Category: Lifeline

The Torah tells us in this week’s reading that we must always remember what happened at Sinai. “Just guard yourselves, and guard your souls very well, lest you forget the things that your eyes saw, lest it leave your heart all the days of your life. And you shall make it known to your children and grandchildren, the day that you stood before HaShem your G-d at Chorev” [Dev. 4:9-10].

The Rambam [Maimonides] says (in his Igeres Teiman, his letter to Yemenite Jewry) that this isn’t simply something we believe, but the foundation of Jewish belief. But… isn’t that circular reasoning? How can something be its own foundation? It’s something we believe, therefore we believe it and everything else also. Right?

Actually, no, it’s not circular. Maimonides says that this is the foundation because every Jew knows that his or her own great-great-grandparents believed that his or her own great-great-(great-great-great etc.)-grandparents were there. As in, Jews have traditionally believed that their own forebears were actually at the foot of Mount Sinai and saw it happen.

Maimonides asserts that there is only one way for that belief to take root, and that by the same standards that we know most anything, we are able to analyze this event and reach the conclusion that we know it happened. It’s not just a belief, it’s knowledge.

Why is it so common to dismiss this as just another story? The answer is simple: because of the ramifications. Under most circumstances, no one would believe that a community of millions of people believe that their own ancestors witnessed an event, yet it’s all mythology. If Brazilians were holding an annual feast to commemorate a massive flood that nearly destroyed the community, the impartial observer would tend to believe that the flood must have actually happened — and that’s true even if the flood was reported to have taken place hundreds or even thousands of years ago. Because everyone knows that floods can happen, and it’s possible for communities to escape them by the narrowest of margins.

But knowing that this particular story may be difficult to believe, Maimonides points to this week’s reading: “when you will ask about the first days that happened before you, from the day G-d Created man on the earth and from one end of the heavens to the other, has this ever been, or has [a story] like this ever been heard — has a nation heard the Voice of G-d speaking from inside the fire, as you heard, and lived?” [4:32-33] The Torah says bluntly that, as Maimonides put it, “there never was such a thing before, and there will never be anything like it.”

This is an amazing prediction, especially considering how world history has played out over the past 3300 years. It’s not just that there are other religions, it’s that today over fifty percent of the world’s population derives their beliefs from our Bible. Today’s dominant religions begin here — that G-d revealed Himself to the Jewish Nation. And they all also believe that at some point, the Jews got it wrong.

All of them believe that they know the Jews got it wrong, because someone told them so. Either that someone was a prophet, or that someone was an angel, or that someone was even divinity in human form — but someone told them. No one believes that G-d publicly revealed Himself once again to say so. Today, there are more Americans who believe an angel talked to a man in a cave in upstate New York and showed him the new path, than there are Jews in the world who [try to] follow the rules laid out in the Torah!

What is it about this story, that no one tried to duplicate it? Doesn’t it make more sense to start a new religion by saying that G-d came back to tell us the new way? And for that matter… how did the Torah know and declare with full confidence that although the Jews came to believe the story as told in our Torah, no one would ever get a group of people to believe a new version of this story, ever again?

Maimonides may have been on to something.

First things first: I learned while preparing this that one of the victims of today’s stabbing in Jerusalem is unstable and in critical condition. Whoever he or she may be, and I hope we’ll get his or her name for our Tefilos — please say a kepital (chapter) of Tehilim (Psalms) for his or her speedy recovery.

I hope I’m wrong. But I expect open displays of bigotry in the days ahead, after the “gay pride” parade in Jerusalem was disrupted by a terrorist stabbing.

I am, of course, referring to open displays of bigotry against the Orthodox community. Because if someone uses the actions of a single deranged individual to slander an entire community, to imply that the community somehow supported or abetted the crime via action or attitude, that isn’t fighting bigotry — it’s showing it.

