all?  And he answers that even a wicked person
of the
magnitude of Pharaoh can be affected by the wonders of Hashem and the
interaction
with a Zadik like Moshe.  This affect, though, is very temporary.  However,
if this
action is repeated and becomes habitual even the evil may be positively
influenced.
This is the use of the term ‘bo’, which according to the Rebbe means a
continual
going.  The daily appearance of Moshe or His miracles may have this
cumulative affect
even on old Pharaoh.
	 Reb Elimelech than goes on to make two points.  The one I’m less interested
in
is about the position of the zadik in the world.  It is a major topic of
discussion
amongst Chasidim to inflate the importance of the official divine
representative or
rebbe.  Here in our verse the Rebbe uses the opportunity to describe the
role of Moshe
vis a vis Pharaoh  and compare it to the zadik in every generation.
	 But the Rebbe makes another point.  Rashi tells us that Moshe went to
Pharaoh
to “warn him.”  What is Rashi adding with this comment?  And the Rebbe
answers,
“Take hold of the following rule:  the Creator takes His pleasure in this,
to improve
and influence all of the worlds and all of the creatures.”  Hashem likes
helping us.  This
is an interesting contrast with the S’fat Emet who finds in our verse what
bothers
Hashem.  While the Noam Elimelech finds Hashem’s joy.  Keep going back to
Pharaoh
because he’s one of My creature’s and I want what’s best for him.  Hashem is
interested in spreading His influence both to those who deserve and those
who don’t.
The Rebbe then explains the term ‘niflaot’ (wonders or miracles) means those
actions
done to positively influence the deserving.  While the term ‘otot’ (signs)
is used to
denote the troubles and punishments brought to influence the evil.  So,
Rashi is
explaining this principle.  Moshe comes over and over again to warn Pharaoh,
because
Hashem wants what is best for him as well.
	 This meeting with Pharaoh has many affects both on him and on Moshe.  But
we are witnesses to this rendezvous for the purpose of learning our own
lessons.  We
can interpret the verse in many ways, but eventually, as with all verses,
our spiritual
baggage is the most important lesson.  We must learn what the interaction
between the
Biblical characters is teaching us.  Hashem is teaching us His deep concern
for every
creature, and we must act accordingly.  The most important message in our
verse is the
personal nature of Hashem and his plan.
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QUALIFICATIONS
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 In this week’s Torah reading there is a perplexing interlude.  The
narrative
continuity of the incipient redemption is interrupted to review Moshe
Rabbeinu’s
family tree.  Whenever this kind of disruption of story line takes place, we
must ask,
why?
	 Rashi explains that we’re told that Moshe and Aharon are commanded
concerning Pharaoh, but there’s no mention of what they were commanded.  The
elucidation of their agency is only given after the genealogy.  Rashi
states, “But since
Moshe and Aharon are mentioned, the matter is interrupted with, ‘These are
the heads
of the families...’  This is to teach us how they were born and to whom they
are
related.”  Very nice, except they have already been mentioned.  Why
recapitulate here?
	 I believe we’re being told that it is at this juncture that their mission
begins.
The story rewinds itself to announce, “Now let the proceedings begin.”
Until now
Moshe and Aharon are only relating to the Jews.  Starting from this point
they enter
the world stage.  The universal part of the program is being initiated.  The
prophecy
from the covenant made with Avraham Avinu, “and the nation that enslaves
them I will
also judge,” is now being fulfilled.  And with this is our entrance into
world history.
No longer a nomadic family, we are ready to play with the big boys now.
	 Having said that, we want to know who are these interlopers who challenge
Pharaoh?  Especially, we must discover who is Moshe.  Remember, Moshe grew
up in
the palace.  But now the formerly hidden and banished adoptee reemerges into
the light
of day in his true identity.  A son of Israel.
	 The commentaries find the genealogy curious.  Why begin with Reuven, if
we’re only interested in Moshe?  Some comment that we must establish his
relations
back to Ya’akov so that he may function as a king, only those who can trace
back that
far may reign.  Others say that we must give honor to those tribes who were
denigrated in the blessings given by Ya’akov Avinu.  Or perhaps to announce
that our
leader is no god, and not even a first born.  (The Kli Yakar posits that the
power of
Moshe derives from his being the third child of the third family of the
third tribe.  A
mystical strength based on the importance of the number three in Torah
precepts.  This
idea comes from a statement in masechet Shabbat 88a.  Based on the verse
which says,
“He came down on the third day.”  The Talmud concludes, “Blessed is Hashem
who
gave a triple Torah [Torah, Nevi’im, Ketuvim], to a triple nation [Cohering,
Levi’s,
Yisraelim], through a third born.”)  The position of Moshe was earned.  If
that is true,
what is it that Moshe did to deserve this honor?
	 There is a great story about Moshe Rabbeinu’s merit recorded in the
commentary Tifferet Yisrael on the Mishne.  “When Moshe brought the Jews out
from
Egypt ‘all the nations heard and trembled.’ And they wondered greatly
concerning this
man, Moshe, who by his hand so many miracles were wrought.  Therefore, one
Arabian king decided to send his royal artist to portray Moshe’s image and
bring it to
him.  When he brought back the picture, the king gathered all the occult
scholars of the
realm.  He asked them to analyze the physiognomy before them and reconstruct
all his
character traits for the purpose of discerning whence his power derive.
They came as a
group before the king and said, ‘If we were to report on this famous man as
portrayed
in this painting, we would have to declare that this is an extraordinarily
evil individual.
His traits include vanity, avarice, coldheartedness, in short all the
negative traits in the
world.’  The king exploded, ‘How can this be?!  Haven’t I heard from every
source
available the exact opposite of this?’  The gathered scholars trembled.  An
argument
broke out between the artist and the scholars each claiming the incompetence
of the
other.  The king who burned to know the truth, traveled to the camp of
Israel in the
desert.  He went with cavalry and chariots, and entered the camp.  Upon his
entry he
saw Moshe, the man of God, in the distance and rushed up to him pulling out
the
picture as he went.  And he looked exactly as portrayed in the drawing.  His
heart felt
faint, and he was overwhelmed by doubts.  He approached Moshe, bowed before
him,
and related all that had transpired.  He said, ‘At first I thought the
artist missed the true
image, but now I see he hit the mark, so it must be that my scholars have
failed me.’
But Moshe, the man of God, responded, ‘No, both your painter and your
scholars are
wonderful in their abilities.  But you should know, that if I were like my
true nature as
was describe to you, I’d be as useful as dry wood...I am not embarrassed to
tell you
that all the shortcomings and failings which were judged within me are all
connected to
my nature, and perhaps even more than they surmised.  And I, with great
strength,
have combated and defeated them, until I have acquired for myself an
opposite, second
nature.  And it’s for this very reason that I am respected both in heaven
above and
earth below.”
	 Well, there you have it.  Moshe Rabbeinu’s greatness of  character emerges
from his ability to conquer his will.  He is the living embodiment of the
Mishne, “Who
is the hero?  The conqueror of his will.”
	 But where did this relatively obscure and recent story come from?  What’s
it
based on?  This answer seems fine, but why should it supersede other more
famous
reasons clearly based on the text.  For example:  his training as a shepherd
prepared
him for the mission, his honesty in grazing on unowned land in the desert
made him fit,
his abrupt defense of his fellow Jew from the Egyptian taskmaster showed his
worthiness, his growing up in the palace paved the way for him to be a regal
leader
without a ‘slave mentality,’  All these and others are clearly based on
verses, as
opposed to our speculative tale.
	 Perhaps we can find the answer by looking at the end of the genealogy.
Before
we return to the story line of Moshe audaciously approaching Pharaoh with
his
demand, we have the famous demurral of Moshe that he has a speech
impediment.  It’s
unimportant now what the defect was.  What is important is that he isn’t a
‘man of
words.’  For whatever reason Moshe is a person incapable of communicating
with the
spoken word.
	 Now look at the end of Moshe’s career.  Moshe’s valedictory address, called
the book of D’varim (words), begins, “These are the words spoken by Moshe to
all
Israel.”  Moshe is both speaking and authoring the material.  Where is the
tongue tied
Moshe of our parsha?  He has transformed himself through sheer strength of
character.
The man of no words becomes the eloquent orator.  There’s our support for
the
position that the greatness of Moshe derived from his conquering himself.
His whole
career testifies to this achievement.
	 What better legacy to his flock than the message of triumph over
shortcomings.
What better lesson to us.  All the statements about Moshe’s leadership
training are
true, but the true measure of the man is his building himself.

