Category: Lifeline

In this week’s reading, we find the well-known account of the spies who went into the Land of Israel. The Jews knew that they were supposed to inherit the land; the job of the spies was to find the best way to enter. Are the people strong or weak? Are their cities fortified? All of these were important for tactical reasons. At the same time, the spies were told to investigate the natural resources as well, to see what sort of land would be theirs.

As far as the latter, they performed their task to perfection. They returned calling the land “flowing with milk and honey,” bringing clusters of grapes so large that two people were needed to carry one cluster on a pole. What a wonderful land it was!

But as far as how to enter and take that land was concerned, the spies veered from their mission. Instead of providing tactical advice, they abandoned all hope — they said it cannot be done. They decided that G-d would not keep his promise, and the Children of Israel would never inherit their land.

Only two spies opposed the consensus: Yehoshua and Calev. Calev told the people, “we should certainly ascend and we shall possess it, for we certainly are able to do so” [Num. 13:30].

What was his message? Rashi quotes the Talmud (Sotah 35), which says that this was far more than mere encouragement regarding their capabilities. “‘We should certainly ascend’ – even to Heaven. If he [Moshe] says ‘make ladders and ascend them,’ we shall succeed in all his words.”

Rav Moshe Feinstein explains that Calev provides us a model for all growth in Torah and performing G-d’s Will. Calev teaches us that it doesn’t matter if it looks impossible! Since what you wish to do is a “D’var Mitzvah”, something HaShem wants done, then if you try, He will help, and you will be able to do it.

The Torah teaches that at Sinai, G-d did not reveal Himself to a single individual. Rather, He spoke to the entire Jewish nation.

Rabbi Moshe Maimonides, the famed Jewish scholar of over 800 years ago, calls this event the foundation, the “pillar upon which our belief revolves.”

Why is this not circular reasoning? The answer is that this event is not something taken on faith, itself. Every Jew today knows that at least until recent generations, his or her forebears believed that this event actually happened — Maimonides says “the best of all witnesses testified” about it.

He points out, further, that there has been no similar event in history, and that the Bible itself tells us that this will never happen again. Moshe warns the Jewish nation to never forget “the things which your eyes saw,” and to teach this to the next and following generations [cf. Deut. 32].

Many have tried to explain that this was merely a story, that it never actually happened. But when they try to explain it in detail, an alternative story stops making sense.

Imagine a village in Brazil, along the Atlantic Ocean, that holds a festival every spring. The festival, they tell you, is a celebration of a miraculous event 400 years ago, when a flood swept through their community. The flood did massive damage, washing away entire buildings, yet afterwards not a single villager had perished. And they celebrate that miracle with an annual event. And they present you with records copied by hand from originals dating all the way back to that period.

Would anyone disbelieve the story? Would people argue that the village elders just made it up at some point? Everyone would agree that this almost certainly happened; there is no reason to discount it.

When we look around us today, we see billions of adherents of religions based upon Judaism. There are literally hundreds of religions and sects which claim that they and they alone have the correct theology. There are Sunni and Shiite Muslims, Catholics, Presbyterians, Anglicans, Methodists, Baptists, Greek Orthodox, Russian Orthodox, Mormons — and the list goes on — most of which differ on core theology.

Obviously, the best way to start such a religion would be to create the tale that G-d Returned, spoke to a new group of believers, and explained His new rules. But the Torah asserts that “when you shall look back at the days before you,” you will see that this story was never told prior or after Sinai. The Rambam elaborates: “that there was never anything like this prior, and there will be nothing like it afterwards, this being that an entire individual nation shall hear the words of the Holy One, Blessed be He, and that they shall see His Glory eye to eye.”

Maimonides teaches that this has not been done, because it cannot be done — because the Jewish Encounter with G-d is truly unique in human history.

This week we read a very uncomfortable section of the Torah. G-d warns us that bad things will happen if we don’t keep His rules in His land. Keep the rules, He says, and things will be wonderful. But if you don’t, punishment will come to the Jewish Nation.

Rav Naftali Tzvi Yehudah Berlin, known as the Netzi”v (the Hebrew acronym of his name), was the Dean of the famed Volozhin Yeshiva in Europe in the 19th Century CE. He says that we can tell where the punishment is coming from because it’s a punishment. It’s not an ordinary conquest of one nation over another.

