This can also be read at the Jewish Star
Parshat Chayei Sarah
Rabbi Avi Billet
When we consider the 400 silver shekels Avraham paid for the Cave of Machpela the number sounds quite familiar. Two weeks ago we read of the promise G-d made to Avraham that his descendants would be strangers in a strange land for 400 years.
It is funny that Ephron would arrive at such a random figure, considering that he seemed intent on giving Avraham the land for free. Why would he pick a number that is so negatively significant to Avraham if he is really trying to do our patriarch a favor? Is there a connection between the purchase of the burial plot and the exile to Egypt?
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Not a Moment Earlier
This can also be seen at the Jewish Star
Parshat Vayera
Avraham has three visitors. Two of them go on to Sodom to destroy the city and save Lot.
When their presence in Lot’s house is discovered, the townspeople come, per their Sodomite way, to “take pleasure” with the unwanted guests (19:5). Lot defends his visitors and even goes so far as to offer his daughters to the mob in order to save them.
Lot’s counteroffer is abhorrent, and the visitors grab Lot, bring him inside (19:10), while the mob outside is struck with blindness so they can do no harm (19:11).
Why were the people of Sodom struck with blindness? This is Sodom — a city that is going to be overturned in a short while, at which time, everyone, including the newly blind, will die.
Why not just kill them now? Get them out of the way, avoid the confusion and make the message clear to Lot’s family that the visitors are on a serious mission..
There are a number of reasons we can suggest why the provocateurs were not struck down at Lot’s doorstep.
Homiletically, we can quote the rabbinic dictum that “blind is considered dead” (Nedarim 64b). This can immediately be rejected, however, because when a person is to be punished with death, blindness is never another option to make it “as if the person is dead.” Tosafot says that the categories of people who are “like dead” are those who have more difficult lives, regarding whom the rest of us need to beseech G-d for mercy on their behalf.
The blindness the Sodomites received was what they were meant to receive — which leads to our second suggestion. God’s modus operandi is “middah k’neged middah” — measure for measure. In this case, the people of Sodom looked at something they shouldn’t have: Lot’s guests. The people of Sodom then came to their abominable conclusion of how they’d treat Lot’s guests, and were punished by losing their sight, the sense that brought on their mob-mentality.
A third suggestion is that the blindness was incurred for a different reason of middah k’neged middah.
Sodomites were notorious for torturing those they considered “unwanted” before they died. The blindness the Sodomites suffered was torture before their death.
Perhaps the most suggestive perspective is that the Sodomites could not be killed because it was not yet their time to die. In other words, even in Sodom, even in a place that is doomed, every minute of life is precious.
The angels told Lot they could not overturn the city until Lot was safely out of it. Perhaps others might have had the opportunity to escape in this time, were they willing to contemplate the consequences of their staying put. Lot’s delay was a window for those on the fringes to be saved.
Perhaps for some people, teshuvah (repentance) was never taken off the table as a viable option, were they to merely consider it.
The people of Sodom, of course, could not change their ways. Their evil was too entrenched in their make up, too much a part of who they were, they could not imagine joining a normal society.
The blindness was indeed middah k’neged middah. A people who are so blind that they cannot see the evil of their ways will only merit blindness before the maelstrom hits.
At the same time, G-d’s ways are kindness. They were not meant to die yet. Because of this, their deaths did not come prematurely, at a moment when they were doing their final despicable act of immorality. It came the way it was meant to come, at the predetermined time, and not a moment earlier.
Parshat Vayera
Avraham has three visitors. Two of them go on to Sodom to destroy the city and save Lot.
When their presence in Lot’s house is discovered, the townspeople come, per their Sodomite way, to “take pleasure” with the unwanted guests (19:5). Lot defends his visitors and even goes so far as to offer his daughters to the mob in order to save them.
Lot’s counteroffer is abhorrent, and the visitors grab Lot, bring him inside (19:10), while the mob outside is struck with blindness so they can do no harm (19:11).
Why were the people of Sodom struck with blindness? This is Sodom — a city that is going to be overturned in a short while, at which time, everyone, including the newly blind, will die.
