Parshat Kedoshim
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In the listing of ingredients for the proper pursuit of holiness, the Torah puts reverence of one's parents and the observance of the Sabbath at the forefront, on just about equal footing.
Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch clarifies that the term used in the Torah "Imo v'aviv tira'u," which is often translated as "fear your parents," is better understood as an instruction to "be mindful of our parents and of our obligation to fulfill their wishes."
More importantly, Hirsch says, it is not "the good that parents do for their children, but the mission given to the parents concerning their children that is the basis of the mitzvah of honoring one's parents."
As to why observance of the Sabbath is attached so closely to the commandment to fulfill the wishes of the parents, Hirsch explains, "A child who sees his parents observing the Sabbath will learn from their example to place his world at G-d's feet; obedience to parents leads to obedience to G-d."
In a larger sense, the mitzvah of reverence for the parents should be an easy one to fulfill. If I owe everything, life itself, to my parents, I should logically want to repay the kindness and fulfill their every wish.
But Hirsch twists the idea on its head. It's not just about the fact that parents bring children into the world. Their responsibilities to their children do not end there. It is they who are to mold and shape and guide their children, so that their children will understand the role their parents play in raising them not only as ethical human beings but as incredible Jews.
This reverence of parents, then, is merely a reflection of the reverence of G-d that the parents demonstrate and display to their children on a daily basis.
Whenever I try to talk to younger children about G-d, I always use their parents as the example. "When you want something and you ask your parents for it, do they always give it to you? Or do they sometimes say 'No?'"
What's fascinating is that the Sabbath and honoring one's parents share similar billing in the Decalogue, and both appear there with a different action word. We are told in Shmot 20 to "Remember the Sabbath to keep it holy," and to "Honor your parents."
In his book "Or HaDeah," Hassidic Rabbi Uri Langer suggests that just as Shamor and Zachor were said in one saying with regard to the Sabbath (Rosh Hashana 27), Kavod and Yirah – Honoring and Revering were said in one saying with regard to how one is to relate to one's parents.
It is easy to honor one's parents when they are gone – to say kaddish, to commemorate a yahrzeit, to say the kel malei rachamim, to speak of them in a respectful way. On equal footing is the obligation to revere them – to listen and to fulfill their will - when they are alive. One reveres one's parents through following their ways.
In the end, the responsibility is two directional. The child has to follow the ways of the parent, but the parent must make the life choices and commitments to be admired by and desirable to the child.
It is no one else's responsibility. Not the school, not the shul, not the rabbi, not one's friend, not even one's own parents (the children's grandparents). It is my responsibility. It is your responsibility. The honor is earned through bringing the children into the world. We will all surely be honored once we're gone.
But the reverence is what we really aspire to, and truly want from and for our children – to follow the path we have chosen and to want with all their hearts and souls to carry it to the next generation.
Maybe observance of the Sabbath is a good first ingredient to achieving the reverence. But even observance of the Sabbath requires a lot more than "not violating the law." We must make Shabbos a day of holiness of beauty and the beginnings of a family bond that creates reverence of the holy day and reverence of G-d.
Through this first ingredient, may those of us who are parents merit to enjoy the honor and reverence we receive as we model it for our children through our own honor and reverence for G-d.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
The Relevance of a Tangent
Acharei Mot - Aharon's Dead Sons - Part II?
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Aharon's sons died three parshas ago, in Parshat Sh'mini, and nary a word has been said about them. Our parsha opens mentioning their deaths, seeming to pick up exactly where the Torah took a break in its narrative to discuss other things.
Is there any significance to a multi-chapter tangent from the regular narrative of the Torah?
Only if the Torah doesn't view the tangent as a disruption of the narrative.
Shortly after his sons died, Aharon received one of his rare personal revelations from G-d in Vayikra 10:8-11. In addition to laws specific to their situation as mourners, he and his remaining sons were informed of "how to distinguish between holy and mundane, between tamei and tahor, so they may teach the Israelites the laws G-d had taught through Moshe."
The two and half parshas which followed those words were a blur of adherence to this code. Through Moshe and Aharon, the Israelites were then taught of the laws of what makes an animal tahor or tamei, fit to be used in the Temple, for sacrifices, offerings and for consumption, versus unfit and undesired by G-d.
Then Moshe and Aharon received divine instruction about the different kinds of tumahs that will come about, whether on account of tzara'at of the flesh, on clothing or of the home, or on account of a bodily emission.