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LOWLY
by
Rabbi David Walk

	 There is a well known story about a wealthy chasid who lost all his
fortune.  As
time went on he got poorer and poorer.  Eventually when on a begging trip
all his
clothes were stolen, and he awoke to the world with nothing but his
underwear.  He
jumped up and started singing and dancing with joyful enthusiasm.  Another
chasid
observed this phenomenon, and couldn’t control his curiosity.  “Reb Yid,
what are you
so happy about?” he burst out to his cavorting colleague.  “Can’t you tell?
I’ve
reached the absolute bottom.  There’s no place to go but up, B”H!”
	 There seems to be a certain mystical charm to humble circumstances.  This
idea
finds support in this week’s Torah reading.  When Moshe Rabbeinu first
encounters
Hashem it is in the ‘sneh’ or bramble bush.  God first appears to His
greatest agent in
the most miserable of vegetation.  Again, we see the advancement of modest
surroundings.  But what is the message?
	 There are many comments on this from our sages.  R. Shimon bar Yochai said,
“Just as the bramble is the toughest of all trees, and a bird who enters
gets cut up by
the thorns, so, too, is the bondage in Egypt the toughest on earth.”  R.
Elazar said,
“Even though Hashem could speak to them from the highest of mountains, He
lowered
Himself to speak from the thorn bush, the lowest of trees.”  R. Yehoshua
said, “He
spoke from the bramble because all the time the Jews were immersed in
suffering, He,
too, was suffering.”  R. Yossi said, “He spoke from the bramble because it
is pure
since no gentiles worship it.”  R. Pinchas said, “The slavery was like the
bramble.  One
can put a hand into the bush without feeling it, but when one tries to
extricate the hand
it gets all cut up.”  R. Eliezer said, “Just as the bramble is the lowest of
all trees, so,
too, the Jews had sunk to the lowest spiritual level.”
	 But my favorite is, “A gentile asked Reb Yehoshua ben Korcha, “What was
Hashem thinking that He decided to speak to Moshe from a thorn bush?’  R.
Yehoshua
responded, ‘If He had spoken from a carob tree or sycamore, you would have
asked
me just the same. But why in the bramble, to teach that there is no place
empty of the
Divine Presence.’”  Even the gentile is expected to understand that there is
neither
shortage of questions nor, for that matter, shortage of answers.
	 So, the thorn bush can symbolize whatever you want.  It represents the
toughness of Egypt, the degradation of Israel, the purity of Hashem’s
messengers, the
empathy of Hashem, or the omnipresence of Hashem.  We see many ideas gleaned
from one image.  In a world of ‘these and those are the words of the Living
God,’ one
can find the approach which best speaks to his psyche or his needs.  I’d
like to take a
look at two approaches which I think speak to real issues affecting us all.
	 The Noam Elimelech, Reb Elimelech of Lizhinsk, explains that when Hashem
appeared in the flame within the sneh, “It seems to be interpreted that the
root of the
idea is man himself.  That everyone must break his negative characteristics,
like hatred,
jealousy, vanity, lust, greed and the like, and repair his reprehensible
attributes.  That
from the midst of this endeavor one may come to a great status of enthusiasm
and
devotion in his divine service.  That’s ‘the flame in the midst of the
bramble’, departure
from one’s shortcoming’s, which are like thorns, delivers one to high
levels.”
	 The Rebbe is emphasizing the use of the term ‘m’toch’ that ‘out of the
midst’
of adversity emerges something new.  The image becomes a metaphor for the
redemption process.  In the context it introduces the exodus from Egypt; to
the Rebbe
it speaks to each individual.
	 Reb Elimelech goes on to explain that ‘the bush is not consumed’ means that
these negative aspects are not separated from us to be burned completely.
Moshe
Rabbeinu ‘turns aside’ to observe this phenomenon.  That means Moshe assumed
that
to achieve spiritual success there must be a complete departure from these
traits.  But
he’s wrong.  There is no ‘biur’ of the sneh.  I explained in a previous
article (‘Search’
for the Ten Days of Penitence) that the term ‘biur’ means to seek out for
destruction
and eradication.  We don’t eradicate our negative traits we continually must
overcome
them.  Only in Messianic times will we be free of these impediments.  Even
redemption
in this world is partial.
	 Moshe, the soon to be freed Jewish nation, and us are being informed that
it’s
impossible to depart completely from ourselves.  The Rebbe concludes,
“Rather, you
must understand the necessity to contend continually wherever there is any
physical
impediment and to sanctify that very object.”  We must extend spirituality
to all our
blemishes.
	 The Shem M’Shmuel, Reb Shmuel Hacohen from Radomsk, points out there’s
an argument in the midrash over which angel appeared in the sneh.  Rebbe
Yochanan
says it was Micha-el, and Rebbe Chanina says it was Gavriel.  Micha-el sits
at the right
side of Hashem and represents grace and mercy.  Gavriel sits on the left of
the divine
throne in the seat of justice.  What attribute of Hashem precipitated the
redemptive
process in Egypt?  Justice or Mercy.  An interesting question, never
answered by the
Rebbe.  But in another comment I believe an approach emerges.
	 Reb Shmuel comments on the midrash which states, “’Just as the bramble is
the
lowest of trees, so, too, Israel were lowly and oppressed in Egypt.
Therefore He
appeared to them and redeemed them.’  The use of the term therefore is
incomprehensible.”  The Rebbe then goes on to describe the Talmud in Rosh
Hashanah
(31b) which lists the ten exiles of the Sanhedrin from Jerusalem.  The
travelogue
concludes in Tiberias (T’veriah).  The Talmud comments that T’veriah is the
deepest
of them all.  Now this is in fact a pun, but true.  T’veriah is the only
Sanhedrin seat
which is below sea level.  But the depth of T’veriah is obviously a
spiritual statement.
It was in T’veriah that the Jerusalem Talmud was composed (Where else to
write the
Jerusalem Talmud?), but it was in T’veriah that the Sanhedrin was disbanded.
   This
august body reached its nadir in T’veriah.  Rashi on the spot explains
‘deep’ as ‘lowly’.
But the Talmud goes on to cite the position of Rebbe Yochanan, “And from
there it
will in the future be redeemed.”  (I once heard Rabbi Schrader say that is
why the
Rambam wanted to be buried in T’veriah.  So, he could in the future be
present at the
Sanhedrin’s reconstitution.)
	 The Rebbe then cites a midrash on our parsha, “That our souls lay prostate
in
the dust.  At that moment Hashem rose to assist us.”  The lowly state was a
precursor
of redemption.  The Rebbe saying that the therefore is logical.  One leads
to the other.
I think we can understand the Rebbe’s attitude to the argument about the
angels.  The
redemption is an act of grace.  Our situation generated Divine mercy,
Micha-el.
	 Down and out is not an enviable situation, but it should not result in
despair.
From our opening story through all the interpretations I’ve brought, we must
accept
our challenges with the strength of faith that Hashem’s salvation is on the
way.  There
are so many ways of dealing with the sneh, but they all lead to the same
conclusion:
We are never abandoned.
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This week we finish the book of Breishit and the lives of
Ya'akov and Yosef. The parsha highlights both demises, but
especially Ya'akov's. Our ultimate patriarch has the most
impressive departure of any Biblical character. The text is
apparently letting us know that his death is not without
continuity. Our Sages express this idea by stating that he
didn't die. Ya'akov expressed this idea by saying, "Let me
tell you what will happen at the end of days." Which we
understand to mean the era of Mashiach.

The midrashic translation of Ya'akov Avinu's statement by R.
Yonatan ben Uziel expands on the idea, "I will reveal to you
closed secrets and final concealments, the rewards of the
righteous and the punishments of the wicked, and the
pleasures of Paradise. The twelve tribes will gather as one
and lounge upon golden couches and the glory of the Divine
Presence will be revealed. The end of the future will be the
King Mashiach, who will be enthroned. And I will tell you
what will happen to each of you at the end of days."

This statement by Ya'akov is not without controversy.
Immediately following this momentous announcement come the
blessings for each son. So, many commentaries ask what
happened to the great prophecy. What's the time and place of
this event? The Midrash deals with the problem by explaining
that 'shechina' or divine presence was withdrawn from
Ya'akov for various reasons, and he, therefore, never gave
the predictions. However, the literalists say that the
blessings
were the prophecy of what will be at the end of days. This
especially fits in with the midrashic translation cited
above, "and I will reveal to you what will happen to each of
you." The Rashbam says the revelation is of "their bravery
and their portion." While the Ibn Ezra says all we have are
the prophecies about the tribes; it's the blessings which
are not recorded.

I am of the opinion that what we have before us is what
Ya'akov meant by 'the end of days'. Or, perhaps, we should
say 'the end of history as we know it'. These descriptive
reports about the tribes are prophecy. Remember, prophecies
by their nature are not so much predictions as
communications which demand action on our part. The Biblical
book with the most predictions is Daniel which is in K'tuvim
(Writings or Hagiographia) not Nevi'im (Prophets). Prophets
are spiritual guides not fortune tellers. There is one verse
in the section addressed to Dan which perfectly fits this
category of looking toward the future through religious
instruction.

In chapter XLIX verse 18, Ya'akov says to Dan, "For your
salvation I hope, Hashem." The most popular approach to
understanding the verse is to relate it to Shimshon the
great hero of the tribe of Dan. That this is a prediction of
the great victories which he contributed to Jewish history.
Others amend that to say the verse is in contradistinction
to Shimshon, because his salvation was temporary and we
really hope for the eternal salvation.

I would like to make two other comments on the 'salvation'
issue. We Jews are not a very dogmatic group. There are very
few ideas to which nonsubscription would brand one a
heretic. But I believe that one of them is not believing in
a final salvation or climax to this enterprise called human
history. The S'mak (Sefer Mitzvot K'tanot, Reb Yitzchak of
Corville, one of the Ba'alei Tosfot) says this idea most
forcefully, "That one should know that the Creator of the
heavens and the earth, He alone rules on high and
below...and He took us out from Egypt...and connected to
this idea is the fact that after one's death he will be
asked, 'Did you anticipate the salvation?' Where is this
mitzvah written?... The First of the ten commandments really
means the following: Just as I expect you to believe that I
redeemed you from Egypt so, too, I demand that you believe
that in the future I will gather you up and save you." We
hope, pray for, and anticipate the salvation. The format is
not important; the fact is critical.

Also, we are being instructed to hope for Hashem's salvation
not our own. I have no idea what the this messianic or
salvation era will be like, and am not overly interested in
speculating about it. I want this period to fulfill His
specifications not any human's. I may want this event to
save me from my own petty problems, but I yearn for it to
manifest the glory of Hashem.

There is just one more issue I want to address. What is
meant by 'hope'? Both in our verse and in our daily prayers
we claim that we 'hope' for the salvation. Besides being the
thing with feathers, what is 'hope'? The Midrash (B'reishit
Raba chapter 98) compounds the problem by emphasizing the
importance of 'hope': R. Yitzchak said, "Everything depends
upon hope. Suffering depends upon hope. Sanctification of
God's name depends upon hope. Merit of the Patriarchs
depends upon hope. One's desire for the world to come
depends upon hope...Divine grace depends upon
hope...Forgiveness depends upon hope."

Whence this awesome power and control over human destiny?
The Netivot Shalom says, "The essence of hope is the secret
of redemption. That by means of hoping for the salvation
daily, and anticipating its arrival we draw the redemption
near."

I believe that we can alleviate the conundrum by a closer
analysis of the word. The Hebrew for hope is 'tikva', and
that's the name of the Israeli national anthem. The root of
the word seems related to the noun 'kav' which means line,
and is usually used to describe a set amount or distance.
This word figures prominently in a difficult verse in Isaiah
(XXVI:10 & 13) where it is paralleled to the word 'tzav'
which means command. The Ibn Ezra gives the most literal
approach to understanding the words. 'Tzav' are the commands
a father instructs a child, while 'kav' are the lines used
to form letters when the child learns to write. The Aramaic
translation of the verse explains that 'tzav' refers to
material from the Torah, and 'kav' refers to information
derived from prophets. Many commentaries elucidate that
'kav' is the word for the lines or ropes used by builders to
measure their work. In this scenario, 'tzav' means the
specific instructions given by parent to child or God to us.
While 'kav' is the measuring and figuring how to carry out
those instructions. We have to measure and adjust to fit all
the instructions into a coherent whole (The Metzudot David
applies this to the rabbinical decrees promulgated to guard
mitzvah observance.).

Perhaps, therefore, hope in our context is not a passive
longing. We are discussing, continually calibrating and
adjusting to facilitate the redemption. What are we
measuring? The distance from here to there? I believe we
must continually gauge ourselves. How do I fit the
redemption specifications? The Netivot Shalom quotes the
Talmud in Sanhedrin 98a that if we are worthy the final
redemption can be brought forward, and if we're not worthy
it will come in its set time. The Rebbe then goes on to say
hoping is the means for bringing it closer. The continual
gauging of ourselves and the requirements affect positively
the data.

We must have this positive outlook of always hoping and
anticipating the redemption, both personally and nationally
(the Maharal M'Prague says there is an obligation to believe
in personal redemption). But ultimately the demand is a
continual assessment of ourselves. Do we measure up?

This week's Torah reading begins with the climactic
encounter between Yosef and Yehuda. This meeting symbolizes
a historic rivalry between these two heroic protagonists.
Throughout all Jewish history this competition continues.