Why not just kill them now? Get them out of the way, avoid the confusion and make the message clear to Lot’s family that the visitors are on a serious mission..
There are a number of reasons we can suggest why the provocateurs were not struck down at Lot’s doorstep.
Homiletically, we can quote the rabbinic dictum that “blind is considered dead” (Nedarim 64b). This can immediately be rejected, however, because when a person is to be punished with death, blindness is never another option to make it “as if the person is dead.” Tosafot says that the categories of people who are “like dead” are those who have more difficult lives, regarding whom the rest of us need to beseech G-d for mercy on their behalf.
The blindness the Sodomites received was what they were meant to receive — which leads to our second suggestion. God’s modus operandi is “middah k’neged middah” — measure for measure. In this case, the people of Sodom looked at something they shouldn’t have: Lot’s guests. The people of Sodom then came to their abominable conclusion of how they’d treat Lot’s guests, and were punished by losing their sight, the sense that brought on their mob-mentality.
A third suggestion is that the blindness was incurred for a different reason of middah k’neged middah.
Sodomites were notorious for torturing those they considered “unwanted” before they died. The blindness the Sodomites suffered was torture before their death.
Perhaps the most suggestive perspective is that the Sodomites could not be killed because it was not yet their time to die. In other words, even in Sodom, even in a place that is doomed, every minute of life is precious.
The angels told Lot they could not overturn the city until Lot was safely out of it. Perhaps others might have had the opportunity to escape in this time, were they willing to contemplate the consequences of their staying put. Lot’s delay was a window for those on the fringes to be saved.
Perhaps for some people, teshuvah (repentance) was never taken off the table as a viable option, were they to merely consider it.
The people of Sodom, of course, could not change their ways. Their evil was too entrenched in their make up, too much a part of who they were, they could not imagine joining a normal society.
The blindness was indeed middah k’neged middah. A people who are so blind that they cannot see the evil of their ways will only merit blindness before the maelstrom hits.
At the same time, G-d’s ways are kindness. They were not meant to die yet. Because of this, their deaths did not come prematurely, at a moment when they were doing their final despicable act of immorality. It came the way it was meant to come, at the predetermined time, and not a moment earlier.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Waking from Slumber
This can also be read in the Jewish Star
Parshat Lekh Lekha
The word “Tardemah” — an unconscious state — appears only twice in the Torah: Bereishit 2:21 — when Chava is created from Adam, and 15:12, when Avram experiences the prophesy of the “Brit Bein Ha’b’tarim” — the Covenant Between the Pieces.
Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan’s translations in “The Living Torah” render the two experiences, respectively, “a deep state of unconsciousness” accompanied by sleep, and a “trance under which [Avram] was stricken by a deep dark dread.”
Adam’s sleep comes about after he has named every animal and has come to the realization that he has no partner opposite him. The most common interpretation, surprisingly, is that the original Adam was a Siamese-twin-like creature which contained both Adam and Chava in one body — which is why “he” could not find “her” — they were one and the same. As such, when God put Adam to sleep, it was for the purpose of separating him into two entities, and to close the flesh at the point of separation. (The “rib” interpretation has its sources — but it is by far the less preferred explanation of the creation of woman in rabbinic sources.)
In this sense, Targum Yonatan calls it a “deep sleep,” Sforno explains the purpose of the “tardemah” as a preventative to any anxiety or pain, like a general anesthesia for surgery.
Avram’s “tardemah” follows his conversation with God, and his preparation of the animals for the covenant. “The sun was setting, Avram fell into a trance, and he was stricken by a deep dark dread.” (15:12) As the sun’s position is described, Avram falls asleep. In contrast, God put “tardemah” on Adam.
In this state, Avram experiences prophesy that his descendants will be enslaved for 400 years, after which their oppressors will be judged and punished. For a man who does not yet have children, the prospects of these promises may seem farfetched, but the presence of the sun surrounding the revelation (15:12,17), which is perhaps a metaphor to Avram’s finally experiencing the “light” and “clarity” of his position with God and his future family, serves to strengthen the path Avram will take to see the promise come to fruition.
