Embracing Mitzvot Properly

Parshat Naso


by Rabbi Avi Billet

The Yalkut Shimoni (Naso 6:710) raises an interesting non-halakhic debate between Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Shimon as to what was the motivation for becoming a Nazir.

Rabbi Yehuda claims the Chassidim Harishonim (the early pious ones) would take upon themselves the vow of Nezirut (abstaining from cutting hair, drinking wine, and becoming tameh to a dead body) in order to obligate themselves to bring a Sin offering on the completion of the vow.

Rabbi Shimon disagrees as he finds it unconscionable that people would take a vow of Nezirut for the sole purpose of having to bring a certain sacrifice afterwards. For instance, there are many offerings people could commit to bringing without having to go through a process that, noble and ascetic as it may be, brings about an obligation for a sin offering upon its completion. In fact, claims Rabbi Shimon, they would never commit to be a Nazir because they did not want to have a sin – mild as it may be in the scheme of things – on their record. Regardless of the impetus, bringing a Sin-offering is a sure sign that the one bringing it has sinned. 

The question of who is right is either a question for historians to explore or for the philosophers to debate. My gut tells me Rabbi Shimon is correct. At the same time, I am fascinated by the thought Rabbi Yehuda ascribes to these early pious ones.

 Chapter 6 describes the personal and spiritual responsibilities and goals of the Nazir during the Nezirut period, a time in which the Nazir is considered holy, and consecrated to God (Bamidbar 6:8). The Children of Israel, certainly have a responsibility to achieve that end as much as we can (Vayikra 19:2).

But the method that is utilized by the Nazir, as it were, is highly criticized. What gives a person the right to withdraw completely from the world? To swear off wine – which is considered one of the sources of true joy (Tehillim 104:15, Kohelet 10:19)? During the minimal one month period of Nezirut, for example, the Nazir will miss 4 or 5 opportunities to perform Kiddush properly on Shabbos!

What gives a person the right to neglect one's grooming, to have the appearance of a mourner?

What gives a person, especially a non-kohen, the right to swear off becoming tameh to one's relatives?

To understand the thought process of the Nazir is to understand one who either is trying to commit wholly to God at a price, or who is looking to get away from the world because that seems the best choice at this time, in a manner that successfully pushes off one's problems for the duration of the Nezirut (of course there may be other reasons driving a person).

According to Rabbi Yehuda, the early pious one purposely sought this existence not necessarily because they felt being a Nazir was a good thing, but because they wanted to be able to fulfill a mitzvah they could not otherwise do without going through the process.

Imagine a person wants to make the Yom Kippur confession and repentance a more meaningful experience. A person might deliberately sin, might deliberately eat forbidden foods or engage in sinful behavior as a one-time shot, knowing full well that a one-time satisfied craving will be enough to last a life-time, such that it will never really be a challenge again, in order to be counted as sincerely penitent on Yom Kippur, in a manner the person knows can be maintained. A real baal teshuvah!

This method is certainly a lot easier than promising not to return to the sinful ways we nonetheless return to each year. And yet we know it is ludicrous. How does the future penitence justify the current wrong behavior? It doesn't! Being committed to the Torah and its mitzvot does not mean a person needs to fulfill every one of the mitzvot.

It does mean that one's heart and mind is committed to the life-system that is ordered by the Torah. I don't need to kill an Amalekite, I never to need to send away the mother bird, and I don't need to become a Nazir.

Any marriage that lasts a lifetime never needs to see the issuance of a get. Even the prophet Shmuel chastised the people for asking for a King – there is an element of ideal in a Jewish king, but apparently it is not always the best option for the people of Israel.

A committed Jew seeks to perform mitzvot either because they are simply available without arm-twisting, or because they enhance a person's life. But mitzvot that are set-up as a follow up to a less than ideal circumstance – such as denying certain pleasures we are encouraged to enjoy – are not meant to be for everybody. They are not mitzvot that must be fulfilled at all cost.

Rabbi Shimon said it best when he said "Chas Veshalom" that a person feel obligated to t ake such a route. This is an aberration of the Torah's stance on commitment and obligation. It is a sign of weakness and false piety – certainly not a sign of strength.

Shavuot: Why Stay Up? Or Not...

by Rabbi Avi Billet

There is a widespread custom to stay up on Shavuot evening learning Torah. Obvious, you'll say, but the truth is that the custom is mostly kabbalistic in nature. It is most likely that the custom was not practiced outside of kabbalistic circles until the 17^th centuries when certain kabbalistic practices somehow went mainstream.

That kabbalistic practices "went mainstream" does not suggest the practices are halakhic in nature – just that they were picked up by a more general population.

One of the reasons given for staying up all night on Shavuot eve is to fix the "mistake" made by those who were waiting in anticipation at the bottom of a mountain, and fell asleep – only to come late to experience Revelation (Shir HaShirim Raba 1:2). As the Kabbalists viewed the holiday of Shavuot as "Zman Matan Torateinu" (a notion which has barely any support in the Torah's account of this agriculturally-focused holiday - though it is mentioned in the Talmud), the dedication to Torah on this date was meant to look like a rededication of our collective commitment to the Torah itself, and our hopes that we could correct the error made by our ancestors at that fateful moment.

However, there are apparently a number of days that contain such a practice of staying up all night. And interestingly enough, they all carry with them another recommended practice – the separation of husbands and wives.