And in this case, the terrorist who ran through Jerusalem’s parade stabbing people, though clearly mentally ill, (probably) grew up in our community and was dressed in the garb of an Orthodox Jew. That he thought this was somehow an appropriate act is evidence prima facie of his evil insanity. The idea that he represented any haredi opinion or school of thought is risible.

Yet sadly, I expect some newscasters, journalists and opinion writers to ignore the fact that there were no similar attacks since 2005, when this very same individual did precisely the same thing — clearly demonstrating that he does not represent any school of thought in the haredi community, as there was no one else to take his place while he rotted in jail.

I expect them to ignore the role of police in protecting the community from terrorists both foreign and domestic, who were clearly aware of this individual and his previous history, knew he had been released just weeks ago, yet apparently did nothing whatsoever to prevent this individual from repeating his terrorist violence:

Several weeks ago, an ultra-Orthodox radio station, Kav HaNeues, interviewed Schlissel after his release from prison, referring to him as a “Haredi terrorist.” Schlissel told the station, “If a single person comes and wants to hold the [gay pride] parade, then therefore in order to do something, something extreme is necessary.” Referring to members of the LGBT community, Schlissel also said that “these impure people want to defile Jerusalem,” and “the objective — I need to stop this parade.”…

Jerusalem District police chief Moshe Adri says police knew Schlissel was released from prison, but didn’t have any concrete intel he was in the area or planning an attack. He says the investigation is in its early stages. A reporter for Channel 2 says Schlissel didn’t hide his intention, and that he had written on the Internet that he would continue his efforts against the LGBT community. When asked whether the police had been aware of rumors on WhatsApp claiming Schlissel was planning an attack, Adri says the police weren’t aware of such rumors.

Don’t get me wrong. I do want to know what the broadcasters and listeners of Kav HaNeues thought he was saying. Usually, when a person says “I’m gonna kill him” we know it’s just words — but here was a guy who did this before. Did anyone think to report him? Did they ignore it? But failing to act without an explicit threat isn’t surprising, though one would hope we would do better.

Terrorism — including terrorism against those trying to promote to’eva in Jerusalem — must be stopped. It is the obligation of the police to stop terrorism, and they clearly failed in their duties in this case.

And we must stand against terrorism, bigotry and hate, in all their many forms.

The last book of the Torah, Book of Devarim, is called “Deuteronomy” in English — an Old English translation of Deuteronomium, Latin for “Second Law.” G-d tells Moshe to record what Moshe himself said to Israel, which includes further discussion and elaboration of the Commandments.

Moshe begins, however, by giving Israel Tochacha, rebuke. In modern English we might call it a “stern lecture,” but that fails to capture its full meaning. Moshe lived his entire life as a servant of the Nation. G-d testifies that Moshe was “more humble than anyone” [Num. 12:3]. He was their leader because he was called upon to lead — and showed leadership by demonstrating, as a shepherd, concern for a small lost sheep in his flock. He cared about every person. So if he was criticizing them, it was because he truly desired the very best for them.

Even before he begins to speak, Rashi explains, the Torah describes the People of Israel’s location in a way that reminds us of places where we, Israel, angered the A-lmighty through our misbehavior. And the Torah knows a thing or two about rebuke — why does it say that he spoke “to all of Israel?” Because if only part of them were there, those out in the marketplace at the time would come back and say, “you didn’t respond when he said that? If we had been there, we would’ve answered him!” So Moshe assembled everyone, so that no one could say afterwards that they could have justified themselves but didn’t have the opportunity. And why did Moshe only do this shortly before his death? Otherwise he would have had to rebuke Israel constantly, and we would have been ashamed.

Perhaps the strongest criticism is when the Torah points out that they found themselves eleven days away from Horeb, Mt. Sinai [see 1:2]. Forty years later, they were all of eleven days from where they received the Torah.