What is the connection between all the discussions of tumah and taharah that follow the deaths of Nadav and Avihu? How is this five-chapters-long tangent significant to their story, causing the Torah to continue its narrative in our parsha beginning with the words "G-d spoke to Moshe after the deaths of the two sons of Aharon?"
I think it is because Nadav and Avihu served as an incredible study in contrasts. They tried to achieve holiness and purity, and ended up dying and becoming the greatest form of tumah a person can become in death.
Humans have a choice in terms of what animals they will eat. The Torah gives two options: will a person choose the route of taharah (spiritual purity), or will a person choose animals that are tamei, not preferred by G-d to be sources of human consumption?
People have a choice in terms of how they will conduct themselves, in deed and in certain behaviors, to possibly bring tumah upon themselves. Tzara'at, most often caused by lashon hara, was an affliction only a kohen could diagnose. It was accompanied by requisite tumah, which could only be purged with a unique isolation and subsequent sacrificial rite. Perhaps many people were afflicted with the ailment on account of their speculation over what caused Nadav and Avihu to die.
For other tumah circumstances, the kohen was on hand to help the person achieve taharah once again.
In all these discussion of tumah and taharah, it soon becomes highly significant that Nadav and Avihu are missing from the equation. Forty percent of the original kohen work force disappeared in an instant, leaving only three kohanim to do the job on behalf of the people.
Nowhere is this felt more significantly than in the Holy Temple on Yom Kippur, the topic addressed in Acharei Mot's opening, the day when the kohanim were the focus, and all kohanim stood to assist and facilitate the efforts of the High Priest in his attempt to achieve atonement for the people on the holiest day of the year.
Our lives are a delicate balance between tamei and tahor – being unfit to serve and correcting ourselves to be able to serve G-d appropriately. The holiday of Pesach, which took place two weeks after the deaths of Aharon's sons, stood as a pivotal moment for many who were looking to partake in the Korban Pesach.
How do we get past the devastating downside of the past few weeks - the marking of Aharon's sons' deaths on the calendar, and the notable uncertainty that prevails in our own times - in order to celebrate the Festival of Freedom? We learn about the delicate balance of our lives, and make every effort to recognize the good in others and purge our homes of the kinds of food which don't belong.
Now that we have achieved personal holiness, we read about Yom Kippur, the highlight of national holiness. And we understand what we strive to attain in our lives, whenever our minds are focused on our true priorities: God, Torah on the bein adam lamakom (between man and God) side, and Family and Friends on the bein adam lachaveiro (between human beings) side.
May we never lose sight of these focii as we reach great heights in the mountain-climb that is our lives.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Aharon's sons died three parshas ago, in Parshat Sh'mini, and nary a word has been said about them. Our parsha opens mentioning their deaths, seeming to pick up exactly where the Torah took a break in its narrative to discuss other things.
Is there any significance to a multi-chapter tangent from the regular narrative of the Torah?
Only if the Torah doesn't view the tangent as a disruption of the narrative.
Shortly after his sons died, Aharon received one of his rare personal revelations from G-d in Vayikra 10:8-11. In addition to laws specific to their situation as mourners, he and his remaining sons were informed of "how to distinguish between holy and mundane, between tamei and tahor, so they may teach the Israelites the laws G-d had taught through Moshe."
The two and half parshas which followed those words were a blur of adherence to this code. Through Moshe and Aharon, the Israelites were then taught of the laws of what makes an animal tahor or tamei, fit to be used in the Temple, for sacrifices, offerings and for consumption, versus unfit and undesired by G-d.
Then Moshe and Aharon received divine instruction about the different kinds of tumahs that will come about, whether on account of tzara'at of the flesh, on clothing or of the home, or on account of a bodily emission.
What is the connection between all the discussions of tumah and taharah that follow the deaths of Nadav and Avihu? How is this five-chapters-long tangent significant to their story, causing the Torah to continue its narrative in our parsha beginning with the words "G-d spoke to Moshe after the deaths of the two sons of Aharon?"
I think it is because Nadav and Avihu served as an incredible study in contrasts. They tried to achieve holiness and purity, and ended up dying and becoming the greatest form of tumah a person can become in death.
Humans have a choice in terms of what animals they will eat. The Torah gives two options: will a person choose the route of taharah (spiritual purity), or will a person choose animals that are tamei, not preferred by G-d to be sources of human consumption?