Beginning with themselves but continuing with their progeny
the Kings of Israel (the Northern Kingdom of Efrayim or
Yosef) and Yehuda, and extending into the future contest
between the Mashiach ben Yosef and the Mashiach ben David
(or Yehuda), it is the recurring motif of our destiny.  I
would like to try to understand with you the implications of
this constant theme.

In my article for Channuka I introduced this topic by
explaining that Yosef represents the steadfast zadik and
Yehuda the forthright ba'al teshuva. Here in Vayigash Yehuda
confronts Yosef, toe to toe.  The nomadic shepherd faces off
against the viceroy of the world's greatest power.  The very
term 'Vayigash' means rendezvous for 1) appeasement, 2)
justice, or 3) war.  The Midrash emphasizes the superior
strength and confidence of Yehuda in this showdown.
According to our traditional sources, he is willing to
challenge and defeat Yosef, if necessary, to save Binyamin
(In one version, Yehuda would have immediately destroyed
Egypt except for the fact that it would have been bad for
the rest of the world which depended on Egypt).  Our Sages
were not reporting on the military balance of power.

There is a clear idea in the minds of Chazal that Yehuda
always beats Yosef. This emerges not only from an analyses
of our text but also from a historical view of their roles.
Even in the blessings given by Ya'akov before his death,
although Yosef receives the double portion (for his sons
Menashe and Efrayim) the future scepter of leadership goes
to Yehuda.  The king and, ultimately, the Mashiach emerge
from Yehuda. So, it's clear to the religious observer that
he must be the stronger.  But, why?  What is there about the
Yehuda/David character that trumps the Yosef/Efrayim
personality?

The immediate response would tend to be the famous statement
from the Talmud in masechet B'rachot 34b, "R. Abahu said,
"The place where ba'alei teshuva stand, totally righteous do
not stand.'"  Of course, as so often happens, we've traded
one question for another.  Why does it appear that the
penitent is superior to the zadik?  There are popular
answers that the teshuva process forges a new and stronger
individual.  Like a furnace burns a stronger product, or, in
medicine, the healed break of a bone is stronger than the
original.  All these ideas are attractive. We are in awe of
the strength of someone who arises from the ashes.

In Mei Hashiloach, the Izbitzer develops another approach.
He begins with the verse from Shmuel II XXIII, 3, "The God
of Yisrael said to me, the Rock of Yisrael spoke, 'Rule over
the righteous man, rule over the God fearer.'"  Kind David
is instructed to reign over the zadik, because nothing
stands in the way of teshuva. Where does he get this power?
The Rebbe says from his ability to overcome the stumbling
block.  When a person has fallen the natural tendency is to
stay down, to give up.  This despair is the greatest
obstacle to progress and recovery. Defeat of despair
ennobles, and gives the moral authority over, not only those
who never recovered, but also over those who never fell, the
zadik.  This gives hope to the world. This is the sovereign
who can bring salvation.  The world can emerge into a new
age. Just as he did.  The zadik is stasis; the ba'al teshuva
is progress.

We could end now, satisfied with that response.  However,
not everyone is pleased with this approach.  There are many
who protest that the purity of the zadik remains superior to
the bleaching of the ba'al teshuva.  For instance, the
Kedushat Levi, Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, says, "The
ba'al teshuva referred to here is not someone who sinned and
repented, rather one who is in constant awe of Him and
greatly fears sin.  This individual does not fear the
punishment, but doesn't want to resist the Divine will.
Therefore, he always is concerned lest he sinned, God
forbid. So, he is always doing teshuva to strengthen his
divine service in love and fear."

The S'fat Emet, Reb Yehuda Aryeh Leb Alter of Gur, comments
on this idea, "This ba'al teshuva is not one who has sinned
and repented.  Instead it is one who involves himself with
teshuva for the purpose of awakening others to repent."
There is resistance in may quarters to the idea that
rehabilitated can ever outshine the never soiled.  So, we
return to our initial question:  Why is Yehuda superior to
Yosef?

There is another attribute which Yehuda displays in our
scenario.  He is the 'arev'. Yehuda becomes the guarantor
for the safety of Binyomin.  Yehuda convinced Ya'akov Avinu
to send Binyamin down to Egypt with the other sons to
replenish their dwindling supplies by declaring himself the
guarantor for him.  According to the Tifferet Shlomo, Reb
Shlomo Hacohen of Radomsk, this appealed to Ya'akov because
he identified with the idea.  Ya'akov was the inventor of
evening services in which we state that Hashem is the
'ma'ariv aravim'.  This literally means 'Who brings the
evening', but the words can also be a pun, 'Who acts as
guarantor'.  In the growing darkness we find solace in the
divine guarantee. Ya'akov was moved by this declaration, and
so was Yosef.

In our parsha, the plea of Yehuda climaxes in the statement
that he has become the surety for Binyamin.  It is at that
moment Yosef can no longer contain himself. Yehuda has
convinced Yosef, because he has repented (yes, he's still
the ba'al teshuva) for the sin of selling Yosef.  Now,
Yehuda isn't the agent peddling his brother to strangers;
he's willing to die to save his brother from strangers.

What is this power of 'arev'?  Yehuda himself explains the
concept.  Yehuda declares that he is in place of the youth.
How does that work?  How can one be the stead of another?
The word 'arev' itself gives some guidance.  The root is
related to the word for mixing. An 'arev' has intertwined
his destiny with that of another.  We are told that all Jews
are guarantors for each other, because of our common destiny
we are all spiritually connected to one another.  Our souls
overlap.  We find strength in this mutuality which increases
with concerned proximity.

Now, I believe, we can understand the roles of Yosef and
Yehuda.  Yosef as the zadik is the great role model and
guide to spiritual growth.  Yehuda cares about every Jew.
The Mei Shiloach suggests that only Yehuda could be the
'arev' because our Sages (Yevamot 119b) admonish us to
distance ourselves from 'arevut' (perhaps, because to join
another we may be turning a bit from Hashem, a compromise of
our God centered universe).  Yosef can't compromise on his
purity, while Yehuda knows the other's need.  He's been
there.  So, Yosef is the mashiach who shows the way and
precedes the final events, and Yehuda is the leader who
ushers in the new era.  We need a leader, king who
empathizes.

The rest of us, on the other hand, are not paradigms of any
particular position or trait. We only represent ourselves,
and muddle through as best we can. We must emulate the
purity of Yosef and the empathy of Yehuda, depending upon
which is pertinent.  May Hashem grant us the wisdom to
recognize which is appropriate and the strength to
accomplish it.

Months have individuality. From ancient times until today, specific
months conjure up images in the soul of man. The words "a deep and
dark December" or "June is busting out all over" don't only remind us
of songs, but of personal memories of these time frames. Few can hear
the name of a month without an outpouring of vivid scenes from the
treasury of our mind. The Zodiac is a metaphor calling up our
experiences with the unique characteristics of the months in question.
In Judaism as well this reality has inspired our sages to seek
spiritual meaning in the months

Every regular shul goer has heard rabbis sermonize the nature of
months. Nissan is the month miracles and renaissance both in our
history and in the emerging spring outdoors. Tishrei is the time for
weighing our souls as well as our harvest. When we are told (Ta'anit
29a) to be increasingly joyous in Adar or decreasingly in Av, can't we
correlate that with meteorology as well as Jewish history? We should
feel a consonance between our tradition and our season. What I would
like to do in this essay is explain the special significance of Tevet
and its special relationship with the holiday of Chanukah with which
it coincides

In the mystical work Sefer Hayetzira, each month is characterized
(crowned) by a letter. The letter that adorns Tevet is ayin. According
to the Pri Zadik (Reb Zadok M'Lublin, 1823-1900) the rosh hodesh for
Tevet is specifically during Chanukah so that the light of our
chanukiah will illuminate the rest of this the darkest of months

(The normal idea of darkness of Tevet, of course, is because of the
winter solstice, but the midrash records a position that the plague of
darkness in Egypt took place in Tevet, and that there was a three day
darkness during the Greek persecution, reflecting the 'darkness' of
Greek scholarship.) So, according to this interpretation Reb Zadok is
saying that the ayin (not only a letter but also the Hebrew word for
'eye') is a pun for our eyes utilizing this light throughout the month

But we need not search out esoteric sources for rabbinical concepts
about the months

There is a very prosaic source. In the musaf service for Rosh Hodesh
all the months are alluded to when we say, "This month should be for
us: for goodness, for blessing, for joy, for happiness, for salvation,
for comfort, for livelihood, for sustenance, for good life, for peace
(completion), for pardon of sin, and forgiveness of iniquity"

(We veteran daveners know that there is a thirteenth expression for
the extra month of the leap or intercalated year. This thirteenth is
'atonement for transgress.' The reason for extra forgiveness in a leap
year is because rosh hodesh is 'a time of forgiveness for all
generations' therefore extra rosh hodesh, extra forgiveness. According
to the commentary on prayer of the Anaf Yosef, we should say this
addition throughout the year, but the custom has developed to only say
it until Adar II, because (1) we should see that it refers to that
extra month and (2) to remind us that there is an Adar II)

Now that we understand that these twelve blessings each refer to a
specific month, all we have to do is count to ten to find the term
referring to Tevet (of course, this numbering system follows the
Torah's method of counting from Nissan). So, now we must deal with the
issue of why peace or, better, completion is most appropriate for
Tevet

First we must understand what is meant by 'shleimut' - completion. In
Judaism we usually understand shleimut as the merging of two disparate
items to form a unity. This idea of course exists in peace where
warring sides voluntarily or otherwise discard their differences, and
come together. But the most striking example of completion is
marriage. The two different or even opposite parties complement each
other. (I think this idea is self-evident, but it is seen clearly in
the Maharal of Prague in Netivot Olam, Netiv Shalom, Chapter I) So,
now the critical question is: what complementary parts are fused at
rosh hodesh Tevet? Rosh Hodesh Tevet is the only occasion in the
calendar when two sanctified events are coincidental (There are two
other times when this seems to happen, but I'll take a minute to
explain why they're different. Rosh Hashanah is another form of rosh
hodesh and absorbs it, rather than combines with it. And holidays
falling on Shabbat don't count, because Shabbat is not considered a
calendar event. Shabbat is extra-calendrical following its own
schedule independent of the Sanhedrin set calendar.). At this juncture
we must consider what are the differing natures of these two events

Rosh Hodesh happens so regularly and, sadly, is observed so
perfunctorily that few really think about what we're commemorating. We
are first and foremost celebrating man's God given ability to sanctify
time. Shabbat is of course sanctified by Hashem; we merely acknowledge
that fact. But holidays receive their sanctity from our efforts (This
idea is expressed in the blessing recited in the amida for these days.
On Shabbat we say, "Who has sanctified the Shabbat." On Yom Tov we
say, "Who has sanctified Israel and these times." The sanctity of
these occasions is generated by us.). This idea is embodied in the
very first mitzva given to the Jewish nation before leaving Egypt

"This month is to you the first of months," is the injunction for us
to proclaim certain times holy. That extremely important concept is
equally true of all events generated by the calendar, but each has, as
well, a unique aspect

The unique aspect of each day is expressed in the Psalm for that day.
Holidays have an additional Psalm to proclaim the message of the day
(The Vilna Gaon propounded the custom that each day is so individual
that only one Psalm may be recited for this purpose on any given
day.). The Daily Psalm for Rosh Hodesh is Psalm CIV. To explain the
message of this Psalm, I quote from the Mosad Harav Kook commentary on
Psalms (by Amos Chacham): "The Psalmist is observing the world and its
fullness with open eyes, and he is overflowing with emotion as he is
acted upon by the beauty he recognizes wherever he gazes. These
emotions bring the Psalmist to extol the Creator and his wisdom as it
is revealed daily in the phenomena of nature." Clearly, on Rosh Hodesh
we are supposed to see God in nature through the renewal of the moon
(This renewal concept also is the source of Rosh Hodesh being a time
for t'shuva, which is spiritual renewal.)