And there is a deeper message, Rashi tells us, behind mentioning “eleven days from Horeb.” — to get from Horeb to Kadesh Barnea takes eleven days, but excluding the days when Israel stopped (due to its own actions), they traveled there in only three. That is how anxious G-d was to bring us to our land! And then at Kadesh Barnea the spies went out… and as a result, Israel traveled in a circuit around Mt. Seir for forty years.

This is a good message to be reading on the eve of Tisha B’Av, the Ninth of Av, the day both Temples were destroyed. Even the bad things that happen to us are for our own benefit — and usually because we, Israel, did something wrong. We live in a time when people refuse to take responsibility for their own actions, and we are taught to take responsibility beyond what even seems logical: “every generation in which the Temple is not rebuilt, it is as if it was destroyed during their time” [Yerushalmi Yoma 1:1].

Today there is a terrible disconnect between cause and effect — by which I mean spiritual cause. 78% of Jews in America told the Pew report that “remembering the Holocaust” is an important part of being Jewish. But where are they on the ninth of Av? On Tisha B’Av, we remember terrible things that befell the Jewish People, and remind ourselves that it is ultimately up to us to do better, to honor the memory of the holy martyrs of our nation by coming closer to G-d and being truly deserving of peace in our land.

In this week’s reading, we learn the incredible story of Bila’am, who traveled to curse the Jews, only to be confronted by an angel – and his own donkey.

His donkey saw the angel first, with a drawn sword, and prudently steered to avoid the angel by walking off the path. Bila’am responded by hitting the donkey, especially when it trapped Bila’am’s leg against the wall as it desperately tried to avoid their death.

The donkey was doing the right thing; Bila’am refused to see. Even when G-d miraculously gave the donkey the power of speech, Bila’am responded by threatening to kill it. Finally the donkey started to get through: it asked Bila’am, (paraphrasing Num. 22:30) “in all the years you have ridden me as your donkey, have I ever acted like this towards you?” And Bila’am admitted that it had not.

And then, finally, G-d opened Bila’am’s eyes. Or, at least, this is what the translations say. The Hebrew word, “VayeGal,” comes from the root “Galui,” something which is revealed, the opposite of hidden. Of course Bila’am could see, his eyes were wide open the whole time. But he could not see the truth — that there was an angel standing in front of him.

He should have known the truth. Clearly the donkey was acting wildly out of character — he should have known there was some good reason without needing to see the angel himself. Only once he began to understand, and admitted that the donkey had never acted this way, only then did G-d let him see the truth.

Friends of us once recounted the story of taking a walk on a Shabbos afternoon, when a well-known Rabbi and his daughter suddenly emerged from their house and jumped into a waiting taxi. After Shabbos, the daughter called them to let them know that her father had a medical emergency, which required “breaking” the Sabbath in order to save his life in accordance with Jewish Law. The wife, telling this story, recalled thinking to herself “no, really? We thought that after 80 years, the Rabbi had said ‘I’ve had enough of this Jewish observance, let’s go for a ride!'”

Sadly, though, it’s not always so simple. It’s not always so obvious that the person acting so out of character might have a very good reason (even emotionally) to act contrary to his or her normal behavior. And it’s our obligation to try to see beyond the limitations of our eyes, to imagine .

This world is all about concealment. We only know part of the story, we don’t know all the facts, we don’t understand. If Bila’am should have understood that there must be a really good reason for his faithful donkey to suddenly act this way, we should certainly try to recognize that good people don’t suddenly go bad — and interpret their actions for the best.

We read this week about the passing of Aharon, the first Kohen Gadol, the High Priest. At the time of his passing, G-d tells Moshe to ascend the mountain with both Aharon and Elazar, his son — and to remove the vestments of the High Priest from Aharon, and place them upon Elazar before his father’s passing.

The Sifsei Chachamim points out that this is a unique moment. It was forbidden to leave the Temple Mount wearing those unique garments — so why was Aharon told to ascend the mountain in them, and Elazar to return wearing them?