People have a choice in terms of how they will conduct themselves, in deed and in certain behaviors, to possibly bring tumah upon themselves. Tzara'at, most often caused by lashon hara, was an affliction only a kohen could diagnose. It was accompanied by requisite tumah, which could only be purged with a unique isolation and subsequent sacrificial rite. Perhaps many people were afflicted with the ailment on account of their speculation over what caused Nadav and Avihu to die.
For other tumah circumstances, the kohen was on hand to help the person achieve taharah once again.
In all these discussion of tumah and taharah, it soon becomes highly significant that Nadav and Avihu are missing from the equation. Forty percent of the original kohen work force disappeared in an instant, leaving only three kohanim to do the job on behalf of the people.
Nowhere is this felt more significantly than in the Holy Temple on Yom Kippur, the topic addressed in Acharei Mot's opening, the day when the kohanim were the focus, and all kohanim stood to assist and facilitate the efforts of the High Priest in his attempt to achieve atonement for the people on the holiest day of the year.
Our lives are a delicate balance between tamei and tahor – being unfit to serve and correcting ourselves to be able to serve G-d appropriately. The holiday of Pesach, which took place two weeks after the deaths of Aharon's sons, stood as a pivotal moment for many who were looking to partake in the Korban Pesach.
How do we get past the devastating downside of the past few weeks - the marking of Aharon's sons' deaths on the calendar, and the notable uncertainty that prevails in our own times - in order to celebrate the Festival of Freedom? We learn about the delicate balance of our lives, and make every effort to recognize the good in others and purge our homes of the kinds of food which don't belong.
Now that we have achieved personal holiness, we read about Yom Kippur, the highlight of national holiness. And we understand what we strive to attain in our lives, whenever our minds are focused on our true priorities: God, Torah on the bein adam lamakom (between man and God) side, and Family and Friends on the bein adam lachaveiro (between human beings) side.
May we never lose sight of these focii as we reach great heights in the mountain-climb that is our lives.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The Bird That Lives
Parshat Metzora
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Our twenty-first century minds may find the purification process of the metzora unsettling. "Take two live birds, cedar wood, scarlet and hyssop. Have one bird killed in an earthen vessel over running water. Dip the remaining items (including the other live bird) in the blood of the first bird. Sprinkle the mixture on the one being purified, then let the live bird go free." (14:4-7)
After this, anyone who thinks tzara'at was a medical condition, such as leprosy, ought to have the head examined. It is obviously a highly symbolic formula, and each ingredient carries a deeper message for the former metzora looking to rejoin society after a week or more isolated from the rest of society. The gemara in Arachin 16b lists a number of actions that may have brought about the tzara'at – the common denominator being that the person has neglected to consider implications of one's actions vis-à-vis the society at large.
What most fascinates me is the live bird that goes free. Every other Torah ritual that involves an animal results in the animal's death. Only the effort to remove tzara'at of the body and of the house utilizes a bird who is released, alive and well, with a mini bathing in blood to serve as a memory of his experience. Why is its life spared?
On a very simple level, it could represent the idea that just as the bird's life is spared and it goes free, the metzora could have been punished otherwise, perhaps losing his life, but he is now free.
The Kli Yakar takes the significance of the two birds to a much deeper level.
He explains that a person experiences two types of speech – prohibited and mitzvah-oriented. The prohibited speech, which includes lashon hara, is represented by the chirping bird that is slaughtered over the earthen vessel under running water. If he is a real person, he will have a weakened spirit at the sight of the bird that is taking his place, as the verse in Mishlei 15:4 says, "A healing tongue is a tree of life, but if there is perverseness in it, it causes destruction by wind." His judgment is compared to the earthen vessel which, were it to become unkosher in some manner, it can never be fixed and must be smashed.
On the other hand, if he is a scholar, his resolution at the sight of all these happenings will be to study Torah, which is compared to running water. This is why the term "zot torat" (This is the Torah of…) appears five times in the telling of the metzora's purification process, as it teaches him that one who delves into the teachings of the Five Books of the Torah can be saved from the tzara'at he may have received on account of speaking lashon hara.
The bird that lives and is set free represents the words of Torah and prayers that a person may have uttered. They are to be combined with cedar wood, scarlet and hyssop which represent one's submission and humility. Even when studying and praying one's heart should have that feeling of being broken and submissive.
The rabbis taught us (Sotah 5a), "The Torah does not say 'man' will be healed, but that 'flesh' will be healed (Vayikra 13:18), because only a person whose heart is soft and fleshy (as opposed to hard as stone) will be healed of his tzara'at."
