Afleveringen
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The Gemara in Masechet Shabbat (21b) tells the story of the Hanukah miracle, and then adds that "Le'shana Aheret" – the next year – the Rabbis established Hanukah as an annual celebration. The clear implication is that the Rabbis did not institute the holiday of Hanukah immediately after the miraculous triumph over the Greeks and the miracle of the oil of the Menorah. The decision to establish this holiday was made only the next year. Why? Rav Moshe Yechiel Epstein of Ozorov (1889-1971), in his Be'er Moshe, explains that the Rabbis waited to see if the spiritual powers that existed during the time of the miracles returned the following year. Hashem has performed and continues to perform many miracles for Am Yisrael, but special holidays are instituted to commemorate only a small number of these miracles. A holiday is instituted only if the Rabbis sensed that each year, on the date when the miracle occurred, the spiritual forces that facilitated the miracle return, empowering us to achieve what our ancestors achieved at the time of the original story. During the Hanukah story, the Be'er Moshe writes, the Jews were blessed with a special element of divine compassion and grace. The vast majority of the nation had assimilated, succumbing to the immense pressure placed on them by the Greeks to abandon their faith and embrace Greek culture. Only a very small group of Jews retained their commitment to Torah. Hashem showered the people with exceptional mercy and grace, providing them with miraculous assistance that they did not deserve. Despite having assimilated almost completely, Hashem enabled them to defeat the Greeks and then sustained the lamps of the Menorah in miraculous fashion. The following year, the Rabbis sensed that this unique grace and compassion returned, that Hashem brought us this special gift, the opportunity to receive undeserved kindness and assistance, once again. At that point, the Rabbis instituted the annual celebration of Hanukah. Indeed, the Arizal (Rav Yishak Luria, 1534-1572) taught that the thirteen words that comprise the first Beracha recited over the Hanukah candle lighting (according to Sephardic custom) correspond to Hashem's thirteen Middot Rahamim – attributes of mercy. Each word of the Beracha is associated with a different Midda. On each of the first seven days of Hanukah, we receive an especially large measure of one of the thirteen attributes, and on the eighth and final day of Hanukah, we are showered with an abundance of all the remaining attributes, from the eighth through the thirteenth. (This is why the eighth day of Hanukah is an especially significant and sacred day in Kabbalistic tradition.) The days of Hanukah are not just a time to commemorate and express gratitude for the miracles that Hashem performed for our ancestors. This is, of course, the basic purpose of Hanukah, but in addition, this is a time of great compassion, when Hashem bestows upon us undeserved grace and kindness. This is a precious time to beseech G-d for all that we need, for the assistance that we require. Just as Hashem graced our ancestors with undeserved kindness, granting them a miraculous victory, so is He prepared to shower us with this same element of kindness. Let us take advantage of this special opportunity by turning to Hashem in sincere, heartfelt prayer, and humbly beseeching Him for undeserved kindness and compassion, that we be blessed with all that we need, even if we are unworthy of it.
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The Torah in Parashat Vayishlah tells the famous story of the mysterious man who attacked Yaakob Abinu as he was making his way back to Eretz Yisrael from Haran. Yaakob and his assailant wrestled throughout the night, with Yaakob ultimately emerging victorious, though with an injury to his thigh which made him limp. The Rabbis teach us that this assailant was actually not a man, but an angel. Specifically, it was Satan, who came to attempt to block Yaakob Abinu, to prevent him from continuing his journey and the process of building Am Yisrael. The question arises, though, why did Satan attack only Yaakob? Why did he not try to obstruct the path of Abraham or Yishak? These three patriarchs built the foundations of Am Yisrael – and yet, for some reason, Satan waited until the emergence of the third patriarch, Yaakob, to launch his assault and try to prevent the rise of Hashem's special nation. Why? Rav Elhanan Wasserman (1874-1941) answered this question by taking a closer look at the unique characteristics embodied by Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob. Abraham, of course, embodied the attribute of Hesed, kindness, extending himself generously and selflessly for the sake of others. Even after undergoing the painful procedure of Berit Mila at an advanced age, he sat outside hoping to find weary travelers in need of hospitality whom he could invite and help. Yishak is associated with the quality of "Aboda," serving G-d through sacrifice and prayer. This quality is best exemplified by his having been placed on an altar as a sacrifice to Hashem. He embodied the devoted service of Hashem, which nowadays, in the absence of the Bet Ha'mikdash, is done primarily through prayer. Finally, Yaakob represents the value of intensive Torah study. He is described as a "dweller of tents" (Bereshit 25:27), referring to the halls of Torah learning. And even when he was forced to leave because of Esav's threat to kill him, he first went to the yeshiva of Eber, where he spent fourteen years diligently learning, without even taking time to sleep (Rashi, Bereshit 28:11). Rav Elhanan explained that whereas all three qualities are vitally important components of Jewish life, it is the third of these qualities that guarantees our survival as a nation. A Jew must, of course, act with kindness, but this attribute is not unique to our nation. Other nations also recognize the great value of Hesed, and many non-Jews are wonderfully kind and generous. In fact, we are privileged to live in a country that guarantees the rights of all its citizens, and even has welfare systems in place to help the underprivileged. Clearly, Hesed is not a strictly Jewish value. The same is true of "Aboda." Followers of all religions pray, and perform rituals in the service of their deity. And there are, unfortunately, many Jews who pray to Hashem, but without accepting the core beliefs of Judaism, or living a Torah lifestyle. The value that sets us apart from everyone else, and which thus ensures our continuity and survival as a distinct nation, is Torah. Immersing ourselves in our sacred texts, absorbing our ancient wisdom, is what enables us to resist the lures and pressures that abound, to withstand the powerful cultural influences that are all around us, and to preserve our faith. This is why the Satan felt threatened specifically by Yaakob, and not by Abraham or Yishak. He was not worried about the Jewish People's extraordinary devotion to Hesed, or about our filled-to-capacity houses of worship. Neither of these guarantee our eternity, because other nations are also kind and also have houses of prayer. Satan sprang into action only when he saw Yaakob Abinu, the bastion of Torah learning, because it is the devotion to intensive Torah study that ensures Am Yisrael's survival throughout the generations. As mentioned, although the Satan was unable to eliminate Yaakob, he did succeed in crippling Yaakob, by dealing a blow to his thigh. The Zohar comments that the thigh symbolizes the supporters of Torah. Just as the legs hold up the body, the generous donors who fund Torah education are the ones who maintain the Jewish People. When the Satan realized that it was unable to destroy Yaakob, it dealt a debilitating blow to the thigh, to the support of Torah. Indeed, there has never been a shortage of Jews interested in learning Torah, but there is often difficulty in funding Torah learning. Parents are reluctant to incur the significant costs of providing their children with a Torah education, and yeshivot and kollelim struggle to raise enough money for their institutions to operate. We must remember that Torah learning is the best "insurance policy" we have for Jewish survival. In a time when we face unprecedented spiritual challenges, when we are, sadly, witnessing assimilation on a mass scale, the best way to ensure our continuity is intensive, rigorous Torah learning. Hesed and prayer are critically important, but not sufficient. In order for us to withstand the relentless attacks of today's "Satan," the challenges it has put in our way, we must make time for our own Torah learning and also allocate the resources needed to support our Torah institutions.
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Zijn er afleveringen die ontbreken?
