Category: Lifeline

We are about to enter the period of time called the Nine Days, the beginning of the month of Av. The Ninth of Av is the tragic day when Israel mourned needlessly after the the evil report of the spies [Num. 14:1 ff.]. G-d said that because we mourned for no reason, that day would become a day of mourning. And so it has been, as by the time of the Mishnah it was the anniversary of five tragedies:

1. Our anscestors were told that due to their needless mourning, they would remain in the desert for forty years and enter Israel only after all the adults of the time had perished;
2. The destruction of the First Temple;
3. The destruction of the Second Temple;
4. The city of Betar was overcome, and all of its inhabitants, tens of thousands of people, were killed;
5. The site of the Holy Temple was plowed through, making it totally barren.

Since then, many other catastrophies have been associated with the Ninth of Av: Pope Urban II declared the first Crusade to Jerusalem, which led to the destruction of entire Jewish communities in Rhineland and France and the loss of many thousands of lives; Jews were expelled from England, France and Spain (on or around the ninth); Germany entered World War I, which resulted in 120,000 Jewish casualties and set the events leading to the Holocaust in motion; Heinrich Himmler secured Nazi approval of the “Final Solution;” and the deportation of Jews began from the Warsaw Ghetto.

Even more recently, the Jewish community center in Buenos Aires was bombed on the tenth of Av (the Temple continued to burn into the tenth, and thus it is connected to the mourning as well). And less than ten years ago, the tenth of Av began the infamous “Disengagement” from Gaza, which led directly to Gaza becoming the largest terrorist base in the modern world and to what is arguably the longest ongoing war crime in modern history, the firing of over 12,000 missiles aimed at civilians.

What can we do? We are told that the Second Temple was destroyed due to needless hatred between Jews. This is a time to focus our energies on increasing brotherhood and love between members of the Jewish people, especially keeping in mind the situation facing those of us who live in the Holy Land today.

Dr. Rene Levy, a neuropharmacologist in Seattle, recently sent me a copy of his book, “Baseless Hatred: What It Is and What You Can Do about It.” It could not be presented to you at a more appropriate time. It is a comprehensive study of the phenomenon of needless hatred, with suggestions for prevention and repair.

The book looks at hatred as a topic of intellectual study, increasing our awareness of the issue and, at the end, inspiring us to do better. It looks at the understanding of hatred by psychologists, neurobiologists, and of course our Sages. An entire section is devoted to Israel and the Jews, referring to the hatred of the State of Israel and the “new anti-Semitism” (it is worth noting in this context that Dr. Levy grew up in France, and received his BS in Pharmacy from the University of Paris before moving to the United States to study for his PhD). It received favorable reviews from not only Harav Shlomo Maimon, the head of the Rabbinical Court of Seattle, but a series of professors, Israeli politicians, columnists and others. In the truest spirit of brotherhood, there is something in this book for every reader, to be both informed and inspired. You are invited to read more about the book (and learn where to buy it) on its website.

For a more traditional, “mussar” (ethical) approach to increasing love and harmony, one can turn to books such as “Ahavas Chesed” (lit. the love of kindness) by the Chafetz Chaim (Rabbi Yisrael Meyer Kagan) among others. May our study of love over hate turn to practice, and bring us to the time when, we are promised, the Ninth of Av will be known as a day of joy, rather than tragedy.

Two days ago, we learned the terrible news that the three kidnapped Israeli teens, Gilad Michael ben Ophir, Yaacov Naftali ben Avraham, and Eyal ben Uriel, were murdered by their captors.

Many words have been written, and many more will be, about this awful event. But of all the things that were said, a brief comment to Twitter by Rabbi Steven Burg, Head of the Eastern Division of the Wiesenthal Center, summed it up best: “The world does not understand that this is not political for Jews. This was deeply personal. We all loved #EyalGiladNaftali.”

In this week’s reading, the evil prophet Bila’am comes to curse Israel, and is forced to sing its praises instead. As he looks upon Israel, he says, “… they are a nation that dwells apart, and are not counted among the nations” [23:9]. Israel is not like other nations. When three boys are kidnapped, they are not someone else’s children — they are ours.

And then later, he speaks of us as one: “How goodly are your tents, oh Jacob, your dwelling places, oh Israel” [24:5]. We are all one. When three boys are killed, the entirety of Israel is wounded.

Rebbe Yochanon says in the Talmud [Sandhedrin 105b] that from these words of blessing, we can perceive the curse that lay in Bila’am’s heart: he wanted to pray that Israel not be given houses of study or prayer. He knew that only without them could Israel be defeated.