Aharon was special to the Jewish nation in two ways, which we could perhaps describe as “personal” and “professional.” He, Aharon, was a pursuer of peace, the one who helped people to reconcile their differences. But he also held a critical office in the leadership of the Jewish people, as the High Priest.

Every time a great leader or teacher passes away, it is natural to worry that no one can fill his place, that he was irreplaceable. By having Elazar descend back to the Jewish nation in the Priestly Vestments, HaShem was sending us a message — that as much as every individual truly is unique, the nation will not be leaderless.

Hashem had to order them to ascend the mountain. None of the three, of course, wanted to see Aharon pass away. But Moshe was also ordered to dress Elazar. The impression given is that Elazar would not, otherwise, have wanted to put them on. He would have hesitated, but HaShem showed him that he should wear them. He would never be Aharon, his father — but he would be Kohen Gadol.

Just last year, following the passing of Rav Ovadiah Yosef, who had been the leader of Sephardic Jewry around the world, Rav Shalom Cohen, Dean of Yeshivat Porat Yosef in Jerusalem, was appointed to succeed him as the head of the Moetzet Chachmei HaTorah, the council of scholars that guides Sha”s, the Sephardic party in Israel. While Rav Cohen was a member of that Moetzet since its formation over thirty years ago, many pointed out that he always invested his time in scholarship and in teaching his students, rather than political matters.

It has been this way throughout our history, that the true leaders have not sought leadership, but only to dedicate themselves to God and the Jewish people. They find leadership thrust upon them, often by their own predecessors if not by that predecessors’ other students. HaShem promised us that just as the Jewish people will always survive, we will never find ourselves like a ship without a rudder. The two go together — we will always find ourselves with leaders, to guide us forward through history.

In this week’s reading, Aharon is Commanded to light the Menorah in the Temple.

What happens when you light a flame? Lighting a second candle takes nothing from the first one. Doing so merely spreads the light, adding to it.

If you’ve ever seen a building constructed with old stone walls, you may have noticed that the windows are wider on the inside, to allow the sunlight from the outside to spread inside the building. The Temple, though, was constructed the opposite way. The windows were narrower on the inside, so that light from within the Temple should spread to the outside.

We read in Proverbs (20:27) that “The light of HaShem is the soul of man.” We are to not only to light candles… we are supposed to give light to souls, as well. Rav Asher Z. Rubenstein zt”l pointed out that G-d doesn’t need our help, in this as in anything. But He wants us to take part in spreading the light.

The Commandment is to light “until the flame burns by itself.” It is not enough to simply see a little spark of light; the job isn’t completed until the light is able to burn brightly by itself — and able to “pay it forward” and ignite other flames as well.

We should all do our part, every day, to light the lights not only within ourselves, but others.

The Talmud [Rosh Hashanah 17b] records an exchange between Bluriah, a convert, and the Rabbis. She questioned an apparent contradiction: the Torah says that G-d does not show favor [Deut. 10:17], but the Kohanim bless the nation in this week’s reading [Num. 6:26] that G-d should show favor to them. How, she asked, can this be?

Rebbe Yossi HaKohen provided Bluriah with a parable: imagine a person standing before the King and promising to pay a debt by a certain time — and swearing to do so on the King’s life. The time comes and goes, and the debt remains unpaid. The debtor comes before the King to assuage his anger, and the King says to him: “I forgive the embarrassment, but now go deal with your friend!”

The Rabbi explained that the situation is the same before the King of Kings. If a person sins against G-d, G-d can be asked to show favor. But between people, He cannot be bribed, He cannot show favoritism.

In this week’s reading, we also see an outstanding example of people not trying to earn favoritism from HaShem. This week’s reading recounts the individual offerings of the heads of the tribes, at the time of the dedication of the Mishkan, the Sanctuary. Over and over again, we read the very same words — because each offering was the same as every other.