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Parashat Vayeseh begins: "Yaakob left from Be'er Sheba, and he went to Haran." Many commentators addressed the question of why the Torah needs to tell us here that Yaakob left from Be'er Sheba, his hometown. The ensuing verses tell of his experiences along the road as he journeyed to Haran, and upon arriving in Haran. The important point here is where Yaakob was going, not where he was leaving from. Moreover, this entire verse seems unnecessary, as we are already told at the end of the previous Parasha, Parashat Toldot (28:7), that Yaakob, obeying his parents' instructions, left home and made his way to Haran to live with his uncle. Why, then, did the Torah need to repeat now that he left his hometown and headed to Haran? An especially fascinating answer to this question is offered by Rav Azariah Figo (Italy, d. 1647), in his Bina Le'ittim, where he closely analyzes the events that unfolded after Yaakob's departure. As Yaakob traveled to Haran, he slept along the roadside, and beheld his famous vision of a ladder that extended to the heavens. During this vision, G-d spoke to Yaakob, and promised to care for him and to bring him safely back to Eretz Yisrael. Yet, when Yaakob arose, he made a pledge, promising to give one-tenth of his possessions to G-d if G-d would protect him, care for him, and bring him back to his homeland. Surprisingly, Yaakob was uncertain whether Hashem would care for him and return him safely home – despite having just received an explicit promise to this effect. Why? Furthermore, we read in next week's Parasha, Parashat Vayishlah, that when Yaakob was making his way back to Eretz Yisrael, he received a report that Esav was approaching with an army, and he was overcome by fear (32:8). Once again, we must wonder why Yaakob did not trust the explicit guarantee Hashem gave him that he would be protected and would return safely to his homeland. Rav Figo answers all these questions by positing that Yaakob questioned whether the dream he dreamt truly constituted a prophecy. For several reasons, he had reason to suspect that this was simply a dream, and not a prophetic message from the Almighty. For one thing, the Rambam writes that one of the prerequisites for prophecy is a joyful spirit, and Yaakob's current condition – fleeing penniless from his brother who wanted to kill him – did not lend itself to the necessary feelings of joy. Secondly, when a prophet receives prophecy, Hashem normally brings sleep upon him, and he then awakens immediately after the vision. Yaakob, however, did not wake up immediately after his dream. Rav Figo explains on this basis why the Torah tells that in the morning, Yaakob arose "Mi'shenato" – "from his sleep" (28:16). At first glance, this seems unnecessary; when somebody wakes up, he obviously wakes up "from his sleep." Rav Figo writes that the Torah here is telling us that Yaakob did not wake up immediately after beholding his vision, but rather continued sleeping until he woke up in the morning – and this led to his uncertainty as to whether what he saw was just a dream, or in fact a prophetic vision. Rav Figo applies this same approach to explain the first verse of the Parasha. Normally, with rare exceptions, prophecy is given only in Eretz Yisrael, and not outside the land. As Yaakob had left his home in Be'er Sheba, and was heading outside the land, to Haran, he was, in a sense, considered to have already left the Holy Land. This, too, contributed to his doubts regarding the nocturnal vision that he beheld. The Torah told us that Yaakob was making his way to Haran, leaving the Land of Israel, as an introduction to the story of Yaakob's dream, explaining why Yaakob was unsure whether this was a prophecy or an ordinary dream. In the end, of course, it became clear that Yaakob's dream was, in fact, a full-fledged prophecy, and Hashem fulfilled all the promises He had made during that prophetic vision. This understanding of the verses shows how Yaakob serves for us as an inspiring example of humility. Although he beheld a clear vision, during which G-d promised to protect him, and named him as heir to the covenant with Abraham and Yishak, Yaakob remained uncertain about his standing. He did not jump to conclusions, or rush to assume that he had earned G-d's blessings. We have much to learn from Yaakob Abinu's example about avoiding overconfidence. While we must of course take pride in our accomplishments and in all the good that we do, we must also ensure not to take this pride too far, to remain ever cognizant of our deficiencies. We should never feel too spiritually confident, certain that we do everything correctly, that we know better, that we always get it right. We are to live with the humility to acknowledge our imperfections, so that we are always working to correct them and continuing to grow and improve.
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Parashat Toldot tells the story of the blessings that Yishak Abinu decided to give to Esav, but ended up conferring upon Yaakob, who, at his mother's behest, disguised as Esav and came before Yishak to receive the blessing. The Torah relates that when Esav came, and Yishak then told him that his brother had deceived him and received the blessings in his place, Esav cried bitterly ("Va'yiz'ak Ze'aka Gedola U'mara Ad Me'od" – 27:34). The Midrash (Yalkut Shimoni 115) comments that Esav actually shed only three tears. One fell from his right eye, another from his left eye, and a third remained stuck inside his eye. This third tear, the Midrash concludes, is what has caused the Jewish Nation to shed rivers of tears throughout the ages. Rav Solomon Breuer (Germany, 1850-1926), son-in-law of Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888), offered a meaningful explanation of the Midrash's description. The two tears that fell from Esav's eyes correspond to the two "wrongs" that Yaakob committed against him. The first was Yaakob's purchasing the birthright from Esav in exchange for food when Esav came into the home weary and famished. And the second, of course, was Yaakob's seizing the blessings which Yishak had intended to grant to Esav. These two tears, Rav Breuer explained, were what we would call today "crocodile tears." Esav was not really upset over losing the birthright and Yishak's blessings. The birthright entailed performing the special service in the Bet Ha'mikdash, which Esav surely had no desire at all to participate in. And as for the blessings, the Midrash elsewhere (Bereshit Rabba 66:3) comments that in these blessings there are allusions to all the different areas of Torah – the Tanach, Mishna, Gemara, etc. These blessings of success, prosperity and dominance were not given "for free"; they were promised only on condition, in exchange for serious commitment to Torah learning and observance. This is certainly not something that Esav had any interest in. Esav's only real tear, Rav Breuer explained, was the tear that remained in his eye, and could not be seen. Meaning, what really troubled Esav, what really pained him, was not the birthright or the blessings, but rather the knowledge that Yaakob was the worthier brother, that he truly earned the right to bear the legacy of Abraham and Yishak, to be a patriarch of Hashem's special nation. And it is this hidden pain that has caused Am Yisrael so much pain and so many tears throughout the ages. The enemies of the Jewish Nation outwardly shed different kinds of fake "tears," they give different reasons for why their hostility toward us is justified, why they feel they have the right to cause us harm and to seek our destruction. But the real reason is the hidden "tear," the resentment over Am Yisrael's status as G-d's special nation. When Yaakob first came before Yishak disguised as Esav, Yishak heard what sounded like Yaakob's voice, but when he felt Yaakob's arms, they felt hairy, like Esav, because Ribka had wrapped goatskins around his arms. Yishak then proclaimed, "Ha'kol Kol Ya'akob, Ve'ha'yadayim Yedeh Esav" – "The voice is the voice of Yaakob, but the hands are the hands of Esav" (27:22). The Midrash uncovers for us the deeper message of Yishak's pronouncement, explaining that he was saying, "When the voice of Yaakov is heard in the synagogues, the hands are not the hands of Esav; otherwise, the hands are the hands of Esav." The way we protect ourselves against the threat of Esav, from the hostility and animosity of the enemy nations, is through heartfelt prayer. And so in our times, when there are so many who are trying to inflict harm upon Am Yisrael, both in Israel and around the world, let us commit ourselves to increasing the "voice of Yaakob," to pray and beseech G-d for His protection and assistance. We must raise our voices and pour our hearts before Hashem, and ask that He shield us from those who seek our destruction, and grant our nation the peace and serenity that we long for.
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The Torah in Parashat Hayeh-Sara tells the story of Eliezer, the trusted servant of Abraham Abinu, who was sent to find a suitable wife for Abraham's son, Yishak. Abraham told Eliezer to go to his homeland, Aram Naharayim, and choose a girl from there. Upon arriving at the well outside the town, Eliezer prayed to G-d for assistance, asking Him to arrange that the chosen girl would be the one whom he would ask for water, and who would then respond by offering water to him and also to his camels. Sure enough, Ribka – the daughter of Abraham's cousin, Betuel – came to the well, and after Eliezer approached her to ask for water, she drew water also for his camels. Ribka brought Eliezer home, and he explained to her family why he had come. He related to them his experiences at the well, and they had no choice but to conclude that this was Hashem's doing, and Ribka was destined to marry Yishak. Rav Meir Simcha Ha'kohen of Dvinsk (843-1926), in his Meshech Hochma, notes a subtle discrepancy between the Torah's account of Abraham's charge to Eliezer, and the way Eliezer reported it to Ribka's family. Abraham told Eliezer not to bring a girl from the peoples in Canaan, and to instead go bring a girl from Abraham's homeland (24:3-4). Apparently, Abraham sensed that the girls in Aram were worthier than the girls in Canaan. In speaking with Ribka's family, however, Eliezer said that Abraham told him to go to "my father's home" and "my family" (24:38). Rav Meir Simcha explains that Abraham did not actually care whether or not the girl was from his family; he cared only that she came from Aram, as the people of Aram were of a better character than the people of Canaan. Eliezer therefore decided to choose the girl who showed that she was kind and generous, worthy of marrying Abraham's daughter. His concern was only the girl's character, and not whether or not she belonged to Abraham's family. But when he arrived at Ribka's home and spoke with her family, he feared they might feel offended if they realized that Abraham was not looking specifically to choose someone from their family for Yishak. Eliezer therefore said that Abraham instructed him to go to "my father's home" and "my family," so they would feel honored by Abraham's wish to have someone from their family marry his son, and would not take offense. The Meshech Hochma notes that this explanation answers a number of other questions, as well, including the question of how to reconcile Eliezer's actions with the prohibition of "Kishuf" – sorcery. It seems that Eliezer made a random test to find the right girl, which is prohibited, as the Torah does not allow making decisions in this manner, saying "If X happens then I'll do Y." The Meshech Hochma explains that this prohibition applies only if there is no logical connection between "X" and "Y," in which case this constitutes a form of witchcraft. In Eliezer's case, however, a clear, logical system was arranged, as he wanted to find a girl who excelled in the area of kindness and generosity, and who was thus worthy of marrying into the family of Abraham Abinu. When we study this story, and we see the thought and effort that Eliezer invested in order to ensure to find the right match for Yishak, we come away awed and inspired. The Sages teach that Eliezer had a daughter whom he very much wished would marry Yishak. As such, he had vested interest in the failure of his mission. If he would not find the right girl, or if the girl's family would not allow her to go to Canaan to marry Yishak, this would leave open the possibility of his daughter marrying Yishak. And yet, Eliezer did everything he could to ensure the success of his mission, to find the right girl and see to it that her family would agree to the match. We learn from here that under all circumstances, we are to do the right thing, even when this seems to entail considerable sacrifice, and trust in Hashem to make everything work out. When Torah observance appears to not be in our best interests, we must learn from Eliezer's example, and have the faith and conviction to do the right thing anyway. Fulfilling Hashem's commands is always the most beneficial thing we can do, even when it seems detrimental, and so we must be prepared to obey despite the sacrifices entailed, trusting that Hashem will bring the most favorable outcome.