Traditionally, when a life is ended through murder, we say “may G-d avenge his death.” It is a sad demonstration of the widespread ignorance of Judaism, not to mention a backhanded insult to Israelis, that the “Forward” newspaper wrote that “‘may G-d avenge his death’ is often invoked at the burials of Israelis slain by Palestinians,” as if it were a call to violence or fraught with political meaning. In reality, exactly the same sentiment is traditionally voiced with regards to those killed by the Nazis, during the pogroms, and throughout our long and often painful history — the perpetrators of which are, of course, long since dead.

The ultimate vengeance for their blood is not further killing, but survival and growth. When we go into the house of study, that is our vengeance. When students around the world learn the six orders of Mishnah, that, as one survivor said regarding his grandchildren, is the best revenge against the Nazis. We do our part, and let G-d take care of the rest.

Several years ago, we created a web site, LzecherNishmas.com, where families and groups could arrange for the study of Mishnah in memory of the departed. Today there are ten different groups arranging for study of the full Mishnah in memory of these three boys.

One of our great Sages, Rabbi Chaim Kanievsky, is said to have remarked, after a few moments of stunned silence upon hearing of their end, that these boys had a tremendous merit — they brought us together to pray, to improve ourselves, to elevate ourselves in response to barbarity. May it continue to be so.

At this writing, we are anxiously awaiting the rescue or release of the three boys kidnapped by terrorists, Yaakov Naftali ben Rachel Devorah, Gilad Michael ben Bat Galim, and Eyal ben Iris Teshurah.

All over the world, Jews have set aside their differences to pray for these three boys. At the Knesset, perhaps the focal point for disagreements between Jews, all the Jewish representatives said Psalms together.

Why does it take an event of this magnitude to unify us?

This week’s Torah reading focuses upon Korach, who led a rebellion against Moshe. What could be a more ridiculous idea? Everyone knew that Moshe was appointed by G-d and had led them out of Egypt. As mentioned last week, the Medrash even tells us that everyone had the opportunity to hear the Commandments directly from HaShem, but each time He spoke, their souls left their bodies. They were unable to hear Him directly, though Moshe could — which is the best indication of Moshe’s purity of thought and intent. It was the Jews themselves who turned to Moshe and asked him to transmit G-d’s message; for Korach to now turn around and claim that Moshe was changing the rules for his own benefit was both absurd and deadly.

For Korach and all his followers, it was all about their personal honor and benefit. They didn’t get the positions they thought they “deserved,” and so they acted out of jealousy. They were wrong, and as we see, to act upon their feelings certainly wasn’t worthwhile.

Whether or not a person is in the right, taking it personally is never worthwhile. The problem is that it’s difficult, in the heat of the moment, to remember the brotherhood between us that is more important than any argument we might be having. A story I heard this week from Rabbi Dovid Eisenberg illustrates this point nicely:

After someone passes away, there is a Jewish custom to accompany the body until burial. This means that even overnight, people stay with the deceased, as arranged by the Chevrah Kadisha, the burial society.

In one community, there were two people who had been in an argument, and never reconciled. For two decades they lived in the same community, sent their children to the same schools, saw each other in synagogue, at weddings, etc., and never spoke.

Then someone in the community passed away, and the person with the Chevrah Kadisha who arranged the shemirah, the watching of the body, was unaware of the argument between these two men. So he scheduled both of them to share the same shift, to watch the body at the same time.

So the two of them found themselves in a room, with just each other and someone who had passed on. They were confronted with the realization that all of us are, like the deceased person they were watching, headed to the World of Truth after our time in this one.

That one scheduling error caused a twenty year argument to disappear.

As a merit for Yaakov Naftali ben Rachel Devorah, Gilad Michael ben Bat Galim, and Eyal ben Iris Teshurah, may we all find an opportunity to reconcile our differences, and commit to remembering this without another tragic reminder.

In this week’s reading we learn about the spies sent to look at the Land of Cana’an. As is clear from the consequences, their evil report, and the Children of Israel’s reaction, became their greatest sin in all their time in the Sinai desert — and it was initiated by “leaders of the Children of Israel” [Num. 13:3]. Even among the Generation of the Desert, those who heard the Voice of G-d at Mt. Sinai, those who set this in motion were on an exalted spiritual level. How could this have happened?

After they went through the land of Cana’an, these great men came home very discouraged. They knew that the Children of Israel had sinned previously, especially with the Golden Calf. They saw that the inhabitants were giants, and it would take open miracles for Israel to be victorious. So they concluded, erroneously, that Israel was no longer worthy of that level of protection — that G-d’s promise was not unconditional, that they would lose.

So what did they do when they returned? Did they go to Moshe? Moshe, of course, had a direct line to G-d, and they all knew it. Like all the rest of the Children of Israel, even these leaders, the spies, couldn’t withstand hearing G-d’s Voice directly — at Mt. Sinai, says the Medrash, their souls left their bodies both times G-d spoke to them, so they asked Moshe to listen and transmit to them. Moshe was thus uniquely able to tell them if Israel was or was not worthy, or if it mattered. His guidance stood above that of all the elders, all the judges, and certainly all the nation.