Many commentaries quote the midrash that the “deep, dark dread” that Avram experienced was a foreshadow of the different exiles his children would experience: Babylonia, Media, Greece and Edom (which most translate as Rome).
While the Midrash certainly makes sense for the time in which it was recorded, the Jewish people have been through many other exiles (expulsions and Holocaust-like events). To say Avram’s “tardemah” alluded to only four exiles is a fine example of Monday-morning-quarterbacking. If Avram’s experience was meant to be a prophesy about the future — beyond the one that is spelled out (the Egyptian exile), then more exiles should be referred to through textual hints and numbers of words.
However one looks at it, Avram’s “tardemah” put him in the mode to receive a unique prophesy about his direct descendants.
Two final comments are worth considering before the message becomes clear.
In defining “tardemah” as the “beginning of sleep,” Netziv (2:21) describes three kinds of “tardemah”s — one of sleep, one of prophesy, and one of marmitah (a kind of animal) — which likely refers to hibernation. In his estimate, the “tardemah” of sleep is lighter than sleep itself, while the “tardemah” of marmitah is deeper than sleep.
Avram’s tardemah was certainly one of prophesy. Which was Adam’s?
Toldot Yitzchak (2:21) says the fact that God put the “tardemah” on Adam is a lesson that a person (specifically a man, though it could be applied in all directions), should exhibit a sort of “out of consciousness” in his home — don’t be so strict, exhibit patience, a controlled temper, look the other way when things do not go according to “Daddy’s Master Plan.”
On the one hand, Adam’s “tardemah” may have been a hibernation — a medically induced coma, general anesthesia. On the other other hand, Adam’s “tardemah” may have been the first variety – the closest thing to sleep. Complete awareness of what is going on, with the drawback of having no say in the proceedings, all for the benefit of his wife and their relationship.
How will we employ and utilize the “tardemah”s we experience? Will we become more patient? Will we become more tolerant? Will we be receptive to getting the help we need? Will we be willing to hear the message and the word of God?
“Tardemah” is meant to prepare us for the best of the outcomes and the worst of them.
Adam needed a life partner. Avram wanted a child. Both could enhance each one’s life significantly. For Adam, the wife brought about his fall from the Garden of Eden. For Avram, the children would eventually be enslaved for hundreds of years.
There is a positive side to each story — man walked away from the Garden with a real purpose in life. Work hard, take care of your family, and you’ll eventually find your way back to the Garden of Eden.
The slaves would one day be free, their oppressors would be punished, and they would receive a Torah and become the chosen people who have survived every attempt at their destruction until today, while every enemy of every previous generation has been defeated and no longer exists.
Even if the “tardemah” seems like a bad thing at the time, 20-20 hindsight helps us see what the future really held for these two men.
Let us hope and pray that the “tardemah”s we experience in our lives can be seen through the hindsight-glasses as we experience redemption from the unconscious states, and see how the Master Plan continues to work in our favor as we anticipate the Final Redemption — may we merit to see it speedily in our days.
Parshat Lekh Lekha
The word “Tardemah” — an unconscious state — appears only twice in the Torah: Bereishit 2:21 — when Chava is created from Adam, and 15:12, when Avram experiences the prophesy of the “Brit Bein Ha’b’tarim” — the Covenant Between the Pieces.
Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan’s translations in “The Living Torah” render the two experiences, respectively, “a deep state of unconsciousness” accompanied by sleep, and a “trance under which [Avram] was stricken by a deep dark dread.”
Adam’s sleep comes about after he has named every animal and has come to the realization that he has no partner opposite him. The most common interpretation, surprisingly, is that the original Adam was a Siamese-twin-like creature which contained both Adam and Chava in one body — which is why “he” could not find “her” — they were one and the same. As such, when God put Adam to sleep, it was for the purpose of separating him into two entities, and to close the flesh at the point of separation. (The “rib” interpretation has its sources — but it is by far the less preferred explanation of the creation of woman in rabbinic sources.)
In this sense, Targum Yonatan calls it a “deep sleep,” Sforno explains the purpose of the “tardemah” as a preventative to any anxiety or pain, like a general anesthesia for surgery.