If Rosh Hodesh is nature, then what is Chanukah? This is made easy by
our sages in the prayers they assign to Chanukah. The second blessing
on the candles is: "Who has made miracles." The one liturgical
composition for Chanukah is 'Al Hanisim,' concerning the miracles. The
description of the events of Chanukah is always an emphasis on the
miraculous aspects, whether describing the oil or the war ('many in
the hands of the few, strong in the hands of the weak'). So, Chanukah
represents the supernatural

Now we can answer the central question: What is the unification which
makes the 'shleimut' of Tevet? This is the one day of the year which
best expresses the merging of the natural with the supernatural. We
must see Hashem in all corners of our existence, those which we can
understand and those beyond our ken. Our awe of Hashem must stem from
a beautiful sunset and the splitting of the Red Sea, the renewal of
the moon and the power of the oil. (I just want to mention as an aside
that others feel the unity formed by Rosh Hodesh and Chanukah is the
combination of Torah she'ba'al peh, represented by the rabbinical
commandment of Chanukah, and Torah she'b'chtav, in Rosh Hodesh the
first Biblical commandment to Israel.) We humans are both an amazing
natural creation and a being who reaches beyond to the supernatural
and the metaphysical. We must combine these aspects in our lives. As
we see from the metaphor of Jacob's ladder, we must live our lives
"firmly planted on the ground, head's reaching heavenward." The
coincidence of Chanukah and Rosh Hodesh Tevet teaches us this idea of
the complement of natural and supernatural aspects

In our deepest darkness of the year we must see with the ayin (eye) of
Tevet. We must see Hashem all around us, and celebrate this presence.
I wish everyone the most joyous Chanukah in the company and
illumination of their loved ones, including the Ribono shel Olam

The Torah readings, V'yeishev, Miketz, and V'yigash,
which fall out on or
around Channuka every year describe a series of
incidents usually referred
to as the Joseph stories.  I believe that a more
appropriate name would be
the 'rivalry', because the overriding theme is not the
ascendance of Joseph
but the competition between him and Yehuda.  This clash
comes to a climax in
parshat V'yigash, but we already see a clear attempt to
compare these
characters in parshat V'yeishev.

The first parsha relates the sale of Joseph, however
immediately after the
sale but before his arrival in Egypt the narrative is
interrupted with a
story about Yehuda.  Now, one might think that this
interruption is based
upon chronology, but one would be wrong.  The Ibn Ezra
goes into great
detail describing how these events surrounding Yehuda
predated the entire
sale and exile of Joseph.  As a matter of fact, this is
one of the famous
examples of the principle of 'ein mukdam um'uchar
b'Torah' (Literally,
'there is no before and after in the Torah').  This
idea that there is no
chronology in Torah chronicles is not strictly true,
because the Torah does
follow a rough chronology.  The concept is that the
Torah will sacrifice
time sequence for other issues.  So, whenever this time
twisting takes place
we must ask what issue demanded it.

So, if this account of Yehuda's family affairs is
inserted here, there must
be a reason.  It would seem that the purpose is to
compare the behavior and
character of these two heroes.  The tales do have a
common thread.  Both
Yehuda and Joseph are confronted with temptation.
Joseph encounters the
attempted seduction of Potiphar's wife, and Yehuda
meets the harlot (really
a disguised Tamar, his daughter in law) along his
travel route.  We know of
Joseph's great spiritual strength, but less is made of
Yehuda's momentary
weakness.  The Yehuda story ends with his grand gesture
of teshuva.  When
Tamar is to be executed for becoming pregnant while
betrothed (in a levirate
wife or 'yibum' relationship) to the minor son of
Yehuda, Yehuda stands tall
and admits her spiritual superiority and his failure.

We, therefore, have the depiction of their normative
portraits.  Joseph is
the steadfast zadik; Yehuda is the forthright ba'al
teshuva.  And those are
their historical roles.  In a future article I will
IY"H further explore
these roles, but for here it is sufficient to say that
these clashing
characters are of historical importance.  Joseph
eventually assumes the
mantle of the failed messiah (Mashiach ben Yosef) who
paves the way for the
successful Mashiach ben David (who is really Yehuda).
The zadik is role
model for the ba'al teshuva.  Now, we're ready to
examine a Chanukka
dilemma.

The Talmud in masechet Shabbat 21b, after a brief
account of the miracle of
the oil, states:  "In another year they established and
made these days a
holiday for praise (hallel) and thanksgiving (hoda'a)."
So, what is
'praise'
and what is 'thanksgiving'?  Rashi on the spot explains
that the former
means the recitation of the Hallel psalms and the
latter refers to inserting
'al hanissim' in shmoneh esreh and grace after meals.
Fine, but what are
these two requirements of praising and thanking Hashem?
There is no
prohibition of work so the entire holiday framework
depends upon
thanksgiving and praise.

There are a number of comments by the S'fat Emet on
these two terms.  The
Rebbe suggests that 'hallel' is a reaction to a miracle
of obvious
dimensions to all who witness.  While 'hoda'a' is a
response to a perilous
situation from which one is extricated.  Channuka has
both aspects.  The war
against the Helenists was salvation from immanent
destruction.  While the
miracle of the oil was of the great wonder variety.
Channuka is, therefore,
unique in this dual requirement.

The Rebbe further posits that Channuka requires these
spiritual
declarations rather than obligatory meals and joy,
because the threat to the
Jews was primarily spiritual.  We were threatened for
our mitzva peformance.
Likewise, the courage and sacrifice was for the right
to keep Torah and
mitzvot.

Another idea in the S'fat Emet is that there were two
different issues with
which to relate.  We praise Hashem for his destruction
of the Greek
oppressors who tried to benight us.  We must also gives
thanks for the holy
enlightenment that we received.  It was only with the
Jews return to
religious norms that we realized how much we owed to
Hashem.

As interesting as these explanations of the dichotomy
between these terms
are the real reason I'm interested in the S'fat Emet is
another idea
altogether.  The Rebbe explains that the term 'hallel'
implies light and
happiness.  While the term 'hoda'a' connotes awe and
submission.  These two
terms therefore describe the different Jews
experiencing the Channuka
miracle.  In his words, "That there were definitely
righteous men who
suffered greatly at the hands of these harsh decrees of
the wicked Greeks,
and they were greatly satisfied by their salvation.
But there were also
people who were unable to overcome the trials and they
forget the good path,
nevertheless, afterwards when the wicked were
destroyed, and the banner of
the righteous was again raised they were all accepted
back in to the fold by
Hashem."  This is why the Talmud says that it was in
another year that the
miracle was established as such a great holiday.  It
took time to reabsorb
those who had strayed, and in retrospect the magnitude
of the salvation was
clear to all.

The Rebbe then says in the name of his grandfather, the
Chidushei Harim,
that the righteous 'hallel' Jews have the aspect of
Joseph, the Zadik.
While the ba'alei teshuva 'hoda'a' Jews are in the mold
of Yehuda.  The
zadik is always in contact with Hashem in a way that
can be understood as
praise.  What greater praise for hashem then perpetual
following of His
dicta?  But the penitent has to become aware of Hashem.
That is hinted at
in the word 'hoda'a' which means acknowledge as well as
thanks.  This was a
war for 'hearts and minds', and we initially were
losing out to the
Hellenist ideology.  The light of Channuka dispels the
darkness of Greece.
The ultimate victory was spiritual not military (in
reality, although we had
great battlefield successes, we lost the war).

The Rebbe refers to the two heroes, Joseph and Yehuda,
as 'my sword and my
bow (Genesis XLVIII:22).  There are those who have the
strength of character
to fight face to face and are represented as the sword
of Hashem.  While
there are those who are the long range threat
symbolized by the bow and
arrow.  Joseph is that constant in your face warrior,
and Yehuda surveys the
scene.  Channuka also had those who immediately saw the
threat and acted,
but a great segment of the population only saw the
danger in retrospect.

As we commemorate the Channuka events by reciting
hallel and hoda'a we must
internalize the message.  We must activate the Joseph
and Yehuda aspects
present in us all.  Our world also presents challenges
to our Torah
observance.  We must learn from the examples of our
ancestors to be as
strong in the face of these dangers, and be ready to
admit our mistakes in
this kulturekampf.  It is necessary to resist the
negatives in our
environment, and, also, step back and get a proper
perspective of our
history, our present condition, and our selves.  A
happy and meaningful
Channuka to us all.

This week's Torah reading begins with Ya'akov Avinu sending messengers to
his brother Esav.  The word used to describe these emissaries is 'malachim'.
This word can be rendered as 'angels' or 'messengers'.  Rashi immediately
weighs in with the opinion that these are angels, 'mamesh' (the real thing).
I'd like to discuss the nature of angels and, then, why it was so important
that this mission be performed by them.

A traditional Jewish discussion of angels most logically begins with the
famous argument between Maimonides and Nachmonides.  The Rambam in his Guide
for the Perplexed describes the character of angels at great length.  He
begins (in Part II Chapter 6) by saying that the existence of angels is to
be taken for granted based upon the frequency of their mention in both
Biblical and Rabbinical texts.  After describing the many terms used to
depict angels, the Rambam explains that they are incorporeal.  Their purpose
is to be the agents of Hashem's will.  They are identical to the task they
are to perform.  "Every day God creates a legion of angels, they sing before
Him, and then disappear.(B'reishit Raba 78)"

Now since angels are without all physical form and are only the action or
intent of the sender, they can not be perceived by man's senses.  So,
whenever we have a story in which a person 'sees' an angel, according to the
Rambam this is a prophetic vision.  This visions tend to be in dreams (with,
of course, the notable exception of Moshe Rabbeinu).  Therefore the
encounters of the Avot, Lot, Bilaam, etc. with angels were all while they
were asleep.