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The Torah in Parashat Vayera tells the story of Hashem's destruction of the wicked city of Sedom and its neighboring towns. Before annihilating the region, Hashem informed Abraham Abinu of what He was planning to do. Abraham, the paragon of loving kindness and compassion, pleaded on Sedom's behalf, asking G-d to spare the city if He would find fifty righteous residents. G-d agreed, whereupon Abraham went further, pleading that the city be spared if there were even just forty-five worthy inhabitants. Hashem again consented, and Abraham then continued, begging for the city to be saved in the merit of even just thirty righteous people – and then twenty, and then ten. In the end, not even ten righteous people were found in Sedom, and so it and four other cities in the region were destroyed. The question arises as to why Hashem allowed Abraham to continue praying after presenting his initial request that the city should be spared in the merit of fifty righteous residents. Quite obviously, Hashem knew from the outset that there were not even ten people in Sedom worthy of being saved, not to mention twenty, thirty, forty, or forty-five. And yet, He allowed Abraham to continue pleading on the city's behalf, lowering the number all the way down to ten. Knowing that there were not enough righteous people in Sedom to spare the city, shouldn't Hashem have told Abraham to stop at the very beginning? Didn't He know that Abraham was wasting his time by continuing to pray for Sedom? The answer is that this question is predicated on a woefully mistaken assumption about the value and significance of prayer. It presumes that the value of prayer lies solely in its effectiveness in bringing the desired result. If the person will not attain that which he prays for, according to this logic, the prayer is a waste of time. But this is a grave mistake. When we pray for somebody else, we exercise our sensitivity muscle, so-to-speak. We become kinder, more compassionate, more caring, and more empathetic. By beseeching G-d on our fellow's behalf, we build our characters, as we develop within ourselves greater sensitivity for the needs of other people. Hashem therefore allowed Abraham to continue praying – not for Sedom's benefit, as the city was going to be destroyed anyway, but for Abraham's benefit, as the experience of praying made him even greater than he already was. So often we are called upon to pray for an ill patient, for those struggling to find a marriage partner or to have children, for the IDF soldiers, for the Israeli hostages, or for other beloved Jews in need. Painfully, our prayers do not always yield the results we wish for. We have all had the agonizing experience of praying regularly and passionately for an ill patient, and then finding out that the patient did not make it, Heaven forbid. Naturally, we feel very disappointed. And, some people become discouraged by these experiences, and begin questioning the value of their Tefilot. We must remember that prayer is always precious and significant, even if our request was not granted – not only because of how it builds our connection to Hashem, but also because how it builds our character, helping us develop into kinder and more compassionate people, who are sensitive to the needs and concern of others.
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We read in Parashat Lech-Lecha of Hagar, an Egyptian woman who become the maidservant of Sara Imenu. The Midrash teaches that Sara was actually a princess, Pharaoh's daughter, and Pharaoh gave her as a maidservant to Sara upon seeing Avraham and Sara's greatness, and realizing what a privilege it would be for his daughter to work in their home. Later, after Avraham and Sara lived together for many years without children, Sara had Avraham marry Hagar. Hagar immediately conceived, resulting in tensions between her and Sara. Sara mistreated Hagar, and Hagar fled. She ended up meeting an angel, who urged her to return to Avraham and Sara's home, despite the hardships she would face there. Hagar complied. Hagar's return to Sara conveys a powerful lesson to each and every one of us. She understood the immense value and benefit of joining Avraham and Sara, even when this entailed a degree of hardship. It was difficult for Hagar to live in the home, given the tensions that arose between her and Sara, but she nevertheless accepted the angel's advice, coming to realize that it is worth enduring this unpleasantness for the sake of the great privilege of living with Avraham and Sara. The Gemara in Masechet Shabbat (31a) tells the famous story of a non-Jew who came before Shammai and said that he would convert to Judaism if Shammai could teach him the entire Torah in just a few moments, within the amount of time he could stand on one foot. Shammai sent the man away, figuring that he could not possibly be serious about embracing Judaism if he demanded to learn the entire Torah in just a few seconds. The gentile then came to Hillel, and said the same thing – that he would convert if Hillel could teach him the entire Torah while he stood on one foot. Hillel warmly embraced him, and said, "That which you dislike – do not do to your fellow." He explained that this concept encapsulates the entire Torah. This story is often understood as contrasting the approaches of Hillel and Shammai, showing how Shammai followed a stricter policy, whereas Hillel was more patient and tolerant. However, I would like to suggest an additional angle to this story. Perhaps, the gentile's experience with Shammai is told not as a point of contrast with his experience with Hillel, but rather as the background to his experience to Hillel. Meaning, Hillel quite possibly accepted this prospective convert as sincere and well-meaning precisely because he continued in his quest even after being rejected by Shammai. The fact that the man did not relent, and persisted in his attempt to join the Jewish Nation, even after a rejection, demonstrated how highly he regarded the privilege of being a Jew. His perseverance testified to his sincerity, showing that he was prepared to go through a lengthy process for the priceless opportunity to join Am Yisrael. He in fact was not just looking for an easy route; like Hagar, he was prepared to do whatever it took to become part of the Jewish People. We declare each morning during the Shaharit service, "Ashrenu Ma Tob Helkenu, U'ma Na'im Goralenu, U'ma Yafa Me'od Yerushatenu" – "We are fortunate, how good is our portion, and how pleasant is our lot, and how exceedingly beautiful is our inheritance!" At the beginning of every day, we are to remind ourselves of how privileged we are to belong to Hashem's special nation, to be able to devote our lives to His service. We remind ourselves that no matter what we will have to do deal with over the course of the day, we've won the lottery of life, we have received a precious gift. Yes, throughout any given day, a Jew is going to confront challenges. He might struggle with a challenge to his faith, a challenge posed by his sinful inclinations, the hardships that arise when seeking to meticulously observe the Misvot, or the hostility so often shown to us by other peoples. Belonging to Am Yisrael is not always going to be easy. But we can and must look to Hagar for inspiration, to be reminded that we are truly fortunate, that any difficulties that we endure are a small price to pay for the great privilege that we have been given to serve the Almighty.