The Medrash says that although the Nasi, the leader of the tribe, of Reuven wanted to bring his offering second after Yehudah, HaShem commanded that the tribes should follow the way they camped in the desert — thus placing the tribes of Yissacher and Zevulun, which traveled under the flag of Yehudah, ahead of Reuven, the second of the four tribes with their own flag.

The Medrash explains that the head of Yissacher was told to bring second, because the tribe of Yissacher told all the tribes what to offer. What does this Medrash mean? What was so special about this offering, “a silver platter, weighing 130 shekels, and a silver basin, weighing 70 shekels, both filled with fine flour mixed with oil…” which was duplicated by all the tribes?

One answer given is that the duplication was the advice.

We have a natural instinct to be different — and to be better. But if someone is “outperforming,” that means that others are not. And indeed, sometimes it feels like there is a competition to “keep up with the Joneses,” and to outdo them.

This is exactly what the head of the tribe of Yissacher, Nesanel ben Tzuar, chose not to do. On the contrary, he chose to precisely duplicate Nachshon ben Amminadav’s offering of the previous day, so that none try to outdo the other. Otherwise, one would add upon the other, until the twelfth Nasi was bringing all he owned!

Nesanel ben Tzuar emulated the behavior of HaShem Himself, as found in the Medrash concerning Bluriah. HaShem does nothing for Himself — we have nothing to give Him except the opportunity to receive His Kindness. Nesanel ben Tzuar similarly cared not for himself, but only to avoid favoritism, any preference of one Nasi over the others.

We are enjoined to emulate HaShem and His attributes — but we might not have thought about the desire to outperform in that context. Obviously, in constructive matters like the workplace, and all the more so learning Torab, we should strive to do “better than ever.” But even for the best of purposes, we shouldn’t try to outspend others.

What separates human consciousness from that of animals is the ability to think in terms of ideas, and act based upon a conscious decision rather than instinct. How do we communicate these ideas to others, and build upon them? This comes to us through the power of speech. A parrot can mimic sounds; a human being can communicate and understand ideas and concepts.

This unique human capacity provides us with incredible opportunities to build. Speech enables us to learn and to teach, to work together to improve the world, and to communicate with our Creator.

But as we are warned in this week’s reading, the power of speech also carries with it a unique potential for evil. Rabbi Yisrael Mayer Kagan, the Chofetz Chaim (known by the name of his most famous work on the ethics of speech), explains that “Lashon Hora,” evil speech, comes in many different ways: verbal intimidation, hurtful remarks, gossip about others, and more.

He tells the story of a small town, hundreds of years ago, where a rumor circulated regarding one of the men in the congregation, accusing him of criminal activity. They sent a question to a leading Rabbi of that era; they said that for the time being they had not granted him customary honors in the synagogue, but were deciding what else they should do.

The Rabbi’s response was immediate and strong: that the leaders of that congregation must publicly beg forgiveness of the man. Why? Because they had publicly shamed him without definitive knowledge of his wrongdoing. Had there been witnesses proving his criminality, of course, a punishment would have been warranted — but to publicly embarrass him based on evil gossip was, said the Rabbi, literally worse than most anything the man could have done.

The misuse of the holy gift of speech surrounds us today. Leading entertainers comment that social media has created an incredibly hostile environment, where everyone is a critic, ready to condemn everything from the tenor of their voice to the size of their nose. We’ve added an entirely new word to the vocabulary: cyberbully. In some locales, they have rightfully decided that this term refers to a crime, one that has all too frequently led to tragic deaths.

Today we do not get Divine signals that we are doing wrong, which, our Sages tell us, was the cause of the spiritual blemish of tzara’as described in our reading. Who can claim that were that malady to exist today, he or she would not be blemished?

Fortunately, we have the guidance of people like Rabbi Kagan if we wish to improve, and stop misusing this great spiritual gift that we have been given. Let us, this week, resolved to do something more to improve in this critical area, and make the world a better place.