It is this last point which the Ramban attacks.  In a famous comment on
B'reishit XVIII:1, he describes the angels coming to visit Avraham Avinu
while he was recuperating from his circumcision.  According to the Ramban
these angels took on physical form and pretended to eat.  He explains that
this was a normal method for angels on a mission to this world.  Nachmonides
then specificaly questions the Rambam's position by asking how could Ya'akov
Avinu come away limping from an encounter with an angel if it was just a
vision.  He furthers wants to know how these encounters can be prophetic if
many people who experience them are never counted elsewhere as prophets.
And, finally, many of the visions described by prophets seem to be
accomplished through the agency of angels while the viewer was wide awake.
Therefore, says the Ramban, angels can, indeed take on physical form and be
perceived with our five senses.

I really don't know which view of these spiritual entities is correct, but
either way we must try to understand why Rashi and the midrash suggest that
Ya'akov's job had to be carried out by real angels.  The most popular
answer to why angels were necessary is that Ya'akov was afraid of Esav for
various reasons.  There was a concern that Esav had merit for his honoring
of Yitzchak which Ya'akov had neglected all these years while away.  The
Noam Elimelech explains that this fear required angels because they "would
speak to Esav words which would be accepted by Esav, and simultaneously be
acceptable as prayer and supplication before Hashem.  The angels would be
just representatives for Ya'akov to man and God.  Therefore it was to his
benefit to send real angels."

The Pri Zadik suggests that Ya'akov's strategy was both cautious and
optimistic.  Ya'akov wanted very badly for his older brother to repent his
evil ways and return to the path paved by Avraham and Yitzchak.  Only true
angels would initially recognize the sincerity of Esav.  They would know
that this 'hunter by means of his mouth' was honestly representing himself.
Also, angels alone might know the correct formula of persuasion to transform
Esav.  "They would know the way to enter his heart."  For this reason
Ya'akov addresses Esav as 'my master' (of course, others assume this is
merely flattery) with the genuine hope that as a 'ba'al teshuva' he would
indeed be his moral superior. Finally, the Rebbe suggests that the angels
would reveal the 'secret of wisdom'.  This secret dealt with the blessings
of Yitzchak Avinu.  Esav had always assumed that the blessings were of
wealth, but the angels were to teach them that they were of Torah.  This
increase of wisdom would, he hoped, heal the 'greatness of his anger, to
empty evil from the heart of the fool.'

The Maharal M'Prague in his commentary on Rashi asks how is it possible for
Ya'akov to send angels.  He mentions many places where messengers are sent
by others and each time the assumption is that they were flesh and blood
agents.  Where does Ya'akov Avinu get the merit to order angels around?  His
answer doesn't interest me very much (it has to do with the special
relationship the Avot had with heaven), but the question is fascinating.
To answer I must return to discuss the nature of angels a bit more.  We
already said that angels are the embodiment of their mission.  Reb Chayim
Volozhin in his commentary on Pirkei Avot says, "Angels require the
influence of man.  They sing their praises of Hashem upon our reciting it
(they say 'holy, holy, holy' when we tell them to), also if a man messes up
they are accordingly harmed."  His son Reb Yitzchak adds that this is the
meaning of the angels ascending and descending on the ladder in Ya'akov's
dream.  They go up and down on our signals.  Reb Chayim says in Nefesh
Hachayim, "There isn't within the power of any angel to independently do a
thing. He can't open his mouth without the breath of Israel's sanctity
motivating him."

So, angels are very much within our control.  There are many rabbinical
statements to the effect that we create the angels by our actions good and
bad.  Now, we can understand the sending of angels.  Ya'akov's good
intentions towards Esav were the kind of powerful mitzvah which creates
angels.  Ya'akov may or may not have sent human agents, but his deeds
certainly broadcast angels.  The Rambam might say they were unseen and
unsensed and the Ramban might say they were the carriers of Ya'akov's
message physically to Esav, but it makes no difference to the essential
idea.  We create spiritual realities by our actions.  We call them angels.

Was Ya'akov afraid of Esav, and was he right to harbor that feeling?  I
don't know.  But his attempt to extend friendship to Esav was definitely
appropriate, that's why Rashi tells us angels were not just sent but
created.  We must emulate that strength of character and do the right and
moral act no matter how perilous the circumstances.  That's what creates
angels.  And that's what makes the world  a spiritually better place.

Perhaps the most famous Biblical symbol appears in this week's Torah
reading. The image of Jacob dreaming of the ladder is one of art's most
ubiquitous motifs. Mere mention of 'Jacob's Ladder' immediately conjures up
a mental picture. But what concept should this most visual theme summon?

Before I explore in relative depth a couple of favorite candidates, I will
quote a most abundant Ba'al Haturim. Now, the Ba'al Haturim (Reb Ya'akov ben
Harosh) usually connects two ideas through numerical values (gematriot), but
here the ideas just keep coming. "The numerical value of 'ladder' equals
'this is the divine throne', equals 'sound' that the sound of the righteous
praying is a ladder for angels to ascend upon, equals 'money' and equals
'poverty' because one ascends and the other descends, has the same letters
as 'symbol' because it displayed how idolatry works, the words 'and behold
the ladder' equals 'and the end' because He showed the end of the exiles,
equals 'Sinai' that He showed him the epiphany at Sinai, the words "the
ladder stands' equals "His chariot',...has the letters of 'for a tax' that
it hinted about the exiles, 'and behold the ladder stands' equals 'the ramp'
and hints at the sacrifices, 'and behold the ladder equals 'this is the
altar of the burnt offerings." Whew! Take your pick.

Maimonides explains the ladder as a metaphor for the whole world. Hashem was
showing Ya'akov the relative levels of the three parts of the created
universe. The statement that the ladder stood upon the ground denotes this
lower extremity of the cosmos. The angels going up and down the ladder whose
top reaches the heavens represents the middle world. And the presence of
Hashem 'standing above it' demonstrates that the realm of Hashem is most
high and that He controls all from this overlooking perch. There are others
who say that all existence is described by the troika of place (the land
stands on the place of the Temple), time (the movement of the angels
describes time), and people (Ya'akov the observer). Which are also the three
types of sanctity.

There is another approach which explains that the ladder demonstrates all
historical movement. The angels clambering up and down represent the various
world powers who have asserted their power over the world and the Jewish
nation. They ascend to domination, have their time in the sun, and then
disappear to return to whatever oblivion from which they initially emerged.
In the midrashic version of this viewpoint, Ya'akov views this development
with trepidation. "Why should I aspire to greatness if it is so fleeting?"
he asks. But Hashem assures him that our turn will be eternal.

There are two ambiguous pronouns in our verses which lead to an interesting
argument. The angels are described as "ascending and descending upon it" and
we are told "Hashem is standing above it." The normal assumption would be
that in both cases we're talking about the ladder, and, indeed, many
commentaries say that. However, both of those pronouns in the Hebrew are
masculine and could equally refer to Ya'akov. In which case angels and
nations act upon this world within the context of Ya'akov or the Jewish
nation. Their presence or success is related to us. As a matter of fact a
quick look at world history (or at least western history) shows that
whatever country was the world's leading power also had the largest
population of Jews. In some way powers claw their way to the top on our
backs.

Similarly, Hashem is standing not over the ladder but over Ya'akov or us.
God's direct attention and supervision is directed at us. We are the
catalyst for Hashem's presence in the world. Initially it is the Patriarchs
who make Hashem manifest in the world; ultimately it is the nation. This
idea is expressed in the midrash by stating that they are the 'chariot' or
vehicle of Divine proximity. The midrash specifies the Avot, but many
commentaries extend it to the nation (many Hasidic authorities say it refers
to the zadikim of every age).

The S'fat Emet (in 1892) wrote that the dream has two components, the ladder
and Hashem standing above it. These two elements specifically refer to our
hero. The ladder standing firmly on the ground is that aspect of him called
Ya'akov. And the image of Hashem floating in the air above is the Yisrael
character of our Patriarch.

So, we've narrowed our focus. At first we said that the ladder symbolizes
the universe, then world history, then the Jewish nation, and eventually we
say it is Ya'akov. The lone Jew. What does this image declare to the
individual? Let's explore a few possibilities.

A common approach is that the structure of the ladder represents the
physical body of the person. Its various parts and components correspond to
the limbs of the human. And, of course, hovering over the physical reality
is a spiritual control. God, Himself is firmly planted above. We are a
physical plant with a Divine energy source. This idea is carried forward by
the Netivot Shalom. The Slonimer Rebbe says that the image just described
proclaims that this is the role of man. We are meant to be a physical
structure firmly rooted to the ground or to this world ('mutzav artza'), but
in spite of this fact find a way to be sanctified to Hashem. The truth of
man is embodied in this dichotomy.

The Rebbe goes on to say that even though we must be involved in worldly
pursuits, through yearning and thirsting for Hashem one can elevate himself.
This is, indeed the promise of, "Behold I am with you and will watch over
you in everything you do." The ascending ladder with Hashem atop demands
this of us. The S'fat Emet (in 1900) carried this idea one step farther. The
Gerrer Rebbe said that the thirsting soul can overcome the 248 limbed body
to the extent that the body itself can become a vessel for prophecy and
communion with Hashem. Even the body can be elevated through the rungs to
become holy to Hashem. The heights which are reached are directly
proportional to the desire.

Reb Aharon of Karlin in Beit Aharon writes that the verse says "and he
dreamed and there was a ladder..." The word for dreamed is 'v'yahalom.' The
word 'halom' is identical in letters to the point of punctuation the 'holem'
which appears above words and is pronounced like a long 'O', and represents
ascent. The Rebbe says that dreams, like the ladder, are a means of drawing
us ever higher to new spiritual heights. I remember my high school
graduation song (Malden High, Class of '68) 'The Impossible Dream.' In it
Don Quixote proclaims that a man must live with 'his arms reaching upward.'
Our image of the ladder is making the same demand upon us. Our humanity and
Jewishness require us to continually strive for elevation. Our feet must be
firmly planted on the ground, but our face and our soul must be directed
heavenward. Our spirit and our Torah will accept nothing less.

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The most rewarding yet frustrating endeavor of man is raising children. This
truism is brought home forcefully in this week's Torah reading. Rivka and
Yitzchak, after twenty barren years and many unanswered prayers have the
twins Esav and Ya'akov. Even before they're born Rivka experiences the
tension which raising children can cause. The midrash records that when she
passed a house of idolatry Esav struggled to emerge, and when she passed a
place of Torah Ya'akov strove to exit. At last she was advised that she had
two very different powers developing within her. This dichotomy continued
until even the doting (a cynic might say oblivious) father had to notice.
Planned parenthood definitely doesn't mean things turn out as planned. This
parsha therefore, can best be described as the section of parenting. I'd
like to explore a few rabbinical comments on the topic. I'm not sure it will
improve my parenting, but at least I'll get an article out of it.

The reading itself is called Toldot which can be best translated as
'offspring'. The word comes from the root for child and birth. Rashi on the
word says we're talking about Ya'akov and Esav, Yitchak's children. There
maybe other issues discussed but our true topic is the boys. But the verse
seems to throw us a curve. Right after we announce that we're talking about
these boys, the verse states, "Avraham gave birth to Yitzchak." Well, I
already knew that. So, Rashi steps in with a famous midrashic insight, "The
scoffers of the generations went around saying that Yitzchak must be the
child of Avimelech. So, Hashem made Yitzchak look just like Avraham, and all
testified to the parentage."