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Why did Noah have to build an ark? Clearly, this was a very difficult and complicated way for Hashem to save Noah and his family from the flood. Not only did Noah have the go through the trouble of building this enormous edifice – a project which, according to tradition, took over 100 years to complete! – but it also subjected Noah and his family to grueling hardship. They lived together with all the animals, enduring great suffering. For one thing, we cannot even imagine the stench in the ark from all the waste produced by the animals. And, Noah was responsible for feeding every animal – such that he could never rest, as he needed to ensure that every animal was fed on time, and the different species all have different feeding schedules. This was an unfathomably challenging experience for Noah and his family. So why did Hashem save them this way? Hashem had an infinite number of ways to rescue Noah and his family. Why did He choose to have them live on an ark? The Meshech Hochma (Rav Meir Simcha Ha'kohen of Dvinsk, 1843-1926) answers that the ark was necessary in order for Noah and his family to experience what we might call "detox." As the Torah describes, the people of Noah's time were sinful, corrupt and degenerate. The society was overrun by greed, immorality and violence. People were concerned exclusively with the pursuit of self-gratification, completely disregarding the needs of others. And although Noah and his family were righteous, they were undoubtedly affected by their surroundings. Living in a society makes it all but impossible to avoid the influences of that society's value system, beliefs and culture. To some small extent, Noah and his family were influenced by their society's culture of selfishness, wanton indulgence, and cruelty. In order for this culture to be completely eliminated, Noah and his family – who would rebuild the world after the flood – needed to be purged of this influence. And for this reason, the Meshech Hochma explains, Hashem commanded them to spend a year in the ark. During this year, they were compelled to act precisely opposite of their contemporaries. They had no possibility of indulging in food, as their food supply was limited without ever being replenished. They could not live in comfort. And, they spent the entire year caring for animals, extending themselves on behalf of other creatures. For an entire year, Noah and his family were completely immersed in selflessness – thereby purging themselves of all traces of influence from the immoral society in which they had lived. Sadly, we, too, are living in a degenerate society. Our generation has embraced corrupt ideas, and inverts right and wrong. Throughout the last year, Israel has consistently been depicted as the villain, while the Hamas terrorists are seen as the helpless victims. Good is turned into bad and bad is turned into good. Basic morality is ridiculed and shunned, as are the values of self-discipline, self-restraint, and dignity. Wanton pleasure-seeking is encouraged as an ideal, and any limitations are frowned upon. Like Noah, we need to build an "ark" for ourselves – and, far more importantly, we need to make the most of this "ark." Our modern-day "ark" is our community institutions – our yeshivot, Bateh Midrash, synagogues, and communal learning programs. In this "ark," we immerse ourselves in Torah values, in morality, in spirituality. We "detox," reminding ourselves of what's right and what's wrong, of which lifestyles are appropriate and which are inappropriate, of which relationships are proper and which are improper, of how a family should look like, and of how we are to live our lives. Of course, we cannot spend our lives in the "ark." Just as Noah and his family were eventually told to exit the ark, we, too, need to spend time outside our "ark" and interact and engage with the world around us. Therefore, we need to make the most of the time spent in the "ark." Youngsters in our community's educational institutions need to be encouraged to maximize their learning and their participation in educational programming. Adults need to be fully engaged when they come to synagogue and Torah classes, recognizing the great importance of this "detox" process, of inoculating themselves against the pervasive influences of our society. Only this way can we hope to protect ourselves and our families, to retain our loyalty and devotion to Torah values, and successfully maintain our precious Torah tradition and transmit it to the next generation.
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The Midrash (Midrash Tehillim, 92) relates that Adam and Hava committed their sin of partaking from the forbidden tree late on Ereb Shabbat, and then, when Shabbat began, G-d was going to punish them. He had warned Adam when He first placed him in Gan Eden that eating the forbidden fruit would be punishable by death (Bereshit 2:17), and so now that Adam violated this command, G-d was prepared to kill him. But then Shabbat came before Hashem to advocate on Adam's behalf. Shabbat pleaded, "Master of the world! During the six days of the week, no person in the world was punished. And You're going to begin [punishing] with me? This is my sanctity?! This is my rest?!" Hashem accepted Shabbat's plea, and let Adam and Hava live. The Midrash concludes that once Adam realized that his life was saved because of Shabbat, he composed a special song for Shabbat. This song is known to us as "Mizmor Shir Le'yom Ha'Shabbat," the 92 nd chapter of Tehillim, which we – and many communities – have the custom of reciting at the onset of Shabbat. Just as Shabbat served as Adam's advocate, saving his life, it serves as our greatest advocate, as well. The Maggid of Duvna (Rav Yaakov Kranz, 1741-1804) drew an analogy to a king who had a brilliant, beautiful daughter whom he loved and cherished more than anything in the world. He held her in very high esteem, and would occasionally consult with her on important matters. He treated her like a queen. One day, she got married and moved away. Sometime later, the king went to visit his daughter. He was stunned to see her face bruised and scarred. He realized that her husband had been beating her. The king turned to her husband and reminded him of his criminal past. He explained that he had decided to pardon him for his past misdeeds because he trusted that he would care for the king's beloved daughter. But now that he was mistreating the princess, he lost the king's favor. Shabbat, the Maggid of Duvna explained, is Hashem's beloved "princess." As long as we properly treat the princess, and observe Shabbat the way it is meant to be observed, we earn Hashem's favor and grace. Although we might occasionally err and stumble, Shabbat will advocate on our behalf before G-d, and save us from punishment. How does this work? Why does Shabbat serve as our advocate? One explanation emerges from a fascinating teaching in the Gemara (Shabbat 119b) about the recitation of the verses of "Va'yechulu" on Friday night. These verses tell of the conclusion of the world's creation after six days, and the designation of Shabbat as a special, sacred day (Bereshit 2:1-3). The Gemara states that one who recites these verses as part of his prayers on Friday "becomes G-d's partner in the creation of the world." Through the proper observance of Shabbat, we become Hashem's "partners." We might suggest a comparison to a fellow who opens and runs a store, but needs a partner to promote the store and bring in customers. A store won't be profitable without customers, and so both partners are indispensable to the success of the enterprise. Likewise, Hashem created and runs the world, but nobody knows about it. We become His partners by observing Shabbat, through which we announce that He created the world, we publicize Hashem's "enterprise," so-to-speak. And once we've become Hashem's partners, we become indispensable. Shabbat advocates on our behalf because through our commitment to Shabbat, we show that we are needed in order to disseminate the faith in Hashem throughout the world. Just as Shabbat protected Adam and Hava, it can protect us, as well. By reaffirming our devotion to proper Shabbat observance, by treating it with the respect and reverence that it deserves, we become worthy of Hashem's special care and grace, and elevate ourselves to the status of His partners.
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The Gemara in Masechet Sukka (11b) brings two views as to whether the Misva of Sukka commemorates "Sukkot Mamash" – the actual huts in which our ancestors dwelled during the years of travel in the wilderness, or the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" – the miraculous "clouds of glory" which encircled them and granted them protection during this period. The Shulhan Aruch (Orah Haim 625) follows the second opinion, that our Sukkot commemorate the "Ananeh Ha'kabod." The Gaon of Vilna (1720-1797) famously clarified that the Misva of Sukka commemorates not the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" themselves, but rather the return of the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" after they had been taken away. Following the sin of the golden calf, Hashem decreed that Beneh Yisrael would be annihilated, but then rescinded the decree in response to Moshe's heartfelt pleas on the nation's behalf. However, the Gaon writes, even though Hashem rescinded this decree, He removed the "Ananeh Ha'kabod," the special clouds which expressed His special affection for the people and close relationship with them. But Beneh Yisrael then repented, and Moshe persisted in his prayers. Ultimately, on Yom Kippur, G-d announced His complete forgiveness, and the following day, Moshe relayed to the people G-d's instruction to donate materials for the construction of the Mishkan. The people generously donated over the course of the next several days, and then, on the 15 th of Tishri, when the artisans began constructing the Mishkan, G-d restored the "Ananeh Ha'kabod." It is this restoration of the clouds, the Gaon writes, that we celebrate on Sukkot. We celebrate the fact that even after the sin of the golden calf, G-d mercifully forgave us and even fully restored His relationship with us, to the extent that He returned to us the special clouds of glory. The Gaon answers on this basis the question of why Sukkot is celebrated specifically at this time of year. The "Ananeh Ha'kabod" encircled Beneh Yisrael and protected them throughout the year, and they were first given these clouds immediately after the Exodus from Egypt. Seemingly, then, there is no particular significance to the middle of Tishri as far as these clouds are concerned. Why, then, do we celebrate this Yom Tob at this time? The answer, the Gaon explains, is that on Sukkot we celebrate the return of the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" on the 15 th of Tishri. Rav Eliezer Waldenberg (Jerusalem, 1915-2006), in his Sitz Eliezer (vol. 15), raises the question of how to reconcile the Gaon's theory with a verse in the Book of Nehemya (9:19) which clearly states that the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" never left: "And You, in Your abundant compassion, never abandoned them in the desert; the pillar of cloud was never removed from them during the day to guide them along the path…" How can the Gaon claim that Hashem took away the clouds of glory following the sin of the golden calf, if the verse in Nehemya says explicitly that the clouds were never removed? Rav Waldenberg answered by noting that the verse in Nehemya speaks specifically of one particular function of the "Ananeh Ha'kabod" – to guide the people through the desert. The clouds served numerous other purposes, as well, protecting the people from the harsh elements, from wild animals and from enemies, and also making the ground comfortable and the terrain easily traversable. Accordingly, Rav Waldenberg writes, we may distinguish between the different clouds. As the verse in Nehemya says, the clouds that guided Beneh Yisrael through the desert never left, and it was only the other clouds which were taken from them and then returned once they began building the Mishkan. This insight shows us that Hashem will never forsake His beloved nation. Even after the sin of the golden calf, He did not leave them alone in the desert; He continued showing them the path forward, and allowed them to return to Him. We can never permanently sever our relationship with G-d, just as a child can never permanently sever His relationship with His parents. G-d is our father, and He will always remain with us, no matter what mistakes we have made. None of us have ever done anything as bad as the worship of the golden calf several weeks after beholding Hashem's revelation. If G-d did not forsake the people after that sin, we can rest assured that He will never forsake us, no matter what we have done, no matter how far we have strayed. Hashem will never reject any one of His precious children; He instead patiently waits for that Jew to return. This concept should inform the way we look at ourselves, and also the way we look at our fellow Jews. When we see someone who does not properly observe the Misvot, we must not reject him, or look upon him with disdain – because Hashem does not reject that person or look upon him with disdain. Hashem loves that individual and trusts in his capacity to improve – and so we should, as well. Just as G-d's love for us is unconditional, so must our love for all our fellow Jews be unconditional. Rather than focus on their faults and shortcomings, we should focus instead on their inner spark, on their potential for greatness, and shower them with love and compassion – just as Hashem does.