Sotah 5a also teaches that "Basar" (flesh) is an acronym for "Bushah, Sruchah and Rimah" – shame, foulness and worms. This could be a reminder of the disgrace and degradation that awaits one at death on account of his deeds.
With this in mind, one might choose one's words more carefully and pursue humility when dealing with others.
The sprinkling of the blood soaked living bird upon the healed metzora is meant for him to see the possibility of repenting for past deeds, and taking upon himself a sincere effort to improve in the future. Torah study is meant to help this pursuit of goodness, as living by its guiding principles is meant to create a wholesome and wonderful human being.
Picture the image of a bird that is released from captivity. Imagine it spreading its wings as it flies away. This is what the live bird is meant to represent to the metzora. "Your past deeds are duly noted. You did the wrong thing and were given this spiritual ailment to serve as a wakeup call. You are being given a new lease on life. Don't waste this opportunity. Pursue truth, kindness, and have utmost respect for your fellow man through the things you say and the way you carry yourself."
Amen.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Our twenty-first century minds may find the purification process of the metzora unsettling. "Take two live birds, cedar wood, scarlet and hyssop. Have one bird killed in an earthen vessel over running water. Dip the remaining items (including the other live bird) in the blood of the first bird. Sprinkle the mixture on the one being purified, then let the live bird go free." (14:4-7)
After this, anyone who thinks tzara'at was a medical condition, such as leprosy, ought to have the head examined. It is obviously a highly symbolic formula, and each ingredient carries a deeper message for the former metzora looking to rejoin society after a week or more isolated from the rest of society. The gemara in Arachin 16b lists a number of actions that may have brought about the tzara'at – the common denominator being that the person has neglected to consider implications of one's actions vis-à-vis the society at large.
What most fascinates me is the live bird that goes free. Every other Torah ritual that involves an animal results in the animal's death. Only the effort to remove tzara'at of the body and of the house utilizes a bird who is released, alive and well, with a mini bathing in blood to serve as a memory of his experience. Why is its life spared?
On a very simple level, it could represent the idea that just as the bird's life is spared and it goes free, the metzora could have been punished otherwise, perhaps losing his life, but he is now free.
The Kli Yakar takes the significance of the two birds to a much deeper level.
He explains that a person experiences two types of speech – prohibited and mitzvah-oriented. The prohibited speech, which includes lashon hara, is represented by the chirping bird that is slaughtered over the earthen vessel under running water. If he is a real person, he will have a weakened spirit at the sight of the bird that is taking his place, as the verse in Mishlei 15:4 says, "A healing tongue is a tree of life, but if there is perverseness in it, it causes destruction by wind." His judgment is compared to the earthen vessel which, were it to become unkosher in some manner, it can never be fixed and must be smashed.
On the other hand, if he is a scholar, his resolution at the sight of all these happenings will be to study Torah, which is compared to running water. This is why the term "zot torat" (This is the Torah of…) appears five times in the telling of the metzora's purification process, as it teaches him that one who delves into the teachings of the Five Books of the Torah can be saved from the tzara'at he may have received on account of speaking lashon hara.
The bird that lives and is set free represents the words of Torah and prayers that a person may have uttered. They are to be combined with cedar wood, scarlet and hyssop which represent one's submission and humility. Even when studying and praying one's heart should have that feeling of being broken and submissive.
The rabbis taught us (Sotah 5a), "The Torah does not say 'man' will be healed, but that 'flesh' will be healed (Vayikra 13:18), because only a person whose heart is soft and fleshy (as opposed to hard as stone) will be healed of his tzara'at."
Sotah 5a also teaches that "Basar" (flesh) is an acronym for "Bushah, Sruchah and Rimah" – shame, foulness and worms. This could be a reminder of the disgrace and degradation that awaits one at death on account of his deeds.
With this in mind, one might choose one's words more carefully and pursue humility when dealing with others.
The sprinkling of the blood soaked living bird upon the healed metzora is meant for him to see the possibility of repenting for past deeds, and taking upon himself a sincere effort to improve in the future. Torah study is meant to help this pursuit of goodness, as living by its guiding principles is meant to create a wholesome and wonderful human being.