Rashi's grandson the Rashbam has a slightly different take. He says the
previous reading ended with a list of the generations or offspring of
Yishmael, and now we'll discuss the progeny of Yitzchak. But Yishmael is
also defined as the son of Avraham. Here the Torah emphasizes the primacy of
Yitzchak as the one to whom Avraham gave birth and is his heir, hence the
repetition. Reb Ovadiah S'forno explains the expression Toldot to mean "the
offspring of his days, his events and happenings." This viewpoint, which the
S'forno expresses as the literal approach to the text is based, as well, on
a midrash, "one's true offspring are his good deeds."

Many commentaries combine these two ideas, that toldot refers to both
children and accomplishments. Our actions and activities contribute to the
nature of our children. Children don't listen to hypocrisy. If we tell our
kids not to do something which we ourselves do, what do you think they'll
eventually do? "Do as I say don't do as I do" doesn't work. The sum total of
our deeds becomes our dual legacy. The only chance we have to get the
progeny we want is to act out what we want of them. But how big is that
'chance'?

The Tiferet Shlomo points out that the chidush or novel idea in the
statement "Avraham gave birth to Yitzchak" is that Yitzchak was the true
heir to Avraham even though they represent different approaches to life and
religion. Avraham champions love, kindness and one's duty to his fellow man;
Yitzchak stands for strength of character and divine service. But Yitzchak
views himself as the logical extension of his father. He doesn't blaze a new
path, rather he adjusts the existing route. That's the way it is with
children. We err when we expect clones (and maybe even clones won't live up
to our expectations, stay tuned for that outcome). The most we have a right
to expect is a tendency in the same general direction we travel. They must
accommodate their own character.

Now, we can begin to understand apparent parenting failures (ignoring for
the moment true failures, where the parents clearly made the wrong moves).
Even in great successes the child turns out dramatically different from the
parent. The Maor V'Shemesh explains that the verse hints at something
special happening between Avraham and Yitzchak by the use of the word
'holid' in the causative, rather than 'yolad'. This implies that something
more than biological birth took place. When the child becomes disciple it is
because there was a particular character fit.

So, when the personalities don't mesh, there can be disaster of the
Yitzchak-Esav variety. On the other hand, even though I'm categorizing this
as failure, there were positive, but limited, benefits. Even Esav recognized
the spiritual greatness of Yitzchak. Therefore, Esav wanted his blessing and
showed him great respect. All a parent can do is the best one can. Be the
best yourself you possibly can and pray for the rest.

This brings us to an idea developed by the Malbim in his collection of
sermons, Eretz Chemda. Reb Meir Leibish states that the determining
principle comes from parshat Noah. The verse states, "These are the
offspring of Noah, Noah...(himself)" The true issue of Noah was himself. The
Malbim says, "The essence of giving birth is nobility of the spirit. When
the zadik ascends the rungs of the spiritual ladder he births himself and
acquires a superior soul and a spirit soaring ever higher which constitutes
his true birth." A successful religious life is always renewing and
delivering an improved soul. This is perhaps what the verse means by the
expression 'Avraham holid et Yitzchak' or causes Yitzchak to birth himself.
The greatness of Avraham was that he not only birthed and developed himself
but bestowed this ability and impetus upon Yitzchak.

The English poet William Wordsworth expressed a similar (but limited to the
person himself) idea:

My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old, or let me die!
The Child is the father of the Man; I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

I grow but retain certain wonder that builds a 'natural piety' which binds
me to the process as well as to Hashem, the propagator. But I want my
perspective to evolve. When I read Huckleberry Finn as a youth I enjoyed the
funny and daring escapades of Huck, in high school during the turbulent 60's
I read it as a manifesto for social equality, later I found myself swept up
in the currents of a metaphor for life. I yearn for a fresh, yet developing
viewpoint in nature, literature and Torah. My favorite Bible story or
midrash should mature from 'Wow!' to 'Hmm'. I honestly quote King David
every day, "Sing a new (fresh) song to Hashem." This is what Avraham
bequeathed to Yitzchak, and he to us. Successful parenting consists of
bestowing this most precious legacy upon our dual offspring, ourselves and
progeny. I pray Hashem grants us the strength to discover and rediscover
nature, Torah, and ourselves.


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This week we bid farewell to Sarah Imeinu. It is ironic that only
with her departure do we sense that we really get to know her. There
are in this parsha a number of midrashic observations which, I
believe, bring this great personality to life and, I hope make her
relevant.

The first Rashi in this week's Torah reading, which is based on a
midrash, gives us a famous view of Sarah. It states, "When she was
one hundred she was as a twenty year old in terms of sin, just as a
twenty year old is without sin, because she is not yet culpable for
punishment, so she was blameless at age one hundred, and when she was
twenty she was as a seven year old in terms of beauty." The reference
to the innocence of a twenty year old is a tradition that the
heavenly tribunal only begins to hold people responsible for their
actions after their twentieth birthday.

There are many who still find this Rashi problematic. We tend to find
seven year olds more innocent, and twenty year olds the possessors of
beauty. In answer we find commentaries who point out that standards
of beauty were different in ancient times. Which is why Rivka was
referred to as attractive apparently at age three. There are others
who say our Rashi is a corrupted text and just switch around the
references.

On the other hand Rabbi Joseph D. Soloveitchik had a more inventive
approach. The Rav suggested that we are not discussing physical
attributes at all, rather spiritual character. At seven one has a
simple belief system which can be best described as beautiful. The
enthusiasm of a twenty year old ready to conquer the world, or at
least make it a better place, is best called innocent (if not naive).
While a still active centenarian has a philosophic sophistication
that comes with a treasury of experience. Well, Rashi is giving us a
glimpse of a special personality who throughout life maintained her
simplicity of belief while retaining her enthusiasm and zest for life
and still managed to attain a sophisticated world view. This Rashi
describing three periods of Sarah's development has a parallel later
in the parsha. Here, when Rashi is describing Yitzchak's love and
acceptance of Rivka as a replacement for his mother in his life
(Freud, who may or may not have known this Rashi, said that girls
marry the image of the father and sons marry the image of their
mother.). There are mystics who maintain that Rivka is the
reincarnation of Sarah, or actually his mother. This why we have the
opinion that Rivka was three years old at the marriage, because she
was born with the death of Sarah.

We are told of the three contributions of Sarah to the home she
shared with Avraham. The Rashi states, "And he brought her to the
tent, and she became the image of Sarah his mother. That is to say
she actually was Sarah his mother. That all the time that Sarah
lived, there was a candle burning from Sabbath eve to Sabbath eve
(another version asserts that the candle burned until the end of the
Sabbath), and a blessing was found in the dough, and there was a
cloud attached to the tent. When she died these phenomena ceased, but
when Rivka arrived they reappeared." The midrashic source for this
Rashi has a fourth item, that the doors of the tent were always open.
Rashi opts for only these three, perhaps, for two reasons. One, he
wants three items to represent the three pillars of our religion: 1)
the candle which had to be extinguished each Friday so it could be
relit stood for Torah, 2) the always sufficient bread dough was part
of the kindness displayed to all visitors, and 3) the cloud, like on
the mishkan, demonstrated divine service.

Also, I believe, we have a parallel to the first Rashi in the parsha.
These three concepts are the three stages of Sarah's life. The seven
year old Sarah had an open, lovely worship of Hashem, as clear to all
as the cloud above the tent. The twenty year old had the empathy and
guilelessness toward others represented by the miraculous dough she
distributed to every wayfarer. Yet she studied Torah and acquired a
scholar's outlook on the world. We now have an aspect into Sarah's
soul.

But one thing still nags. How could it be that the home of Avraham
Avinu and Yitzchak Avinu (one of my children as a preschooler used to
refer to them as the 'Avinu' family) was lacking in Torah, Avodah,
and Gemilat Chasodim? God forbid that these traits should be absent
from such a domicile. But it wasn't the same without Sarah's urging
and participation. The house can have these qualities but still not
feel quite right. In other words it's not quite a home. A home
requires a partnership. Different energies building towards the same
goal. Sarah was missed until Rivka arrived.

Avraham and Sarah were a perfect partnership. Each had qualities that
meshed completely with the other's. This ideal is imbedded in our
tradition, and in our language. Allow me to explain. There is a very
famous rabbinical statement: "Torah scholars increase peace in the
world. As it states, 'And all your sons are learned in the Lord; and
there is great peace upon your sons.' Don't read it your sons, rather
your builders." In other words Torah scholars are the builders of
peace.

A beautiful thought, but seemingly a very bad pun. Not so, says R.
Baruch Halevy Epstein. The Hebrew word 'ben' or son is identical in
its root to the word 'boneh' or builder. It isn't a pun at all, but
complementary meanings of the same root. Sons are builders. Equally
so, I believe, we can say about the word 'bat' or daughter with the
word 'bayit' or house. Daughters are homes. This idea is used
frequently in the Talmud, that wives are referred to as 'beiti' or my
home.

Sons are expected to go out and build a world; daughters are expected
to provide the atmosphere that becomes a home. Successful football
teams used to have a power runner and a speed demon referred to as
Mr. Inside and Mr. Outside. So, too, a Jewish family requires an
element which confronts and changes the world, and one which
engenders a warmth and support for all to find succor in.
Traditionally the wife stayed home and did that job, and the husband
emerged from the home to represent the family's interests in the
wider world. Today, I'm not sure these stereotypes must be
maintained, but I am sure both roles must be filled by whomever is
best fit for each capacity.

Sarah and, later, Rivka provided the nurturing atmosphere which made
the 'Avinu' domicile a home. Avraham and Yitzchak went out and made
their mark on the world, but the house was neglected. The tent was a
shell. The world was confronted but the insides were empty. A truly
developed, functional family needs both an outer bulwark and an inner
keep. Rashi informs us that these matriarchs did this endeavor, and
it is the character of Sarah which best fulfills its requirements. I
not only learned this as an idea, but have experienced it in my life.
And am thankful for it every time I return home to my wife.

Everyone hates a test. We're afraid we'll be found inadequate. Whether it's
of the spelling or life experience variety, we'd all rather roll over and go
back to sleep. But a major rabbinical theme of the Torah readings
surrounding the life of Avraham Avinu is his ability to withstand the ten
tests or trials Hashem challenges him with. It's only in this week's parsha
V'eyra that the term 'nes' or test actually appears. This is in connection
with the akeida or binding of Yitzchak; the greatest of the tests. The
Rambam in his explanation of the Mishne enumerates the ten trials:
1) the exile of lech licha,
2) the famine in Canaan, especially after Hashem has promised blessing and
prosperity,
3) the injustice he faced in Egypt concerning Sarah,
4) the war between the four kings and the five kings,
5) the marriage to Hagar after his despair at having children with Sarah,
6) the command to circumcise himself at his advanced age,
7) the injustice suffered at the hands of Avimelech of Grar when he also
took Sarah,
8) the sending away of Hagar after having impregnated her,
9) The sending away of his son Ishmael,
10) the binding and attempted sacrifice of Yitzchak.