Avram’s “tardemah” follows his conversation with God, and his preparation of the animals for the covenant. “The sun was setting, Avram fell into a trance, and he was stricken by a deep dark dread.” (15:12) As the sun’s position is described, Avram falls asleep. In contrast, God put “tardemah” on Adam.
In this state, Avram experiences prophesy that his descendants will be enslaved for 400 years, after which their oppressors will be judged and punished. For a man who does not yet have children, the prospects of these promises may seem farfetched, but the presence of the sun surrounding the revelation (15:12,17), which is perhaps a metaphor to Avram’s finally experiencing the “light” and “clarity” of his position with God and his future family, serves to strengthen the path Avram will take to see the promise come to fruition.
Many commentaries quote the midrash that the “deep, dark dread” that Avram experienced was a foreshadow of the different exiles his children would experience: Babylonia, Media, Greece and Edom (which most translate as Rome).
While the Midrash certainly makes sense for the time in which it was recorded, the Jewish people have been through many other exiles (expulsions and Holocaust-like events). To say Avram’s “tardemah” alluded to only four exiles is a fine example of Monday-morning-quarterbacking. If Avram’s experience was meant to be a prophesy about the future — beyond the one that is spelled out (the Egyptian exile), then more exiles should be referred to through textual hints and numbers of words.
However one looks at it, Avram’s “tardemah” put him in the mode to receive a unique prophesy about his direct descendants.
Two final comments are worth considering before the message becomes clear.
In defining “tardemah” as the “beginning of sleep,” Netziv (2:21) describes three kinds of “tardemah”s — one of sleep, one of prophesy, and one of marmitah (a kind of animal) — which likely refers to hibernation. In his estimate, the “tardemah” of sleep is lighter than sleep itself, while the “tardemah” of marmitah is deeper than sleep.
Avram’s tardemah was certainly one of prophesy. Which was Adam’s?
Toldot Yitzchak (2:21) says the fact that God put the “tardemah” on Adam is a lesson that a person (specifically a man, though it could be applied in all directions), should exhibit a sort of “out of consciousness” in his home — don’t be so strict, exhibit patience, a controlled temper, look the other way when things do not go according to “Daddy’s Master Plan.”
On the one hand, Adam’s “tardemah” may have been a hibernation — a medically induced coma, general anesthesia. On the other other hand, Adam’s “tardemah” may have been the first variety – the closest thing to sleep. Complete awareness of what is going on, with the drawback of having no say in the proceedings, all for the benefit of his wife and their relationship.
How will we employ and utilize the “tardemah”s we experience? Will we become more patient? Will we become more tolerant? Will we be receptive to getting the help we need? Will we be willing to hear the message and the word of God?
“Tardemah” is meant to prepare us for the best of the outcomes and the worst of them.
Adam needed a life partner. Avram wanted a child. Both could enhance each one’s life significantly. For Adam, the wife brought about his fall from the Garden of Eden. For Avram, the children would eventually be enslaved for hundreds of years.
There is a positive side to each story — man walked away from the Garden with a real purpose in life. Work hard, take care of your family, and you’ll eventually find your way back to the Garden of Eden.
The slaves would one day be free, their oppressors would be punished, and they would receive a Torah and become the chosen people who have survived every attempt at their destruction until today, while every enemy of every previous generation has been defeated and no longer exists.
Even if the “tardemah” seems like a bad thing at the time, 20-20 hindsight helps us see what the future really held for these two men.
Let us hope and pray that the “tardemah”s we experience in our lives can be seen through the hindsight-glasses as we experience redemption from the unconscious states, and see how the Master Plan continues to work in our favor as we anticipate the Final Redemption — may we merit to see it speedily in our days.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Maximizing Our Time
Parshat Bereishit (and a little about Noach)
From Adam until Noach, only two individuals do not reach the lofty age of 900 or its vicinity (Mahallel lived to 895). They are Hanokh and Lemekh (Noach’s father) who lived to 365 and 777, respectively. (5:23, 31) In a strange coincidence, the letters in both verses depicting their numbers of years have the same gematria (numerical value): 3022.