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During the times of the Bet Ha'mikdash, the Kohen Gadol would offer a special series of sacrifices on Yom Kippur to bring atonement for the people. Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the Yom Kippur service was a pair of goats, which were sacrificed in two very different ways. The Kohen Gadol would cast lots, picking out of a box two pieces of wood, one of which bore the inscription "L'Hashem" ("for G-d"), and the other "La'azazel." He would then place one piece of wood on each goat, determining their fates. The goat designated "L'Hashem" was sacrificed, and its blood was sprinkled in the Kodesh Ha'kodashim – the inner chamber of the Bet Ha'mikdash, where nobody was allowed to enter, except the Kohen Gadol on Yom Kippur. The other goat, which was designated "La'azazel," was brought several miles outside Jerusalem into the desert, where it was thrown from a cliff. What is the meaning behind these two goats? Why were two separate goats needed for atonement, and why was one goat "sacrificed" by being killed in the desert? One answer might be that the two goats correspond to the two basic categories of Misvot in the Torah – our obligations toward Hashem ("Ben Adam La'Makom"), and our obligations to our fellow man ("Ben Adam La'habero"). One goat atoned for sins committed against the Almighty, whereas the other atoned for interpersonal offenses. Indeed, the Talmud teaches that the two goats were to be precisely identical to one another – alluding to the fact that these two areas of Torah are of equal importance. One cannot be considered a devoted Torah Jew if he observes only the ritual laws, between man and G-d, without concern for other people, or if he is kind and generous toward others but neglects his obligations to Hashem. Both elements are equally vital components of Torah life. The Sa'ir L'Hashem – the goat sacrificed in the Bet Ha'mikdash – clearly corresponds to the area of "Ben Adam La'Makom." Its blood is brought into the Kodesh Ha'kodashim, where no people are present, and the Kohen Gadol stands alone with Hashem. This chamber represents a person's relationship to Hashem, and so this sacrifice atones for sins committed against the Almighty. The second goat, which was brought out into the desert, atones for the wrongs committed against other people. The explanation might be that this unusual sacrifice alludes to the first incident of fraternal strife among the Jewish Nation – the story of Yosef and his brothers. It was in the desert where the brothers threw Yosef into a pit, essentially casting him from the family ("Ha'bor Ha'zeh Asher Ba'midbar" – Bereshit 37:22). Throwing the goat off the cliff perhaps symbolizes the casting of Yosef into the pit, the first sin "Ben Adam La'habero" that our nation committed, which forms the origin and basis of all subsequent interpersonal offenses. This association between the Sa'ir La'azazel and the story of Yosef might explain another aspect of the Yom Kippur service. Before the goat was sent out to the desert, a piece of red string was taken and cut into two pieces – one which was then placed between the goat's horns, while the other was hung in the Bet Ha'mikdash. After the goat was thrown off the cliff, the piece of string in the Bet Ha'mikdash would miraculously turn white, symbolizing G-d's forgiveness of the people's sins. The Gemara comments that this string was to have a very specific value – precisely two silver coins. Not coincidentally, the Gemara elsewhere teaches that Yosef's brothers grew jealous, to the point where they sold him as a slave, because of the special garment that their father made for him, which contained two silver coins' worth of material more than the garments he made for them. The string that was attached to the horns of the "Sair La'azazel" thus reminds us of the pettiness that leads to jealousy and hostility, and can ultimately tear apart families and relationships. As part of our repentance on Yom Kippur, we are called upon to examine our conduct in both areas of religious life. Alongside our efforts to improve our service of Hashem, we must also consider the way we treat the people around us, in our family, in our school, yeshiva or workplace, in our community, and wherever we interact with other people. Honesty, humility, respect, courtesy, patience and courteousness are no less crucial a part of Torah life than prayer, Torah study, Shabbat, Sisit and Tefillin. It is through the combination of "Ben Adam La'Makom" and "Ben Adam La'habero" that we live complete Torah lives and become worthy of Hashem's unlimited blessings.
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Kabbalistic tradition teaches that everything which happens here in our world has its origins in the upper worlds. By the time an event unfolds here on earth, something had already occurred in the heavens that set this process into motion. It occurred to me that this teaching may be applied to an event which we witness here in New York City each year – not coincidentally, in September, shortly before Rosh Hashanah, or around the time of Rosh Hashanah. I refer to the United Nations' General Assembly. Leaders of countries around the world come here and take the stage to rail against the world's only Jewish state. They stand up to fabricate lies and portray Israel as the cause of the world's problems. The "heavenly" backdrop of this annual disgrace can be understood based on a teaching of Rav Shlomo Kluger (1785-1869) regarding the judgment that takes place on Rosh Hashanah. He writes that on Rosh Hashanah, not only is each individual judged for the coming year, but the entire Jewish Nation, too, is brought to trial as a single entity. Rav Kluger explains that when Hashem disrupted the building of Migdal Babel, dividing mankind into seventy nations, he assigned an angel to each nation. Every nation that was formed came under the supervision of an angel in the heavens. There is, however, one exception. As we read this Shabbat in Parashat Haazinu (32:9), "Ki Helek Hashem Amo, Yaakob Hebel Nahalato" – "His nation is G-d's portion; Yaakob is the territory apportioned to Him." Am Yisrael is under Hashem's direct protection and supervision. There is no angel assigned to the Jewish People, because G-d cares for us directly, as His "personal" portion. However, this special status needs to be earned. Following the sin of the golden calf, even after G-d accepted Moshe's plea not to annihilate Beneh Yisrael, He was not prepared to continue keeping them under His direct care. He told Moshe, "I am hereby sending an angel before you to guard you along the way and to bring you to the land I have prepared" (Shemot 23:20). The people had forfeited the privilege of G-d's direct care through their wrongdoing. Even then, though, Moshe successfully interceded on the people's behalf, and Hashem agreed to care for the nation directly. Rav Kluger writes that each year, on Rosh Hashanah, the angels in heaven call for a new "election," for reassessing Am Yisrael's special stature. They question and challenge the Jewish Nation's right to Hashem's special care and protection. Like the speakers in the UN, they stand up and cast aspersions against us. They claim that we are not worthy of our unique relationship with Hashem. And the critical moment when we successfully refute this challenge is during the recitation of "Alenu Le'shabe'ah" during Musaf on Rosh Hashanah. In this prayer, we express our boundless gratitude for not having been made like the other nations, "for they bow to vanity and nothingness, and pray to a god that does not deliver, whereas we kneel and bow before the King of the kings of kings…" We loudly, proudly, and confidently avow that we do not follow the other nations' customs and practices, that we do not embrace their beliefs, that we are fully and unwaveringly committed to Hashem, and resist the lures of the "vanity and nothingness" to which other peoples devote their time and attention. It is by resolutely proclaiming our loyalty to Hashem, and our refusal to go along with the beliefs, values, customs and lifestyles of the people around us, that we earn a renewal of our contract, so-to-speak, the continuation of our special relationship with Hashem. If we steadfastly commit to refrain from the "vanity and nothingness," from the practices of other peoples, then we earn our nation's special stature, our unique relationship with the King of the universe.