Maimonides is careful to only count incidents specified in the text.
Therefore, the famous midrashic encounter with Nimrod and the failed
execution in Ur Chasdim is omitted.

Only the last event is actually called a 'nes' or test. The midrash says
because this one equaled all the others in difficulty. But on a literal
level what does the word 'nes' imply? The commentaries are at a disadvantage
to explain the term, because normally we administer a test to discover the
ability of the one tested. Well, this can't be true in our case, because
Hashem knows the outcome before hand. So, we will explore a few different
approaches to define the word.

There's one opinion that it is the same word used for miracle. This word
derives from the word for a ship's mast flag. The implication is that the
purpose of the test is to hold the tested individual up as an example for
all to see. The success of Avraham to withstand the tests is an inspiration
for us and a proof to the world of Avraham's spiritual greatness.

Another popular way of dealing with the problem is to say that there is no
comparison between a potential outcome and a reality. The fact that Hashem
knew that Avraham could do it is besides the point in terms of who Avraham
can become. There are two ways to go with this approach. The first is sort
of mystical. Namely, one can only be rewarded for accomplishment not
potential. For Avraham to garner the deserved divine credit, he had to
actually go through with the actions. But, of course, only up to and not
including the slaughter. In more mystical circles the sacrifice is deemed to
have actually occurred on the heavenly mirrored altar. We and all Avraham's
progeny are the beneficiaries of this deed. We continually hearken back to
that act because of the merit accrued.

The second way to go with this idea is more prosaic. Testing is a method for
strengthening things. We harden and refine products through a process of
pushing a material's ability to withstand the heat or pressure. Along these
lines we have a midrash which provides three metaphors: 1) concerning an
earthenware pot a potential purchaser raps on merchandise he considers good
and sound, 2) with flax we smash quality fiber to make it more resilient, 3)
a good donkey we keep piling on the burdens, maybe he can take just one more
item. The Neztiv (R. Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin, the Rosh Yeshiva of
Volozhin) explains that the midrash presents three types of tests. Sometimes
we hit a pot not to show its worth but to demonstrate its strength. And
sometimes we smack flax to improve the quality. While other times we pile on
the load because we want to share the world's burdens. Hashem did all three
with Avraham. He demonstrated his power, He improved Avraham's performance,
and He shared with him the spiritual responsibility for the world. Avraham
emerged a tested, experienced, reliable commodity, a 'ba'al nisayon'. Over
Sukot I was sitting in my sukah with my daughter and son-in-law, and I was
discussing with them the Pri Zadik which is the heart of last week's d'var
Torah. Reb Zadok said that Avraham was the proper founder of the chosen
people, because of his insight that divine worship requires sacrifice and,
perhaps, martyrdom. My daughter loved the idea (ah, daughters!), but my
son-in-law, Micha-el, said Avraham was the one with the soul to become
Avraham. It wasn't anything he did or thought; it was who he was. My initial
reaction was not that favorable. Sons-in law get tougher scrutiny than
daughters. But the more I thought about the idea the more I came to think
that it is a companion concept to last week's piece.

Following the abortive sacrifice of Yitzchak, an angel appears, and after
getting Avraham's attention (He seems to yell at him, "Avraham, Avraham!"
Usually repetition of a name denotes affection, but here, somehow, I picture
a need to penetrate Avraham's concentration, 'kavana'.), he says, "Now, I
know that you are God fearing." What a thing to say to Avraham! Avraham's
whole recorded life is listening to order after order from Hashem. What was
demonstrated here, that made this observation relevant? Like always there
are a couple of approaches possible. Perhaps until now Avraham had
demonstrated love of God not Fear of God. Or, maybe, previously Avraham had
the temerity to question Hashem, as in the debate over the fate of Sodom,
while here he went without question. How about Avraham's enthusiasm for the
task, demonstrated by his arising early and saddling his own donkey? All
legitimate attempts.

But I think Mich-el's answer works best. Only at this point does the
finished product Avraham emerge from the crucible. Avraham was the chosen
one because of some inner quality that only Hashem observed. But now he
emerges from his chrysalis. We are told that Hashem only tests the
righteous; He only tests those able to withstand the test. And the purpose
of the test is to make the tested all he can be (sort of like the army). I
believe that Avraham did deserve to be chosen because of concrete
accomplishments (as I said in the sukah), but the Avraham who is the
foundation stone for the world was an inner potential which had not yet
sprung full blown into the world.

We, the children, can learn so much from our alter zeyde, Avraham. But what
greater lesson than to face life's trials and tribulations with equanimity?
We must view every challenge not as a danger but as an opportunity. I thank
Micha-el for this insight, and hope we'll watch each other emerge in the
experiences to come.

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Who was Avraham Avinu? What did he do to become the founder of our religion?
There were many great men who preceded him, Noah, Shem, Ever, and Adam
himself. What did he display that they lacked? This week's parsha, Lech
Lecha, begins the story of Avraham, and I believe is a good opportunity for
exploring these questions.
R. Yehuda Halevi in the Kuzari says that each generation had a special
possessor of the tradition ('segula'). Adam passed it along to Shet, to
Enosh and eventually to Noah. Then the tradition went through Shem to Ever
and from him to Avraham, bypassing his father Terach. That Avraham continued
the tradition of his grandfather Ever is the reason he was called 'ivri' or
follower of Ever. But this still requires us to answer the question, "What
did Avraham have that these other bearers of the flame lacked?"

Maimonides in Hilchot Avodah Zora explains the special position of Avraham.
Based on a famous argument in the Talmud (Nedarim 32a), the Rambam explains
the dual nature of Avraham's awareness of Hashem. When he was three years
old (weaned), Avraham began speculating on the nature of God. At age forty
he began spreading the word of Hashem's existence to the world. This two
part recognition of Hashem makes Avraham unique. He discovers Hashem
independently and then realizes that this demands a response. This kind of
knowledge can't reside quiescent in one's bosom. Avraham begins a crusade to
make this once secret intelligence open to the world.

This is perhaps what the argument in the Talmud was actually about. What was
the greatness of Avraham? Was it the independent discovery of God at a
tender age, or was it the spreading of this knowledge in his maturity? The
Rambam states it was the combination. The clarity of his conviction made him
unique. He was convinced of his truth, and knew the world needed this
revelation.

This conclusion that Avraham becomes "father to a multitude of nations"
through this mission of discovery and teaching is expressed in many ways by
later authorities. Perhaps the most interesting use of this idea is by the
B'nei Yisaschar (R. Zvi Elimelech of Dinov) who states, "The early
generations trod the path of philosophic contemplation. None remained
believers...until Avraham came and was commanded to observe circumcision. He
and his descendants were forbidden to engage in speculative reasoning.
Instead, he was to trust in Torah...God granted Avraham the power of
knowledge. Since faith of this type derives from the Infinite (ein sof) it
is endless. But faith attained through human reasoning comes from a finite
being and can therefore be terminated...Philosophic speculation is a
disgrace for a Jew, because faith comes naturally to the descendants of
Avraham." Avraham thought on our behalf. An interesting idea which I find
less than satisfying, but that may say more about me than about the idea.

According to the Meshech Hachma (R. Meir Simcha of D'vinsk), the special
position of Avraham, again, had to do with his clarity concerning Hashem.
Avraham understood that his vision of Hashem came through his spirituality
and was blurred by his physical entity. He, therefore, saw mitzvot as the
telescope for attaining a sharp image of Hashem. We can and must make
efforts to pierce our physical obtuseness. An earth shaking revolution.

The S'fat Emet also sees Avraham as a ground breaker in man's relationship
with God. The Rebbe says that until Avraham was born the world only existed
because of the grace of God. But with Avraham we begin divine service
amongst the earth dwellers and therefore merit Divine presence. Avraham
begins to make Hashem manifest in the world. He connected the world to its
celestial roots, and gives Hashem presence (malbush) in our lower realms.
What the Rambam described as spreading the knowledge of Hashem, the Rebbe
describes as spreading Hashem Himself. Avraham didn't just teach; he brought
people into contact with Hashem.

The Pri Zadik (R. Zadok Hacohen of Lublin) continues this line of reasoning
that the special character of Avraham was an insight that he alone saw. But
he sees this insight in light of the sparse material our sages relate about
Avraham. Rashi brings a very famous midrash, "Terach complained to Nimrod
the king about Avraham smashing his idols (Terach himself was apparently an
idol distributor). He is then thrown into a fiery furnace" Now, Rashi
relates the tale for his discussion of Haran, who gets himself burned as a
result, but we have other concerns. What is the point of this midrash? The
veracity of the incident doesn't interest me. I want to know what idea our
sages are trying to impart.

Reb Zadok explains that Avraham (according to Pirkei Avot) receives reward
for all the preceding generations because he corrected their deficiencies
(tikun). Avraham did this primarily through his ten trials (IY"H next week's
article will discuss these trials or tasks). The first of these tests is
according to most versions is the furnace incident. Why, the Rebbe asks, is
such a momentous event not recorded in the Torah? He answers that the
greatness of Avraham's behavior was an Oral Torah precept, and, therefore,
is part of the unwritten material. This idea is called a temporary or
emergency ruling (hora'at sha'a). The most famous example of this is Elijah
the prophet, when he sacrificed on Mount Carmel, when it was forbidden to
make sacrifices outside the Temple Mount. Sometimes the Torah authorities
must enact a one time exception to Torah normality.

The rule Avraham broke was "But for your own life blood I will require a
reckoning." Man doesn't have the option of surrendering his own life. It's
not yours to sacrifice. Man comes into and departs from this world
involuntarily. Who told Avraham he could defy the king and risk death? No
one. He figured it out on his own, and that's his great contribution. B'nei
Noach (gentiles) have no commandment of martyrdom (Kiddush Hashem, Sanhedrin
74b). The Rambam is clear that anyone who gives up his life without
permission is liable for death (a bit paradoxical, but I think you get the
idea, it's strongly forbidden). We descendants of Avraham on the other hand
have a commandment to die for our beliefs. There are ideas worth dying for.
Avraham was ready to make the ultimate gesture for monotheism and against
paganism. He was the first prepared to do so. That's why our sages share
this tale with us.

Others knew of Hashem before Avraham. But he had an insight unknown to any
one before. It's not clear what that flash of inspiration was. What we do
know is that Avraham knew with a unique clarity God's presence and will. He
was ready and willing to do whatever was necessary to spread the knowledge
of Hashem. He was the first to realize that a life without Hashem was
somehow less than living. And wanted the world to know it too. Can we his
children do any less?