Picture the image of a bird that is released from captivity. Imagine it spreading its wings as it flies away. This is what the live bird is meant to represent to the metzora. "Your past deeds are duly noted. You did the wrong thing and were given this spiritual ailment to serve as a wakeup call. You are being given a new lease on life. Don't waste this opportunity. Pursue truth, kindness, and have utmost respect for your fellow man through the things you say and the way you carry yourself."
Amen.
Friday, April 1, 2011
"Real" Altruistic Priorities
Parshat Tazria
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Rabbi Yerachmiel Yisrael Yitzchak of Alexander, Poland explained the following rabbinic passage in a most creative and instructive manner. The rabbis taught, “[Tzara’at] blemishes come upon a person on account of the sin of lashon hara” (Erachin 15b and other places).
The rabbi of Alexander explained that those who speak Lashon Hara are often altruistic in intent. Since they are telling the truth, they’ll argue, they are fulfilling a mitzvah when they do point out the flaws of others. Truth, after all, is most important when trying to achieve an element of G-dliness in one’s actions.
This is why the Torah says, “The blemish needed to be brought before Aharon the Priest. (13:2)” We bring the so-called “truth teller,” who causes hate and division between people through his “truth,” to Aharon the Kohen.
According to the Rabbis, Aharon personally did the exact opposite. Aharon would, at times, tell a lie in order to bring about peace between individuals who were fighting. From this perspective, it is not just that the Kohen is invoked with the power to declare tzara’at to be the diagnosis or not. It is Aharon himself who is put in this task to show the individual that sometimes what seems to be the wrong value needs to take priority for the sake of the common good.
In Aharon’s case, eventually the truth will come out. He would tell individuals who were in an altercation that the other party wanted to make peace. And he would do it in a manner so that when they met again, they did make peace. One day, in conversation, they’ll figure out Aharon’s rouse. But they would have already made peace.
The person who speaks lashon hara, on the other hand, truthful as he or she may be, needs to come to Aharon himself to learn that peace is more important than some truths. That achieving an amiable solution is more desirable than fomenting strife and discord between peoples.
This is a challenge that many of us, particularly Jewish newspapers, struggle with. We are trained to think, “The truth must be told,” and "the public has the right to know." But sometimes the truth need not be told, out of respect for the privacy of those involved, and out of concern for the longer- term repercussions. It is not true that “All publicity is good publicity,” as much as society, celebrities, or individuals selling books would like you to think.
Let us take care to protect those about whom we know secrets so that we are doing our parts, like Aharon the Kohen, in promoting peace between friends and neighbors.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Rabbi Yerachmiel Yisrael Yitzchak of Alexander, Poland explained the following rabbinic passage in a most creative and instructive manner. The rabbis taught, “[Tzara’at] blemishes come upon a person on account of the sin of lashon hara” (Erachin 15b and other places).
The rabbi of Alexander explained that those who speak Lashon Hara are often altruistic in intent. Since they are telling the truth, they’ll argue, they are fulfilling a mitzvah when they do point out the flaws of others. Truth, after all, is most important when trying to achieve an element of G-dliness in one’s actions.
This is why the Torah says, “The blemish needed to be brought before Aharon the Priest. (13:2)” We bring the so-called “truth teller,” who causes hate and division between people through his “truth,” to Aharon the Kohen.
According to the Rabbis, Aharon personally did the exact opposite. Aharon would, at times, tell a lie in order to bring about peace between individuals who were fighting. From this perspective, it is not just that the Kohen is invoked with the power to declare tzara’at to be the diagnosis or not. It is Aharon himself who is put in this task to show the individual that sometimes what seems to be the wrong value needs to take priority for the sake of the common good.
In Aharon’s case, eventually the truth will come out. He would tell individuals who were in an altercation that the other party wanted to make peace. And he would do it in a manner so that when they met again, they did make peace. One day, in conversation, they’ll figure out Aharon’s rouse. But they would have already made peace.
The person who speaks lashon hara, on the other hand, truthful as he or she may be, needs to come to Aharon himself to learn that peace is more important than some truths. That achieving an amiable solution is more desirable than fomenting strife and discord between peoples.
This is a challenge that many of us, particularly Jewish newspapers, struggle with. We are trained to think, “The truth must be told,” and "the public has the right to know." But sometimes the truth need not be told, out of respect for the privacy of those involved, and out of concern for the longer- term repercussions. It is not true that “All publicity is good publicity,” as much as society, celebrities, or individuals selling books would like you to think.
Let us take care to protect those about whom we know secrets so that we are doing our parts, like Aharon the Kohen, in promoting peace between friends and neighbors.
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