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The very last of the 613 Misvot in the Torah is the command to write a Sefer Torah. The Torah instructs in Parashat Vayelech (31:19), "Ve'ata Kitbu Lachem Et Ha'shira Ha'zot" – literally, "And now, write down for yourselves this song," referring to the text of the Torah. Why is the Torah referred to as a "Shira" – song? Why aren't we commanded simply to write a Torah? And what does it tell us about the Torah that it is described this way? Several different answers have been given to this question. The Netziv (Rav Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin of Volozhin, 1816-1893), in his Torah commentary, explains that the word "Shira" actually means "poem." The Torah is referred to as a "poem," the Netziv writes, because a poem is not to be taken at face value. When writing a poem, the poet utilizes numerous literary devices to convey a deep message. The true meaning of the poem cannot be understood through a simple, straightforward reading of the text; the words need to be carefully studied and analyzed. Similarly, the text of the Torah requires in-depth study. The plain meaning does not convey the full message of the Torah. This is why we have the Torah She'be'al Peh – the oral tradition – which teaches us how to understood the deep meaning of the Torah text. The conventional understanding, however, is that "Shira" indeed means song, and that the Torah is compared to a song. Why? One reason is that a song speaks to the heart, not the mind. Learning is an intellectual exercise, whereas listening to music arouses the soul, stirring one's emotions. Torah is called a "Shira" because the experience of Torah learning is both intellectual and emotional. On the one hand, of course, learning is an intellectual exercise, as we use our minds to absorb and understand the profound wisdom of the Torah. But additionally, the experience of Torah learning touches our souls. Through the study of Torah, we connect with Hashem, and strengthen our bond with Him. And so learning Torah is not only intellectual, but also spiritual. Like music, Torah affects our inner beings, our soul and our spirit. This is why we should endeavor to learn Torah even when our minds aren't working as well as we want them to, when we find it difficult to focus, when we are distracted, when we are fatigued, or otherwise unable to absorb and understand to the best of our ability. Even under less-than-ideal intellectual conditions, there is still great spiritual value to Torah learning. If a person's mind is not currently able to understand an intricate passage in the Talmud, there are lighter texts that he can and should learn. Once we recognize the spiritual value of Torah learning, the impact it has upon our hearts and upon our souls, we will want to learn under all conditions, even when they aren't ideal. There is also an additional ramification of the emotional impact of Torah learning. King David proclaims in Tehillim (119:54), "Zemirot Hayu Li Hukecha" – "Your statutes were songs for me," emphasizing this emotional, spiritual dimension of Torah learning. He spent many years on the run, fleeing from those who tried to kill him. He also led may wars against enemy armies. During those periods of hardship, Torah learning was his "song," his source of calm and serenity. Torah study touches the heart and connects us to Hashem, bringing us comfort and peace of mind during life's difficult moments. Let us utilize this precious gift that we have been given, and take advantage of every opportunity we are given to immerse ourselves in Torah learning and reap the invaluable emotional and spiritual benefits that it offers us.
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The Torah in Parashat Ki-Tabo describes the great rewards that G-d promises to bestow upon our nation if we faithfully observe the Misvot. The Or Ha'haim (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743) explains that the first series of blessings mentioned in this section are promised as rewards specifically for the Misva of Torah study. The first reward promised is, "U'netancha Hashem Elokecha Elyon Al Kol Goyeh Ha'aretz" – "Hashem your G-d will make you elevated above all nations in the land" (28:1). The Or Ha'haim explains that through the study of Torah, "Yishtanu Le'ma'ala Mi'kol Ha'umot She'enam Beneh Torah" – we are positively impacted, and lifted above those who do not learn Torah. Learning Torah spiritually refines us, making us better people. When we learn Torah, we do not only gain knowledge, but we also experience spiritual elevation, and are transformed. Two verses later, the Torah promises, "You will be blessed in the city, and you will be blessed in the field." This promise, of course, refers to material success. Whether one works "in the city," in commerce, or if he works "in the field," in agriculture, he earns success and prosperity through the merit of Torah learning. The Or Ha'haim cites the Gemara's teaching in Masechet Aboda Zara (19b), "Kol Ha'osek Be'Talmud Torah, Nechasav Muslahim" – anyone who learns Torah is blessed with material success. The next promise is the blessing of children – "Baruch Peri Bitnecha" ("Blessed will be the fruit of your belly"). The Or Ha'haim draws our attention to the story of Obed Edom Ha'Gitti, who, as we read in the Book of Shemuel II (6:10), housed the Aron (ark) in his home for a brief period, before King David brought it to its permanent site. The Gemara (Berachot 63b) teaches that the Aron's presence brought great blessing to the family, and Obed Edom Ha'Gitti's wife and daughters-in-law all delivered sextuplets. Certainly, then, one who studies Torah, bringing the Torah not only into his home, but into his being, will likewise be blessed with fertility. We are then promised, "Baruch Ata Be'bo'echa, U'baruch Ata Be'setecha" – "You will be blessed when you come, and you will be blessed when you leave." The Gemara (Baba Mesia 107a) explains this to mean that we will leave this world free of sin just as we entered the world free of sin. The Or Ha'haim writes that this, too, is a reward for Torah learning – that we are protected from sin. Torah learning brings us spiritual protection, helping us overcome our negative inclinations and resist temptation. By allocating time to immerse ourselves in the study of the sacred Torah, we empower ourselves to overcome the spiritual obstacles that we encounter, and to remain on the path of faithful devotion to Hashem throughout our lives.
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The Torah in Parashat Ki-Teseh introduces the obligation of "Malkut" – the lashes given to sinners who are found guilty of certain transgressions. In the times of the Sanhedrin (highest Rabbinical court in Jerusalem), there were courts with the authority to administer corporal punishment, and those who were convicted of certain Biblical violations were given "Malkut." The Torah states explicitly that an individual deserving of this punishment receives forty lashes – "Arba'im Yakenu" (25:3). The Sages, however, understood that the Torah's intent is that the sinner receives thirty-nine lashes, and not forty. The Gemara (Makkot 22b) inferred this reduction from the juxtaposition between this verse and the preceding verse, which concludes with the words "Be'mispar" (literally, "in the number"). This word, together with the words "Arba'im Yakenu," form the phrase "Be'mispar Arba'im Yakenu," which can be read to mean "he shall strike him in the number that leads to forty," referring to thirty-nine. The question, however, obviously arises as to why the Torah did not simply write that the sinner receives thirty-nine lashes. Why did it formulate this law in a manner which clearly indicates forty lashes, and only through a subtle allusion instructs reducing this number to thirty-nine? An insightful answer to this question is given by the Maharal of Prague (d. 1609), in his Gur Aryeh. He explains that it is appropriate for a sinner to receive forty lashes, because sin contaminates a person's being, which was formed in forty days. The fetus takes form over the course of the forty-day period following conception, and thus forty is associated with the human being's creation. As sin undermines the very purpose for why we were created, a sinner must be punished once for each day of his formation, for a total of forty lashes. However, the Maharal writes, a person's essence is comprised of two elements – the body and the soul. A person's physical properties take form during the thirty-nine days after conception, whereas the soul enters at the very end of this process, on the fortieth day. Now each morning, in the "Elokai Neshama" blessing, we proclaim that the soul which Hashem has given us is pristinely pure ("…Neshama She'natata Bi Tehora Hi"). Even if a person commits the gravest sins, his soul remains perfectly pure. It is the body that commits the sin; the soul is merely an unwilling participant, so-to-speak, "dragged" into the act of sin due to its being bound together with the body. Fundamentally, the soul needs to be punished, too, because of its involvement in the process of wrongdoing, by virtue of its connection to the body. However, after the sinner receives thirty-nine lashes, his entire physical being is cleansed. These thirty-nine lashes atone for the contamination of his body which was formed during the thirty-nine days after conception. And thus, at this point, there is no reason for the soul to be punished. The soul deserved punishment only due to its association with the body that had committed the wrongful act, and so once the body has been renewed through the thirty-nine lashes, there is no longer a need for the fortieth lash, which would serve to atone for the soul. This is why, the Maharal explains, the Torah writes that the sinner receives forty lashes, whereas in truth he receives only thirty-nine. At the outset, he requires forty lashes, because even the soul deserves punishment due to its connection to the body, which committed the act. But in practice, once the sinner receives thirty-nine lashes, there is no longer any reason to administer the fortieth, which corresponds to the soul, since the thirty-nine lashes had cleansed the body, and it was only on account of the body's guilt that the fortieth lash was needed. I believe there is a critical message being conveyed by this Halacha, as understood by the Maharal. When the sinner is brought to the court to receive his punishment, he is shown that his soul remains pure despite his wrongdoing. His sentence is reduced by one because his pure, sacred soul was not tainted by his mistake. The purpose of the Torah's punishments is not to destroy the sinner, but to the contrary – to motivate him to grow and change. To this end, he is told that he will not receive any lashes corresponding to his soul, because no matter what he did wrong, his soul remains holy and untarnished. Knowing that he still possesses a sacred soul, the sinner will be encouraged to change and refrain from wrongdoing in the future. One of the greatest obstacles to Teshuba is the feeling that it's too late, that we're too tainted, that we've fallen too low to recover. The thirty-nine lashes show us that there's a part of us that can never be tainted, a spark of goodness and holiness within our beings that will always remain pristinely pure no matter what mistakes we have made. Although we at times fail, we must feel confident in our inherent G-dliness, in the element of Kedusha within our beings that assures our ability to improve and return to Hashem.