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Recently my wife, Debbie, and I had a discussion about Shmitta. Debbie said
that she wishes she had a more spiritual connection to the observance of
this mitzvah. My spouse correctly pointed out how much effort and
inconvenience this practice engenders. No matter which types of rabbinical
supervision you accept there's a lot of work involved with the observance.
If you look for the mehardrin approach, you have to look harder and may
forgo even finding certain items. If you stay with the Rabbanut, there's all
this food with kedushat shvi'it around the house, which must be treated
carefully. All this would be more meaningful, she reasons, if the mitzvah
seemed more relevant to us.
I responded in my Lithuanian way that I find the effort itself spiritually
satisfying. This was greeted with less than enthusiasm. So, I (who am always
looking for topics) decided to write this article as an investigation of
some of the reasons given for shmitta. I have a feeling that when more of us
were agriculturally based there was a more automatic feeling for this
mitzvah's importance. Once upon a time the major enterprise of food
gathering was called harvest, for us it's shopping.
The normative source for mitzvah reasons is Sefer Hachinuch. So, I checked
this compendium of rational and reasonable explanations for our mitzvot. The
description began by stating that this mitzvah is intended to remind us that
everything belongs to Hashem. We refrain from normal farming procedure to
show that we're not the ultimate owners of this parcel of land. Everything
is His. But then I was surprised to see that this normally staid and
straightforward work stated that embedded in this body of mitzvot was a
wondrous secret hinted at by the number seven. Then there is a long list of
seven oriented numbers, but no revelation about what seven signifies. Even
the rationalists believe there's something mystical about shmitta.
The Sfat Emet (the second Gerer Rebbe) informs us that the very essence of
shmitta is a departure from the natural. By relying on Divine support to
feed us during this period we negate our connection to the worldly. This
nullification penetrates into our very being. This spiritual skill was
instilled at Mount Sinai. When we proclaimed, "We will do and then we will
listen," our sages explain that we discovered the secret of the angels. The
Jewish nation achieved the power to be angelic and escaped the tug of this
world. We feed on the Divine splendor. A year without farming doesn't faze
us.
This inference from the Mount Sinai experience is based on the verse, "The
Lord spoke to Moshe at Mount Sinai...'When you enter the land...observe
shmitta'." The famous question, "What does Mount Sinai have to do with
Shmitta?" is asked by most commentaries. The Gerer Rebbe says the connection
is, "We will do and then we will listen," and all that entails. The Netivot
Shalom (Reb Noach Barkovsky of Slonim) sees a more complex tether. He feels
that shmitta has an element universal to all mitzvot which makes it most
representative of the revelation at Sinai. This component is belief. More
than any other mitzvah shmitta requires the strength that only perfect
belief provides. In many sources the observers of shmitta are described as
heroes; shmitta is the apex of belief.
The Slonimer goes on to explain that there are two kinds of belief. We must
believe with perfect faith two ideas:
1) Hashem created the heavens and the earth and
2) the Jewish nation has a special status as the Chosen People.
We express the first belief by keeping shabbat, and that renews the
creation, insures the continued existence of the world. The second belief is
proclaimed by observing shmitta. So, the condition of Eretz Yisroel depends
upon our devoted commitment to shmitta. This is why so many sources say that
the nation is exiled because of betraying shmitta. Shmitta and the
revelation are the dual pillars of our belief system.
The Zohar asserts this principle by saying, "There is a great sign, and a
minor sign. The minor sign is shabbat. The great sign is shmitta." Reb Zadok
of Lublin points out that the faith represented by desisting from work one
day a week is greatly overshadowed by the demonstration of faith by
refraining from farming for one year in seven. That kind of behavior
requires a total reliance on Hashem and His grace. Shmitta is the ultimate
exhibition of our faith and belief.
All these views are predicated upon a mystical bond being forged by our
demonstration of belief. Divine bounty blesses our earthly attempts at
spirituality. We don't need this world we need Hashem. This is all great,
but where's the wondrous secret of the number seven? For this we turn to the
Maharal of Prague.
Reb Loewy of Prague in Tiferet Yisroel chapter forty describes the
significance of the number seven. He points out that physical reality as we
know it is defined by the number six. There are three directions or
dimensions which go in both ways. Confused yet? Let me explicate. We have
height with up and down. Then there's length with left and right. Finally,
there is depth with forward and back. In the space program these were called
pitch, roll and yaw. Imagine a three dimensional graph with gradations in
minus and plus around a central point. The Maharal utilizes a box with its
six sides. Now that immutable reference point in the middle of our 3D graph
is the number seven. (The Maharal talks about an imaginary point in the
middle of the box.) All existence revolves around and relates to that point.
The six are in eternal flux; seven is in noble repose.
Seven is the fulcrum around which all physical reality does its thing. Seven
is the core of reality. Seven represents the inner spirituality; the true
reality our souls seek. The definition of physical items includes all those
numerical parameters of size. The description of physical movement is all
those plus and minus numbers in the six directions. Number seven doesn't
have any of that. It is the tranquil island in this physical storm of size
and motion. Shabbat and shmitta are seven. They represent a lack of
relationship to the physical world, a withdrawal towards the inner reality
of spirit. Our efforts at the supermarket to keep shmitta according to one's
own conscience must viewed in this light. Every perusal of a label; every
peak at a sign must be seen as an attempt to search for spiritual reality in
this world. We're going to the store to find the foodstuff with which to
fulfill our soul not fill our belly. We select the item not based upon
delight to the eye, but connection to the land, Hashem and that immutable
point within us all.

Comments, ideas, questions? Send Rabbi Walk a note at:rwalk@...

I remember a Twilight Zone in which alien benefactors are graciously
supplying all the earth's needs. The hero of the piece is working with a
group of scientists trying to decipher an alien book left behind at a UN
appearance by the head ET. The group has decoded the book's title, To Serve
Man. This was found to be very reassuring by all concerned. The final scene
has our hero boarding a rocket ship for a visit to the aliens' home planet.
As he climbs the gang plank, one of his colleagues yells to him not to
enter, because they've discovered that it's a cookbook.
This taught me a lesson (besides not boarding alien ships). It's very
important to accept statements at face value first. Afterward one may want
to further analyze the material and find deeper levels of meaning, but the
literal interpretation remains valid and, perhaps, dominant.
In this week's parsha, B'reishit, there's a verse with many levels of
interpretation, but I still feel the literal meaning of the words is the
essential approach. "This is the book of the generations of man," states
chapter five verse one. And even though it may be a reference to this
section alone, I believe Hashem is informing us of the essence of Torah
itself. Bottom line the Torah is primarily about us.
The proper study of Torah is man. The stories and the commandments are to
guide us. We, not Hashem, are the beneficiaries of all our mitzvah practices
(D'varim X:14). We don't begin our religious studies with an understanding
of God (or end them for that matter). The true beginning of religious
awareness is an understanding of mankind.
But "Who is man that Thou art mindful of him?" This week's parsha contains
the basic material for understanding man's place in the scheme of things.
The data on mankind is plentiful in our parsha, but I would like to focus on
one verse. "And God said, 'Let us make man in Our image and likeness, and
they will rule the fish of the sea, the bird of the sky, and the beast and
all the land, all that crawl upon the earth (B'reishit I:26)." There are a
plethora of problems in this statement.
Before I get to the issue on which I want to focus, let me say a little
about 'image' and 'likeness'. Reb Chayim Volozhin in the third section of
Nefesh Hachayim discusses metaphors. He says that metaphors are, by their
nature, very limited, and shouldn't be allowed to fool us. Each one only
refers to a single common aspect of the items compared. So, too, here we are
only saying that there are two aspects we share with Hashem. Even though a
good case can be made for these common traits relating to control and rule,
as in the end of the verse, I subscribe to the popular view that it means
intelligence and spirituality. That our attainments in these areas make us
Godlike, outstanding compared to the rest of creation.
The real conundrum in our verse is the use of the first person plural by
Hashem, 'we'. This was considered so disturbing and potentially misleading
that the scholars translating the Bible into Greek for Ptolemy actually
changed it to the singular. Our traditional sources basically deal with the
problem in one of two ways. The first approach is a variation on the 'royal
we' used by monarchs. This announcement is so momentous that Hashem resorted
to this rare Biblical construct. The Abarbanel explains that this endeavor
involved greater intellectual acumen than the other acts of creation. He
goes on to say that this usage helps to clarify the process. That if He said
"I will make" one might err to assume man is purely spiritual, and if He had
said, "Let the earth bring forth," one might equally err to consider man
purely of this realm. The plural intimates the unique dual nature of our
species.
The other approach reasons that Hashem consulted in this project. There are
many suggestions as to with whom He deliberated Some candidates include all
the hosts of heaven and earth, the creations of the other days, with His own
heart, the Divine court, the souls of future righteous ones. The Malbim
contends that this consultation process informs us that legitimate
government (even monarchy) requires the consent of the governed. We may
fulfill the hegemony described at the end of the verse because the rest of
creation acquiesced. The Mei Hashiloach (Izhbitzer) proposes that the
consultations serve a lofty purpose. All creation solicited an intermediary
from Hashem.. The earth realized that it could not stay in relationship with
Hashem because of its purely material nature. So, a demand for an entity
halfway between heaven and earth was demanded. We are the result. We rule
down here because of our connections up there. And thus, protektzia was
created.
There is one other suspect with whom Hashem may have conferred. But
uncovering this culprit will require a reference to the Rashi on our verse.
"Even though He received no help in the formation, and there is the danger
of heretics attacking the verse, the text didn't refrain (from using this
plural expression) which teaches us correct behavior and the character trait
of humility. That superiors should confer with and obtain permission from
inferiors." An important lesson worth the risk. Reb Moshe Feinstien Z"L
comments, "It appears (to me) that this also is an instruction and command
upon every individual to help out through his actions and in his education
to make himself a superior human worthy of being the pinnacle (purpose) of
the entire creation process. This is the will of Hashem that specifically
through the intervention of the individual himself will he be completed."
God consulted us. We are the final stage of the creation enterprise, and we
are called upon to be partners with Hashem in the progress of the endeavor.
Our role in the partnership begins with ourselves. Before we rule worlds we
create ourselves. Each of us is the first assignment in our divine
apprenticeship
So, what is man? What we make of him. Hashem gives us raw material, our
initial conditions and our life's challenges, and we mold it into a person.
It is an ongoing process. Each of us is a work in progress. We can indeed
rule the world if we can but rule ourselves.
This is the literal meaning of our verse (according to Reb Moshe's reading
of Rashi). God turned to us and said, "Come, you and I together can make you
the crowning achievement of this creative process. The world will sit up,
notice and submit to your will. You will represent me down here."
It has become common politically correct practice to refer to those formerly
called handicapped, 'challenged'. I like this. I hope it reminds us all that
the essence of life is challenge. We are all 'challenged', whether by
physical limitation or by wealth and success. Our prowess as a human is
judged by our ability to face and deal with life's challenges. That's what
the stories of Biblical heroes are all about.
Reb Yisrael Salanter was once asked by a non-observant Jew what the meaning
of the vast corpus of Jewish law was. Reb Yisrael responded, "To make a
mentsch (loosely translated into English as "mentsch', as in a "be a
mentsch" or good person)." That's the literal and primary meaning of our
verse and our Torah.

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