Is this really a coincidence?
The midrash goes into much detail about Hanokh’s short(er) life, but there are conflicting reports. Some say he was a great leader, devout, who became very close to God. Based on these accounts, one might be able to call him the first great Teshuvah leader. Other approaches, however, put Hanokh in a negative light — either that he was bad, or, as Rashi puts it, since he was about to become bad, God plucked him at the right moment.
Lemekh, on the other hand, is not viewed in quite the same manner. Rashbam begins his comment on 5:31 asking, “why do we need to count the years of the wicked?” While his answer focuses on the need to understand the passage of years from creation until the building of Solomon’s Temple, he first raises evilness in the context of speaking of Lemekh.
This may not be a proof in either direction of Lemekh’s integrity, but Lemekh stands out in another way as well. In 5:29, when his first son is born, the Torah tells us that Lemekh named his son Noach, on account of the need he felt for a new child to “bring us relief from our work and the anguish of our hands, from the soil that God has cursed.”
The language is similar to that employed by God when punishing Man for eating from the Tree of Knowledge (3:17) “The ground will therefore be cursed because of you. You will derive food from it with anguish all the days of your life.”
What is the connection between Man’s fall from the Garden of Eden and the birth of Noach? Is Hanokh connected to any labyrinth that ties together the souls of ancestors and descendants over a thousand years?
When one looks at the generations from Adam to Noach, we find that only three of the men listed in the Torah died before Noach was born — Adam, his son Shet, and Hanokh. Shet is described in 5:3 as being “just like Adam,” so, for our purposes we will just group them in the same category. After the death of Adam, Noach is the next link in the chain to be born. Perhaps Noach’s father felt there was comfort in the curse against Adam ending with his death, and that his (Lemekh’s) new son would carry evidence of the new freedom in his name.
Let us make no mistake: the Torah makes it easy to remember how long Hanokh and Lemekh lived; the number of days in the solar calendar and a repeated digit number (triple-7) respectively. And it is not just because in their own ways each fell out of the routine and the rote of the long generations, producing children and becoming noticeably different.
Whether Hanokh was good, bad, or about to turn bad, his years remind us of the cycle of the solar calendar. Every day of the year we are all confronted with opportunities to make decisions — some more important and some less. Each of us has the potential to make good choices, bad choices, or to get help before we actually make a bad choice. Perhaps Hanokh’s death at this age is meant to remind us to think of the precious value of each and every day. Relative to the people of the times he lived in, Hanokh lived a short life. But what did he accomplish through utilizing every day to its maximum potential? Think about the Arizal, Rabbi Nachman of Breslov and, more recently, Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan — men who all accomplished so much but returned to their Maker much sooner than their followers were ready to part with them.
When we think of Lemekh’s years, we see the number seven, we may even think of Rabbenu B’chayei who suggests Noach’s name should have been Menachem (following the grammer of Lemekh’s logic in naming the boy).This leads us to think about Shabbos, and resting, and comforting.
If Noach’s birth was a comfort for the sins of man, then Lemekh, who noticed this and made a permanent mark on the world by specifically giving his son a name that commemorated man’s journey from sin to eventual comfort, is a person we want to remember as well. Being different, even through naming one’s child, can be a cause célèbre, a reason to be remembered. Did it really matter if he lived 777 or 900-plus years? Not at all. What’s a hundred years when you’re living for 700?
But if your death reminds people that not everything is about sweat and hard labor, that there is a day of Shabbos, that there is a child whose name means “rest” even though it’s supposed to mean “comfort,” you leave behind a legacy of real value, of real importance.
I think Hanokh and Lemekh are singled out and united — by dint of their verses of equal numerical value — because of what their legacy is meant to teach us. Either through the way they lived or the way they died, we learn that we have opportunities every day to make good choices and become better people, as we are reminded that our lives revolve around the Shabbos, a day of recuperation, rest, relaxation, comfort, and drawing closer to God.