When one army overcomes another, they don’t punish the population on the losing side. Even losing soldiers are released once they are known not to pose a further threat.

But if a group of people rebel against the King, that’s an entirely different story. After he puts down the rebellion, he will harshly punish those responsible — because he expected their loyalty.

So Kings would not exile populations or destroy their temples to their idols. What befell Israel, in accordance with the warnings of this Torah Portion (and similarly near the end of Deuteronomy), was extraordinary and even nonsensical in terms of warfare and geopolitical domination.

But it makes sense in the context of a punishment.

Since, the Netzi”v writes, G-d made a covenant with the Jewish people at Mount Sinai, in which they would be His unique nation and guard His rules, it is the breach of those rules which explains why the people of Israel were punished.

As we know, this was used throughout history to “prove” that G-d had abandoned his nation. But the Torah itself says otherwise: “And even with that, when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not reject them, and I will not be disgusted with them to eliminate them, to nullify my Covenant with them” [26:44]. As Rashi explains, “and even though I will due to them this repayment [for their bad deeds] that I have described, ‘when they are in the land of their enemies,’ I will not reject them ‘to eliminate them,’ and to ‘nullify my Covenant’ which I have with them.”

The word “l’chalosam” is precise. It doesn’t mean simply to destroy, but to eliminate. Even in the punishment, we see G-d’s Promise to the Jewish People. Other nations can be eliminated, either physically or through a change to their ideology and beliefs such that they are no longer who they were. But the Jews have a promise from G-d — that no matter how bad things may be, we remain the Eternal Nation.

It is those who oppress us who disappear. The last group that tried to kill us is now society’s worst epithet, and we are here.

That promise stays with us always!

There is a deceptively simple Commandment in this week’s reading: “a man shall not deceive his brother” [Lev. 25:14]. This is distinct from being a false witness [Ex. 20:16], denying having another’s property [Lev. 19:11] and false judgment, “distance yourself from a lie” [Ex. 23:7]. The topic in this case is financial deception, Ona’as Mammon.

A person is forbidden from overcharging, misrepresentation and deception, whether when buying or selling. This applies both to hidden defects in an object for sale, and purchasing a valuable antique at a cheap price because the seller is unaware of its true value.

I remember the first time I wanted to buy a car once I was out of school. I was told there was a person in Baltimore named (Rabbi) Meir Sher, at Sher Auto, from whom people purchased vehicles “sight unseen.”

It seemed unbelievable. The business of used cars is known for misrepresentation and deception. Look up “used car salesman” on Google and it will helpfully offer modifiers like “slick,” “shady,” and “dodgy.” You can’t even sell “used cars” anymore — you sell “certified preowned vehicles!” It’s not used, it’s just “preowned,” like a decorative piece is “preowned.” The previous owner had it in their garage and never drove it.

In Baltimore I heard about another dealer named Eli Feldman, with a company called Maven Motors. In total, we have acquired three vehicles from him over the years, and have had fewer problems with his vehicles — used — than with a brand-new minivan we bought from the showroom.

I don’t think it’s coincidence that Rabbi Sher reads his prayers slowly and exactly, or that Eli Feldman is the nephew of the Dean of Ner Israel Rabbinical College. These are people who understand our religious obligations, and live those obligations.

And perhaps this explains why there are now several other successful vendors of used cars in Baltimore (e.g. CarZone Autos, which offers “Over 200 Used Cars to Choose from”, who are also observant Jews. When people know that they can trust you not to deceive them and have a good experience, the word gets around. Instead of having to use euphemisms like “certified preowned,” their honesty makes for good business!

In this week’s reading, we read about the upcoming holiday of Shavuos, the time of the giving of the Torah to the Jewish Nation. But if you look in the Torah text, you won’t find that this was when G-d spoke to us at Mt. Sinai. Nowhere does it mention that this is anything other than a holiday of “Shavuos,” weeks (and a time for offering of first fruits). The name Shavuos is appropriate because we are told to count seven complete weeks following the first day of Passover, 49 days, and to celebrate this holiday on the fiftieth day. But why does the Torah not mention what the holiday is about? All it says is that after counting seven weeks following the offering of the Omer, on the second day of Pesach, there should be a holiday.