But what did they do? They didn’t turn to Moshe. They made their own judgement and spread their story via the rumor mill. And that was their failing. And all the Children of Israel listened to them, and not to Moshe — and that was their failing.

Had the spies turned to Moshe and let him reassure them, or had the Children of Israel known the difference between being a leading figure and having true leadership (and listened to the latter), they would have entered the land forty years sooner — all those adults would have entered the land rather than dying in the desert.

Have we learned from their experience?

Today, following the spies seems to be commonplace. Magazines and websites exist solely to gossip about leading entertainers and anyone else they choose. There are no shortage of outlets, especially blogs, whose primary purpose is to speak evil of Jews or Israel, and Jews read them. Today, anyone can set him or herself up and claim to be a “leader” — and get plenty of followers.

We, the Children of Israel, cannot afford to repeat the error of the spies.

Upon the inauguration of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, the leaders of each of the Tribes of Israel, the Nesi’im, brought gifts to be offered as sacrifices. We read the details of the gifts offered by each of the twelve, and immediately realize that the Ba’al Koreh, the Torah reader, had an easier job preparing that we might have thought — because besides the names of the tribes and their leaders, essentially the same six verses are repeated twelve times. Each one of them brought precisely the same gift.

Rabbi Shmuel Greineman writes that this is no coincidence. On the second day, Nesanel ben Tzuar of the tribe of Yissachar had to make a decision. What would he do differently than Nachshon ben Aminadav of Yehudah? Each of the remaining ten, of course, would then have to decide how to vary from the earlier ones, inevitably leading to jealousy as each one felt compelled to upstage those who gave previously. So he chose instead to let Nachshon’s gift serve as the template which they all followed. G-d found this so gratifying that He had all twelve gifts recorded in the Torah individually, although they could as easily have been stated collectively.

This week’s reading, Naso, is universally read either immediately before or after the holiday of Shavuos, when the Torah was given, when the entire Nation gathered around the mountain “like one person with one heart.” The gifts of the Nesi’im teach us the importance and greatness of unity. The Torah, with its “seventy facets,” is not a prescription for anarchy. On the contrary — the depth of Torah provides abundant lessons all leading us in the same direction, to bring G-dliness into the world and share it with the next generation.

My cousin’s daughter is celebrating her Bas Mitzvah this weekend, and as they studied this week’s reading in preparation, they came across one of the classic questions of Jewish philosophy: why do we do what we do?

The parsha says that if we follow G-d’s Laws, we will be richly rewarded — but also says that if we don’t, we will be punished. So are we acting out of fear of punishment, or because we want the reward? Our Sages add two additional possibilities: acting out of fear or love of G-d, without regard to the reward or punishment. Similarly, if someone has done wrong and is returning to G-d, the Sages distinguish between one who does so out of fear of punishment, fear of G-d, or love.

Obviously the highest level is to do the Commandments simply out of love. The story is told of Rabbi Eliyahu Kramer, the Gaon of Vilna, who was unable to locate an Esrog (one of the four species taken on Sukkos) one year. His assistant found someone with an Esrog, but he would part with it on one condition only: that all of the Gaon’s reward for the Mitzvah of taking Lulav and Esrog that year would belong to the one giving up the Esrog. The Gaon would share in none of the reward at all.

Observers said that the Gaon did the Mitzvah that year with even greater intensity than his elevated norm. Why? Because he was doing it purely out of love for HaShem and His Mitzvos, without the least concern for the reward he was earning!

It is obvious, though, that sometimes this isn’t enough. G-d never wants to punish us, any more than a loving parent enjoys disciplining a child who has done wrong. But it is sometimes necessary for a person to fear the consequences of bad behavior, in order to avoid it. G-d knows (of course) that we aren’t always up to the challenge of acting out of love alone.

Nonetheless, that is the goal we should be striving to meet. Mazal Tov, Sarah Miriam Edelson, on your Bas Mitzvah, and may you always merit to serve G-d out of love! [And may we all have the same blessing.]

At the end of this week’s reading, we are told not to set up idols. “You shall make no idols, and a graven image or pillar you shall not set up… You shall keep My Sabbaths, and revere My Sanctuary, I am Hashem” [Lev. 26:1-2]. The Medrash, quoted by Rashi, says that this is talking about a person who sold himself into servitude to a non-Jew. He isn’t allowed to say “because my master is an idolater, I will be like him,” or “because my master engages in forbidden relationships, I will be like him.” He is still obligated to observe the Commandments like anyone else.