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Toward the beginning of Parashat Shoftim, the Torah famously commands, "Sedek Sedek Tirdof" – "Justice, justice shall you pursue" (16:20). The plain meaning of this verse is that the Torah commands judges to reach their decisions honestly and fairly, with the objective of pursuing justice for all litigants who come before them. The Midrash Tanhuma, however, adds a deeper layer of meaning, explaining that the Torah here commands leaders to advocate on behalf of the Jewish Nation. In the Midrash's words, "She'yiheyu…Melamdin Alehem Zechut Lifneh Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu" – "That they should speak of their merits before the Almighty." According to this reading, "Sedek Sedek Tirdof" means that leaders should "pursue" the piety of Am Yisrael, searching for their merits, and then plead on their behalf before Hashem. Interestingly enough, the Midrash proceeds to state that the greatest example of this quality is Gidon, one of the judges, who led Beneh Yisrael to victory over the nation of Midyan, as we read in the Book of Shoftim (6). During Gidon's time, the Midrash comments, the people had few Misvot to their credit, through which they could earn G-d's salvation from the nation of Midyan which was oppressing them. Gidon, however, advocated on their behalf before G-d, and for this reason, an angel appeared to him and appointed him leader. The Midrash adds that, as we read in the Book of Shoftim (6:14), the angel assigned Gidon his mission by charging, "Lech Be'chohacha Zeh" – "Go forth with this strength." Gidon's "strength," the Midrash explains, was the power of his finding merit in Am Yisrael during that time. Despite the people's low spiritual stature, and their failure to observe the Misvot, Gidon nevertheless saw their inner goodness and advocated on their behalf before G-d. It was in this merit that he succeeded in leading Beneh Yisrael to victory over the nation of Midyan. This was the "Koah" – the strength – with which he was able to save the people. The question arises, however, as to where and how Gidon advocated on Beneh Yisrael's behalf. Nowhere in the text of the Book of Shoftim do we find Gidon speaking of the people's merits. To what, then, does the Midrash refer? The answer is found in Rashi's commentary to the Book of Shoftim (6:13), where he explains Gidon's response to the angel. The angel's first words to Gidon were "Hashem Imecha" – "G-d is with you!" Gidon then asked, "If, indeed, G-d is with us, then why has all this befallen us? And where are all His wonders which our forefathers told us about…" Based on the Midrash, Rashi writes that the angel appeared to Gidon on the first day of Pesach, and Gidon was referring to the story of Yesiat Misrayim (the Exodus from Egypt) which he heard his father relate the night before. Gidon noted that G-d brought Beneh Yisrael out of Egypt despite the fact that they were steeped in Egyptian paganism, and were not serving G-d properly. Hashem understood their plight and saw their inner, inherent goodness despite their wrongdoing, and redeemed them. Gidon thus argued that in his time, too, Hashem should save the nation despite their low spiritual level, because their core essence was still pure. He pointed to the generation of the Exodus as an example of how Beneh Yisrael are worthy of Hashem's miraculous assistance even when they act wrongly, because deep in the inner recesses of their hearts. they are devoted to Him. Gidon thus insisted that Hashem assist His beloved nation also then, as they suffered under the oppression of Midyan. The Hafetz Haim taught that the best way to earn a favorable judgment on Rosh Hashanah is to judge our fellow Jews favorably. If we want Hashem to tilt the scales in our favor, despite our many misdeeds and deficiencies, then we should tilt the scales in other people's favor, despite their mistakes, flaws and failings. If we view other people critically, looking to find fault, searching for reasons to complain about them and disrespect them, then, Heaven forbid, we will be viewed the same way as we stand trial on Rosh Hashanah. If we want to be judged favorably, then we must follow the example set by Gidon, who insisted on finding the good in Am Yisrael even in their state of spiritual lowliness. During this month of Elul, in preparation for Rosh Hashanah, let us accustom ourselves to seeing only what is good about all our fellow Jews, and about the Jewish Nation as a whole. Instead of criticizing and complaining about Am Yisrael, let us indulge in the singing of their praises, and focus our attention on the countless merits that Am Yisrael have. We will then, please G-d, be worthy of a favorable judgment for ourselves and for the entire Jewish Nation, Amen.
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arashat Re'eh concludes with the command to celebrate the festival of Sukkot. The Torah instructs: "You shall rejoice on your festival… For seven days, you shall celebrate for Hashem your G-d…for Hashem your G-d will bless you with all your grain, and in all your endeavors; and you shall only be joyous" (16:14-15). Twice in these verses the Torah appears to command us to rejoice on Sukkot. It first commands, "Ve'samahta Be'hagecha" ("You shall rejoice on your festival"), and then says, "Ve'hayita Ach Samei'ah" ("you shall only be joyous"). What is the meaning of this dual imperative? Rashi brings two interpretations of these verse. First, he suggests, the Torah adds "Ve'hayita Ach Same'ah" not as a command, but rather as a promise. If we properly fulfill the Misva of Simha (rejoicing) on Sukkot, then we will be assured to experience genuine happiness and joy throughout the coming year. Secondly, Rashi cites the Gemara's understanding of the phrase "Ve'hayita Ach Same'ah," as extending this obligation to the eighth day, the day of Shemini Aseret. The Torah first introduces the Misva to rejoice during the seven days of Sukkot, and then adds that we must joyously celebrate also on the eighth day. Rav Meir Simha of Dvinsk, in his Meshech Hochma, suggests a different explanation of "Ve'hayita Ach Same'ah." He notes that in the first verse, the Torah commands celebrating the year's crop, which is gathered into the warehouses around the time of Sukkot – "You shall rejoice…for Hashem your G-d will bless you with all your grain…" The celebration of Sukkot is integrally linked to the harvest, to the farmer's joy upon completing that year's agricultural cycle, having just now brought all his produce into storage for the winter. However, Rav Meir Simha notes, there are some years when no produce is collected. Every seven years, farmers must observe Shemita, refraining from agricultural work for an entire year, and granting all people free access to their fields. At the end of the Shemita year, the farmer does not harvest anything, because he had not worked the fields, and anything that grew was taken by other people. Rav Meir Simha thus suggests that the additional command "Ve'hayita Ach Same'ah" refers to Sukkot after the Shemita year. The Torah emphasizes that even during this year, when there is no harvest to be thankful for, the farmer must still observe a festive Yom Tob, and celebrate his relationship with Hashem. Baruch Hashem, most of us have "filled warehouses" for which to be grateful to Hashem. The vast majority of us have an income, a home, and the ability to purchase all that we need, and much more. But the Torah here teaches us that even when our "warehouses" are not "filled," even in times of financial uncertainty, we can and must still retain our joy. We must be able to celebrate our relationship with Hashem, and the privilege we have to serve Him, under all conditions, even in times of hardship. No matter what we are going through, we can find comfort and joy in the knowledge that we are Hashem's beloved children, and that He has chosen us as His servants. The command "Ve'hayita Ach Same'ah" calls upon us to experience joy in our connection to Hashem at all times and under all circumstances, even during life's more challenging moments.