One answer is found in the fact that Shavuos does not have a set date on the calendar. Hebrew months can be either 29 or 30 days in length, depending upon testimony after seeing the New Moon. Since Shavuos occurs precisely 50 days after the beginning of Passover, during which the two months of Iyar and Sivan begin, the holiday could fall anywhere between the 5th and 7th of Sivan (until the calendar was set by the second Hillel).

This is because Shavuos is not about a particular date, but recalls the culmination of a process that was set in motion with the Exodus from Egypt celebrated on Pesach. The Nation of Israel ascended and purified itself for seven weeks, and was then ready to receive the Torah.

Although we say in the Haggadah that had HaShem only done a few of the great things that he did for us, “Dayyeinu,” it would have been enough, we know that the purpose of bringing us out from Egypt was to be His Nation and to follow His Torah. When the Torah describes Shavuos for the second time in Deuteronomy, it says “And you shall remember that you were a slave in Egypt, and you shall guard and do these statutes” [Dev. 16:12], and Rashi comments: “It is on this condition that I redeemed you, that you shall guard and do these statutes.” Thus the process of redemption from Egypt and the giving of the Torah are directly connected, and all part of the same celebration.

The Aruch HaShulchan gives another answer, mentioned by Rabbi Yehudah Prero in his Yomtov class. We mention specific things on Pesach and Sukkos because they happened at specific times — the Exodus from Egypt, and the protection of Israel in Clouds of Glory.

The Torah, however, is given to us anew every day. And every day it is incumbent upon us to thank and bless G-d for giving it to us. It did not only happen once; G-d continued to give Torah to Moshe throughout the 40 years in the desert, and continued to teach the Prophets and even more recently through Divine Inspiration. The giving of the Torah is an ongoing process, not limited to one day on the calendar.

The Torah is something we must celebrate every day!

This week’s reading begins the third book of the Torah, VaYikra, or Leviticus. The word VaYikra means “called,” as in G-d Calling to Moshe.

Looking at the text, we find that the aleph, the letter at the end of VaYikra, is written in small text. Rashi says that there is a key difference between the word VaYikra and the word VaYikar. They are not simply cognates of each other. The former implies closeness, dearness, importance, the way the ministering angels “call” to each other. The latter is a casual, distant encounter, expressed when HaShem spoke to Bila’am who wanted to curse the Jews.

The Ba’al HaTurim explains that Moshe deliberately chose to write the aleph small, because he did not want to glorify himself and say that HaShem would speak with him like the angels call one another.

Later in our reading, we learn that this level of humility is required of every leader. The Torah tells us what a Jewish King should do if he sins. But actually it does not say “if he sins” — it says “when he sins” [4:22]. It is taken for granted that a leader is nonetheless a mere mortal like everyone else, and he is going to make mistakes.

And to that, Rashi comments that the word for when, Asher, is related to the word happy, Ashrei — as in, happy is the generation whose leader is willing to admit error!

No human being, not even Moshe, was perfect. The Torah tells us when he erred, rather than glossing over his mistakes. The Torah did not want to demean Moshe — it praises him as “more humble than any man” [Num. 12:3]. Rather, the Torah wants us to know that no one is perfect, and the Torah does not expect us to be perfect. We are humans, and “to err is human.”

What the Torah expects us to do is to look over our actions, determine our mistakes even after we have made them, regret them, and learn from them. We are not given the capability to be perfect — what we are given is the capability to grow. Part of growth is learning from our mistakes, and looking forward to doing better tomorrow.

This week, Rabbi Mordechai Dixler, our program director, shared with me a collection of Torah thoughts and concepts from Rav Avraham Elimelech Biderman of Bnei Brak, Israel. In a few short paragraphs Rav Biderman tied together our reading (Pikudei, the last portion in Sh’mos, the Book of Exodus), the Hebrew month of Adar, the holiday of Purim (the 14th of Adar, which this year begins on the eve of Thursday, March 24), and the fact that this week we conclude the reading of a book of the Torah — which means that in synagogue, after the final words of the portion are read, the assembled say “chazak, chazak, v’nischazeik” — “be strong and be strengthened.”