From Adam until Noach, only two individuals do not reach the lofty age of 900 or its vicinity (Mahallel lived to 895). They are Hanokh and Lemekh (Noach’s father) who lived to 365 and 777, respectively. (5:23, 31) In a strange coincidence, the letters in both verses depicting their numbers of years have the same gematria (numerical value): 3022.
Is this really a coincidence?
The midrash goes into much detail about Hanokh’s short(er) life, but there are conflicting reports. Some say he was a great leader, devout, who became very close to God. Based on these accounts, one might be able to call him the first great Teshuvah leader. Other approaches, however, put Hanokh in a negative light — either that he was bad, or, as Rashi puts it, since he was about to become bad, God plucked him at the right moment.
Lemekh, on the other hand, is not viewed in quite the same manner. Rashbam begins his comment on 5:31 asking, “why do we need to count the years of the wicked?” While his answer focuses on the need to understand the passage of years from creation until the building of Solomon’s Temple, he first raises evilness in the context of speaking of Lemekh.
This may not be a proof in either direction of Lemekh’s integrity, but Lemekh stands out in another way as well. In 5:29, when his first son is born, the Torah tells us that Lemekh named his son Noach, on account of the need he felt for a new child to “bring us relief from our work and the anguish of our hands, from the soil that God has cursed.”
The language is similar to that employed by God when punishing Man for eating from the Tree of Knowledge (3:17) “The ground will therefore be cursed because of you. You will derive food from it with anguish all the days of your life.”
What is the connection between Man’s fall from the Garden of Eden and the birth of Noach? Is Hanokh connected to any labyrinth that ties together the souls of ancestors and descendants over a thousand years?
When one looks at the generations from Adam to Noach, we find that only three of the men listed in the Torah died before Noach was born — Adam, his son Shet, and Hanokh. Shet is described in 5:3 as being “just like Adam,” so, for our purposes we will just group them in the same category. After the death of Adam, Noach is the next link in the chain to be born. Perhaps Noach’s father felt there was comfort in the curse against Adam ending with his death, and that his (Lemekh’s) new son would carry evidence of the new freedom in his name.
Let us make no mistake: the Torah makes it easy to remember how long Hanokh and Lemekh lived; the number of days in the solar calendar and a repeated digit number (triple-7) respectively. And it is not just because in their own ways each fell out of the routine and the rote of the long generations, producing children and becoming noticeably different.
Whether Hanokh was good, bad, or about to turn bad, his years remind us of the cycle of the solar calendar. Every day of the year we are all confronted with opportunities to make decisions — some more important and some less. Each of us has the potential to make good choices, bad choices, or to get help before we actually make a bad choice. Perhaps Hanokh’s death at this age is meant to remind us to think of the precious value of each and every day. Relative to the people of the times he lived in, Hanokh lived a short life. But what did he accomplish through utilizing every day to its maximum potential? Think about the Arizal, Rabbi Nachman of Breslov and, more recently, Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan — men who all accomplished so much but returned to their Maker much sooner than their followers were ready to part with them.
When we think of Lemekh’s years, we see the number seven, we may even think of Rabbenu B’chayei who suggests Noach’s name should have been Menachem (following the grammer of Lemekh’s logic in naming the boy).This leads us to think about Shabbos, and resting, and comforting.
If Noach’s birth was a comfort for the sins of man, then Lemekh, who noticed this and made a permanent mark on the world by specifically giving his son a name that commemorated man’s journey from sin to eventual comfort, is a person we want to remember as well. Being different, even through naming one’s child, can be a cause célèbre, a reason to be remembered. Did it really matter if he lived 777 or 900-plus years? Not at all. What’s a hundred years when you’re living for 700?
But if your death reminds people that not everything is about sweat and hard labor, that there is a day of Shabbos, that there is a child whose name means “rest” even though it’s supposed to mean “comfort,” you leave behind a legacy of real value, of real importance.
I think Hanokh and Lemekh are singled out and united — by dint of their verses of equal numerical value — because of what their legacy is meant to teach us. Either through the way they lived or the way they died, we learn that we have opportunities every day to make good choices and become better people, as we are reminded that our lives revolve around the Shabbos, a day of recuperation, rest, relaxation, comfort, and drawing closer to God.
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