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The Torah in Parashat Ekeb (8:10) introduces the Misva of Birkat Ha'mazon – the obligation to recite a series of special Berachot after eating a certain quantity of bread. The Gemara in Masechet Berachot (48b) teaches us the origin of the four blessings that comprise the text of Birkat Ha'mazon. The first Beracha, the Gemara states, was instituted by Moshe Rabbenu, after the manna began falling in the desert. The second Beracha, which focuses on the gift of Eretz Yisrael, was composed by Yehoshua after he led Beneh Yisrael into the land. The third Beracha, which prays for the building of Jerusalem and the Bet Ha'mikdash, was written by King David and his son, King Shlomo. The recitation of these three Berachot, the Gemara establishes, is required on the level of Torah obligation ("Mi'de'Orayta"). There is, however, a fourth Beracha – called "Ha'tob Ve'ha'metib") – which was introduced later by the Rabbis. The Gemara explains that this Beracha was composed following the Roman government's decision to allow the Jews to bury the remains of the inhabitants of Betar. The city of Betar had been a large, bustling metropolis, home to tens of thousands – and perhaps even hundreds of thousands – of Jews, who enjoyed wealth and prosperity. When the Romans quashed the Jews' revolt led by Shimon Bar-Kochba, the city of Betar was the rebels' final stronghold. The Romans finally captured the city, and massacred all its inhabitants. For a number of years thereafter, the Roman authorities refused to allow the bodies to be buried. When they ultimately granted the surviving Jews permission to bury the people of Betar, those who came to perform the burials were astonished to see that the bodies had not decomposed, and were still intact. To commemorate both the opportunity that had been given to bury these remains, and the miracle of their having been preserved, the Rabbis instituted the recitation of the Beracha of "Ha'tob Ve'ha'metib" in Birkat Ha'mazon. The question that needs to be asked is why the Rabbis chose to commemorate the burial of the people of Betar specifically in Birkat Ha'mazon. Why did they not institute the recitation of this Beracha in some other context? What connection is there between the story of Betar and the recitation of Birkat Ha'mazon? The Meshech Hochma (Rav Meir Simcha of Dvinsk, 1843-1926) offers an explanation based on an analysis of the fundamental concept underlying the Misva of Birkat Ha'mazon. Moshe mentions this Misva in Parashat Ekeb amidst his warning to Beneh Yisrael against feelings of arrogance of self-sufficiency. He says that once the people leave their miraculous existence in the wilderness, and enter the Land of Israel, where they will produce their own food and accumulate wealth, they might begin thinking to themselves, "Kohi Ve'osem Yadi Asa Li Et Ha'hayil Ha'zeh" – "My strength and the power of my hand made for me all this wealth" (8:17). In this context, Moshe relays the Misva of Birkat Ha'mazon, instructing, "You will eat and be satiated, and you will bless Hashem your G-d." The natural tendency after eating and feeling satiated is to pride oneself, to feel confident and secure in one's abilities. We are therefore commanded after eating and experiencing satiation to turn to Hashem, to attribute all our success and all our blessings to Him, recognizing that everything we have, and everything we are able to accomplish, is because of His grace and kindness. With this in mind, the Meshech Hochma writes, we can understand the connection between Birkat Ha'mazon and the story of Betar. The residents of this city, as mentioned, were affluent. They felt secure and confident. Tragically, however, their sense of security proved to be delusional, and they suffered a bitter, devastating fate. We bring to mind this calamity as we recite Birkat Ha'mazon as part of the effort to offset the natural effects of satiation, to protect ourselves from overconfidence in our abilities and our efforts, so that we always remember our absolute dependence on Hashem for all our needs. The story is told of a Rabbi who was at the Kotel (Western Wall in Jerusalem) and heard someone praying to Hashem that he should have a flat tire. The Rabbi turned to the fellow and asked why he wanted a flat tire. "We are all familiar with the 'wheel of fortune' that is always turning," the man explained. "People who are on the bottom eventually rise to the top, and the people on top eventually fall to the bottom. I am enjoying great success right now – so I'm asking Hashem for a 'flat tire,' that the 'wheel' should stop turning…" Of course, this man is incorrect. The "wheel of fortune" never gets "flat," it never stops turning. We must always remain keenly aware of our vulnerability even in times of great prosperity and security. Many stories are told of people who went to bed wealthy and woke up poor. When we are blessed with success, we must never lose sight of our dependence on Hashem, and continually pray to Him for ongoing blessing.
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arashat Va'et'hanan begins with Moshe's impassioned plea to G-d that he be allowed to enter the Land of Israel. Speaking to Beneh Yisrael before his passing, Moshe recalled how "I beseeched G-d at that time, saying" – how he begged for the privilege of entering the land together with Beneh Yisrael. The Or Ha'haim Ha'kadosh (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743) comments that in this verse, with which Moshe introduces his prayer, he alludes to us four principles regarding prayer, the ways to maximize its effectiveness and help ensure that our prayers are accepted. The first principle is expressed in the word "Va'et'hanan" – "I beseeched." This particular verb refers not simply to prayer, but to prayer with humility and submission, like a poor person begging for charity. The Or Ha'haim cites in this context the verse in the Book of Mishleh (18:23), "Tahanunim Yedaber Rash" – "A pauper speaks words of supplication." The word "Va'e'thanan," then, denotes prayer recited like a pauper who humbly begs for help, recognizing our complete dependence on G-d for our needs. Secondly, the Or Ha'haim continues, Moshe says that he prayed to "Hashem" – referring to G-d with the Name of "Havaya," which signifies G-d's attribute of compassion. While praying, we must intend to appeal to what the Or Ha'haim calls "Mekor Ha'rahamim" – "the source of compassion," G-d's attribute of mercy, trusting in His infinite compassion, that He is prepared to provide us with our needs and grant our requests even if we are undeserving. Moshe then emphasizes that he uttered this prayer "Ba'et Ha'hi" – "at that time." The Or Ha'haim explains that although prayer is, of course, valuable and beneficial at any time, certain occasions are considered an "Et Rason" (literally, "a time of goodwill"), an especially propitious time for having our prayers answered. Moshe Rabbenu, of course, knew precisely which times were an "Et Rason," and so he uttered his prayer then. The Or Ha'haim cites the Sages' interpretation that the phrase "Ba'et Hahi" refers to the time of Beneh Yisrael's successful battle against the kingdoms of Sihon and Og, which effectively began the process of conquering Eretz Yisrael. As Hashem had begun this process, Moshe perhaps felt that this was an auspicious time to pray for the privilege of seeing the completion of this process across the river, in the Land of Israel. The final word in this verse – "L'emor" ("saying") – implies that Moshe chose his words carefully when he prayed. When one prays to G-d, he must ensure to use the right words, to express himself clearly, to articulate very specifically what it is that he requests. Proper and precise formulation of one's words is critical for the efficacy of his prayer. May we follow Moshe's example of prayer, praying in the right way, with the right intentions, and at the right times, so that we will be worthy of having all our prayers answered in full, Amen.
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n Tisha B'Ab, as we know, we observe a fast and mourn the destruction of the Bet Ha'mikdash. Although this calamity occurred many generations after the Torah was given, nevertheless, the day of Tisha B'Ab – like everything else – has a source in the Torah. This source is revealed to us by the Zohar, in Parashat Vayishlach, where it teaches that the 365 days of the solar year correspond to the 365 Misvot Lo Ta'aseh – prohibitions introduced by the Torah. Each day of the solar calendar is associated with a different Biblical prohibition. And the day of Tisha B'Ab, the Zohar writes, corresponds to the prohibition of "Gid Ha'nasheh," which forbids partaking of a certain sinew of animals. This prohibition commemorates the incident that occurred when Yaakob Abinu was on his way back to Eretz Yisrael after having spent twenty years with his uncle. On the night before he crossed the river into the Land of Israel, he was attacked by a mysterious assailant, identified by the Sages as the Satan, the angel of Esav. Yaakob ultimately prevailed, but suffered an injury in his Gid Ha'nasheh. In commemoration of this struggle, we refrain from eating the Gid Ha'nasheh of animals. The Zohar teaches us that this prohibition corresponds with Tisha B'Ab. Just as this command requires us to refrain from eating something to commemorate a foreigner's attack that caused Yaakob a painful injury, on Tisha B'Ab we refrain from eating to commemorate the pain and suffering caused by our enemies on this day. The Hatam Sofer (Rav Moshe Sofer, Pressburg, 1762-1839) develops the Zohar's teaching further, establishing that this fight between Yaakob and Esav's angel actually took place on the night of Tisha B'Ab. That night set the precedent for what would happen many centuries later, when, like then, our enemy would come and deal a painful blow. If so, then we can perhaps understand an otherwise peculiar aspect of the Torah's description of the events of that night when the angel attacked Yaakob. The Torah relates that on this night, Yaakob brought all his belongings across the river, to the other side ("Va'ya'aber Et Asher Lo" – Bereshit 32:24). Afterward, he was left alone on his side, and he came under attack. Rashi explains this verse to mean, "He made himself like a bridge, taking from here and placing it here." We must wonder, why is this important? Why did the Torah find it necessary to inform us that Yaakob formed a "bridge" over the river, bringing his possessions from one side to the next? The answer is that this "bridge" is the secret for how we defeat "Esav" and recover from the destruction and exile that he brings upon us. In Yaakob's famous dream, he saw a ladder extending from the ground – from the site of the Bet Ha'mikdash – to the heavens. This is what the Bet Ha'mikdash represents – connecting the earth to the heavens, infusing our physical world and our physical reality with sanctity, with spiritual meaning. Offering an animal as a sacrifice means taking a physical entity and making it sacred, which is precisely the way we are supposed to live. This is what the Bet Ha'mikdash represented, and this is the symbolic meaning of Yaakob forming a "bridge" for his material possessions. When he brought his assets across the river to Eretz Yisrael, he was showing us what religious life means – infusing our physical, worldly existence with holiness. This is the significance of Yaakob's "bridge" – bridging the gap between heaven and earth, between the sacred and the mundane, between the spiritual and the physical. On that night of Tisha B'Ab, which established this occasion as a time of exile, suffering and calamity, Yaakob showed us how we can bring an end to our troubles and earn redemption. In order to be worthy of the Bet Ha'mikdash, we need to work to make this connection between heaven and earth, between our physical reality and Kedusha. We need to infuse our mundane activities with spiritual meaning, by directing everything we do toward Torah and Misvot. We do this by going about all our activities in strict adherence to Halacha, and by devoting time and resources for sacred purposes. By elevating our worldly existence, and injecting it with holiness, we form the "bridge" that will lead us to the rebuilding of the Bet Ha'mikdash, speedily and in our times, Amen.
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