The Chasidic masters would often find lessons in the words of the Torah outside their plain meaning. In our reading we learn that among the many things that the craftsmaster, Bezalel ben Uri, did in building the Tabernacle, “he coated the heads of the pillars [with silver], and bound them to the structure” [Ex. 38:28]. Rebbe Yisrael Taub of Modzhitz noted that the word coating, v’tzipah, is a cognate of the word for awaiting or looking forward to something, metzapeh. He said that there is an allusion here to G-d “waiting hopefully” for each Jewish person to “head” in His direction, to make the first steps towards Him.

Each of us must make a start, as it says earlier: “And now, if you truly listen to My voice and keep My covenant” [Ex. 19:5], and Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki explains, “if you accept this upon yourselves now, it will be good for you from now on, because all beginnings are difficult.” The first step is the hardest. And G-d is waiting for us to take that first step.

Every Jewish person is included in this; no one can imagine that somehow G-d does not care about him or her. Because as Rav Yitzchak Meir Alter (the Chiddushei HaRim) said, the name of the month of Adar is the acronym of “Aluf Dal Rash” — the “Aluf,” the great leader, rests His Divine Presence [even] upon the simple and lesser people, the “Dalim v’Rashim.” This is what we see in the Purim Megillah, that the King’s servants pointed out to the evil Haman that Mordechai the Jew was not bowing to him. Mordechai is referred to repeatedly as Mordechai the Jew, rather than Mordechai the righteous or Mordechai the leader. The most important thing about Mordechai was the simple fact that he was a Jew, regardless of whether he was great or lowly.

The month of Adar, Rav Biderman explains, is the time in which we remember that we must fight the people of Haman, the nation of Amalek. Amalek came and fought the stragglers among the Jews as they first crossed the Sinai desert, when no one else would dare attack them. And the entire Jewish people was told to turn around and fight them, to eliminate the hatred represented by Amalek, because every Jew is important, and every Jew is responsible for every other — including the stragglers.

This brings us to the fact that this is the closing of the book of Exodus, when we declare “be strong and be strengthened.” This happens during Adar for this is an ongoing battle. The Jews set upon by Amalek were those losing hope, and we must never lose hope, and must unite to oppose Amalek. If a person strengthens him or herself again and again, then G-d will strengthen and assist, and the person will be strengthened. We have to take the first step, and we have to keep trying, and we must look to and depend upon G-d to help lift us higher. Because if we strengthen ourselves, if we take that first step, then G-d will strengthen us!

In this week’s reading, G-d instructs Moses to make the anointing oil, describing its composition. He tells Moshe to anoint the holy items and vessels, and the Kohanim Gedolim (High Priests) of future generations. (Kings from the House of David were also anointed with this oil.) And then He gives an instruction to all the Children of Israel, prohibiting anointing anyone else with the oil, or making a replica of it [Ex. 30:25-32].

What is wrong with anointing with or re-creating this oil? Perhaps a person feels motivated to do so to serve G-d — how could that be wrong?

One of the underlying messages of the oil was that the King and High Priest were in a special role. It was important that they feel a distinct obligation, to lead people closer to G-d. If everyone did the same, their feeling of distinct obligation would be lost.

And there is a broader lesson as well: the Torah is laying out guidelines and instructing us about what is helpful for our spiritual growth. We may feel that something enhances our spirituality, where in reality the opposite is true. We may think that we will be more holy if we anoint ourselves with the oil — the Torah says that on the contrary, such a person cuts himself off from G-d.

This is similar to Nadav and Avihu, the sons of Aharon who offered a “strange fire” that, according to many, they had not been instructed to bring [Lev. 10:1]. They thought making their own decision would bring them closer, but they were punished for doing so.

Our connection to G-d has to be “on his terms.” We must learn to find spirituality in what the Torah tells us, even when we imagine another route might lead us higher. He knows what is best for us!

There is an interesting interruption at the beginning of this week’s reading. Last week we learned about the construction of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, and this week we learn about the garments worn by the Kohanim, the Priests, when they served within it.