Rabbi Yisrael Mayer Kagan, the saintly Chofetz Chayim, says that the Torah is teaching us that even a person who has put himself into a bad situation is not exempt. By putting himself into indentured servitude to a non-Jew, this person was certainly embarrassed, and knew full well that he would have many challenges and failures when it came to doing the Commandments. Nonetheless, he remains obligated like anyone else.

So, he continues, if this is true of someone who sold himself, then all the more so the fact that a person might have willfully ignored the Commandments in the past doesn’t exempt him for the future. Tomorrow brings with it new obligations and new responsibilities.

What this also means, of course, is that every new day brings with it new opportunities as well. Sometimes a person tries to do various things, doesn’t manage to “keep it up,” and thinks he or she just isn’t cut out to do it. But every person, at every level, experiences repeated failures on the way to success — in many different areas of our lives. That’s what makes the success so sweet in the end.

The same is true of spiritual success — if it’s hard to accomplish, every day one has a new opportunity, and the eventual success that will be much greater. The Torah is telling us to never give up, that we can always win in the end.

The story is told of the uninformed Jewish fellow who desired to be a Kohen… a Priest. He went to a Rabbi, who told him that that’s impossible: a child is a Kohen at birth or not at all. But the fellow persisted, even offering huge sums of money if the Rabbi would only declare him a Kohen. Finally the Rabbi asked, with exasperation, “why is this so important to you? If you’ve never learned about Judaism, why must you be a Kohen?”

The man responded: “it’s very simple, Rabbi. You see, my grandfather was a Kohen, and my father was a Kohen, so I also want to be a Kohen!”

For those who need the joke explained — he already was. The priesthood is limited to the male descendants of Moshe’s brother Aharon, who was the first Kohen Gadol [High Priest]. As found in this week’s Torah portion, it’s not optional, but rather a Kohen has unique limitations and obligations. It’s not about privilege and prestige — it’s about having a mission, beyond the one shared by all Jews and that shared by all humanity.

As I was writing this morning, a woman wrote into our Torah.org chat, and my colleague Rabbi Dixler answered her. Her great-aunt had once told her that she might be Jewish — and, in fact, she is! She’s also only 30 minutes from a center for Jewish studies, so he was able to recommend a place for her to learn more about what it means to be Jewish.

The world needs variety — and we are all different. And all of us have a mission that is in tune with our own spiritual needs; we each have our own parts to play, our own path to follow. Some of our differences are obvious from birth — others, less so. Some can dunk a basket while others have two left feet. Some find calculus easy while others can’t master long division. And some are born with the proverbial silver spoon, while others struggle to make ends meet — and so on.

So many times in life, we may be tempted to look over the fence. Be it medical issues, schooling, financial problems — we can find ourselves asking why we can’t have someone else’s fortune, rather than our own. But the Torah’s answer is always the same: we are placed in the situation that is uniquely right for us — to see what we make of it.

We come into the world to have the opportunity to emulate G-d, to earn closeness by becoming more G-dly. The Torah teaches that the situation in which we find ourselves is the one that G-d Himself deemed necessary for our next opportunity for spiritual growth. That is what we all share in common. What’s ultimately important isn’t how we are born — but how we die!

Exercise more! That two-word synopsis of what the doctor told me is probably familiar to many readers. What differs from patient to patient is which muscles and bones need the exercise, but by a certain age most of us are told to work on something or other to stay healthy.

It turns out that our brains need exercise, too. The Alzheimer’s Association reports that “higher levels of education appear to be somewhat protective against Alzheimer’s, possibly because brain cells and their connections are stronger. Well-educated individuals can still get Alzheimer’s, but symptoms may appear later because of this protective effect.” It is almost ordinary to find a Rabbinic scholar in his 90’s with no noticeable loss of his faculties — due to constant exercise of the brain.

In this week’s reading, the Torah tells us that our “moral compass” needs exercise, as well. G-d tells Moshe to assemble everyone and tell them: “be holy!” Why? “Because I, HaShem your G-d, am Holy.” And the very next verse tells each person to fear his or her father and mother, and observe the Sabbath, and repeats: “I am HaShem your G-d.”

Being holy is neither easy nor immediate; it doesn’t just happen by itself. The Torah gives us an example of moral behavior, telling us to treat parents with deference and respect. And it requires us to be intelligent in making moral decisions, as evidenced by the placement of the requirement to observe the Sabbath in the same verse. The Sages teach us that this is to tell us that listening to our parents has exceptions: if told to violate the Sabbath, we must not listen, because “I am HaShem your G-d,” and both parents and children must listen to Him first.

Like anything else, it takes study and practice — exercise — to get it right. Without studying the difference between appropriate speech and harmful gossip, for example, it’s almost impossible not to make a mistake.

They say practice makes perfect. Perfection isn’t really part of the human endeavor… but we can try our best. This is a marathon for which everyone needs to train!