Yet the Torah portion begins by talking about the Ner Tamid, the lamp which was to burn continually — specifically describing the preparation of the oil — and this seems to be out of place. It would seem to make more sense to describe the construction of the Tabernacle, the garments to be worn, and only then describe the services to be conducted. The Kli Yakar cites the Abarbanel, who says that really this belongs in Parshas Emor, where this Commandment is said along with the Lechem HaPanim, the show-bread offering.

Why is the Torah “jumping the gun,” so to speak, to talk about lighting the lamp now [Ex. 27:20-21] — especially as it will say it again?

The Chasidic Masters use this verse as a parable speaking to each individual. This places the passage into context, preceding the description of the priestly raiments. Their regal dress could lead a Kohen to regard and carry himself with honor — especially the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest, who wore unique and very expensive garments.

On the contrary, they say. The priestly raiments were not about the Kohen himself, but about the service he was called upon to do. It was about Whom he was serving. The verse says “Kasis L’Maor” — crushed for lighting. A person must view himself as “crushed,” as lowly and unimportant. However, says the Chashvah L’Tovah, this does not mean a person should be depressed and have no desire to produce. On the contrary: the point of feeling crushed and down is L’Maor — in order to light! A person should feel grateful to G-d for all his or her positive traits, rather than proud or haughty, and be moved to use them productively.

And, like the Kohen, using our gifts productively means in the Divine Service. “Because the lamp [of G-d] is a Commandment, and Torah is the light” [Proverbs 6:23]. It says in our verse, “l’haalos ner tamid” — to bring up a constant light. We must constantly light the fire of Torah within ourselves. This way we will not feel down even in the dark of night.

When I saw the headline for the article on Torah.org, “Murder and the Super Bowl,” I knew I had to have a look. The article is by Rabbi Yisroel Ciner, whom I’ve known for many years, long before he became Rabbi of Beth Jacob Congregation in Irvine, CA. And with such a timely headline (yes, even I know we are approaching Super Bowl Sunday), how could I not?

I thought he was going to discuss the violence of football. It’s a very rough sport, one which trains players to be physically aggressive. I’m not sure why we are surprised when we find that this violence sometimes spills outside of the stadium.

But that wasn’t his point at all.

Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki (Rashi) tells us that just the first word of this week’s reading contains a profound lesson. It begins: “And these are the judgments which you shall place before them.” [Ex. 21:1] Why “and”? These are the judgments! All we need is “eileh” rather than “v’eileh.”

But Rashi explains that “v’eileh” means that what follows is an addition to what came previously. In this case, we just read about the Revelation at Sinai, receiving the Torah and some of its laws. Specifically, last week’s reading concludes that one must not cut the stones of the Altar with metal tools, and to have a ramp rather than steps up to the Altar, so as not to inadvertently reveal beneath a Kohen’s robes.

Those laws are “chukim,” laws provided by G-d that are not immediately logical or well understood. The “mishpatim,” judgements, that we read this week are civil laws — the foundations of civilization. Without rules of interpersonal conduct, one has anarchy. If the Torah had not provided us these rules, then like every other nation, we would have had to create them.

But based upon this, Rabbi Ciner adds a fascinating point: that the laws created by nations are simply a “consensus of what they want according to the time, place and situation that they find themselves.” “They” must be taken to mean the ruler and the ruling class, but the point is sound. The rules made are colored by circumstance.

He gives a perfect example: what was “entertainment” in ancient Rome? Gladiator fights! A gladiator was not a soldier, he was a performer. It was the ultimate reality show, as the gladiator faced dangerous animals, convicted criminals, and other gladiators — knowing that only one would emerge alive. The “noble” gladiator murdered others for the delight of the audience. And that is what we call ancient Roman “civilization” — a society that celebrated barbarism, calling murderous fights to the death a form of entertainment.

The Romans, of course, were the ones who conquered Jerusalem and exiled the Jews from their land. According to the ways of the world, the Jews should have been assimilated into Roman society. Instead, it is the ancient Roman civilization that is gone, and the Jews who are still here. Even more, the idea of murder for entertainment is anathema to the Western world. Why? Where did they get the idea that murder is evil? Where did they get the idea that there is such a thing as good and evil at all?

Good Shabbos!