Before getting all upset, it is important to note the words of the Aruch HaShulchan (OC 240), who wrote, "it is only an extremely pious custom (minhag chasidut) to avoid relations on the first night of Pesach, Shavuot, on Shmini Atzeret, and on Rosh Hashana."

The Mishneh Brurah qualifies this ruling similarly as for those "who are extremely God-fearing" (maleh b'yirah). Otherwise one should always bear in mind that the only mandated separation periods are Yom Kippur evening, Tisha B'Av evening, during a niddah period, and when either he or she is in the mourning period of shiva.

Other evenings that are mentioned in halakhic works (to stay up learning, that is) are Hoshana Rabba (Rama OC 664), the 7^th night of Pesach (see Birkei Yosef 240), and the Kohen Gadol on the evening of Yom Kippur. It is interesting to note that one approach associated with the 7^th night of Pesach ascribes the practice to the phrase "V'lo karav zeh el zeh kol halaylah" (Shmot 14:20), which means "This did not come close to this all night" – seemingly referring to the camps of the Israelites and Egyptians that stood on opposite sides of a pillar of fire during the evening in which the sea was splitting.

The rabbis would not let a verse like that go to waste, and suggested that "This not coming close to this" refers to husbands and wives. This would make it a custom to have husbands and wives separate on the 7^th night of Pesach. And of course, once separate, one may as well learn Torah.

The separation in preparation for Shavuot is a little more palatable. After all, God mandated that husbands and wives have a three-day separation in advance of Revelation. (Shmot 19:15) While I do not believe such an act is necessary beyond that one-time in the wilderness, if people want to commemorate such a separation in advance of Shavuot, I guess they are entitled to do as they please.

The bottom line is that it seems the staying up learning idea is often directly correlated to a husband and wife separation.

The Magen Avraham describes what is meant to be the scholars pursuit during the week – namely to study Torah at night.

Not all of us have the luxury to make "Toirahseinu Umanoseinu" – the Torah our regular pursuit. But we do have a charge to study it and learn from it at whatever turn.

I don't know for sure which idea came first – separation from spouses or the idea to learn all night. But a message that could be taken is "when you are looking for some way to spend your time, because other options are taken away from you, pursue the Torah and the study of Torah." That is certainly a lesson to take to the bank all year long - not just Shavuot night.

Whether one does stay up learning or one goes to sleep at the regular hour, may we be blessed to dedicate much of our Shavuot experiences to Torah learning.

It's About the Land

Parshat B'Har Bechukotai 

by Rabbi Avi Billet 

Many who write about this parsha focus on the question that Rashi asks (quoting the Sifra on B'har), "Why are the rules of Shmittah (the Sabbatical year for the land of Israel) mentioned in the context of 'Moshe at Mt. Sinai?'" The Hebrew phrase "May inyan Shmittah eitzel Har Sinai?" has taken on a life of its own, in that it has come to be the Hebrew idiom-equivalent of "what does this have to do with the price of tea in China?"

Is the assumption behind the question even correct?

According to the Or HaChaim, the focus of the connection to Sinai should not be on Shmittah, because Shmittah is not what is most immediately connected to Sinai in the verse.

"God spoke to Moses at Mount Sinai, telling him to speak to the Israelites and say to them: When you come to the land that I am giving you, the land must be given a rest period, a sabbath to God." (25:1-2)

The real question should be, "What is the connection between Mount Sinai and coming to the land?"

The Or HaChaim says, "Perhaps, because it mentioned that the land is a gift – 'that I am giving you' – it mentions that it stems from Mount Sinai. This is to teach that on account of the events of Mount Sinai, in other words, what they received there [the Torah], the gift could be completed. It is on account of [their having received] the Torah that God gave them the land."

Continuing along this line of thought, the Or HaChaim quotes Maimonides Laws of Possession and Gifts 3:11, who says, "An Israelite may not give an idolator (Aku"m) a gift for nothing. He may give [a free gift] to a stranger who lives in peace ['ger toshav']. To a total stranger ('nokhri') he must sell the item, but to a 'ger toshav' he may either sell it or gift it."

As a brief aside, a simple difference between a 'ger toshav' and a 'nokhri' is that the former not only lives in peace with the Israelites, but formally accepts their autonomy and system of laws and is an adherent of the Noahide laws. The latter, on the other hand, might live in peace out of a personal conviction, but he is not part of a formal group who has conceded power to the local Israelite autonomy. He has also not accepted the Noahide laws and might personally be an idolator. [There are many more details associated with these laws, including debates over which non-Jews qualify for each category.]

Having made clear that an "Aku'm" may not be the beneficiary of a free gift according to Torah law, Or HaChaim suggests that until they received the Torah, the Israelites were considered to be idolators. Only after they received the Torah did their status change, and they were able to receive the land as a gift.

This, he concludes, is the reason why in this specific context the Torah adds the phrase "That I am giving you" when referring to the land. It is obvious that God is the One with 'rights' to the land, who can do whatever He wants with His land. He has decided this specific land goes to the Israelite nation, and the action on the decision can be put in motion as soon as the Israelite nation are defined as gift-worthy after having received the Torah at Sinai.

Compare it to the verse we read two week ago (19:23), "When you come to the land you will plant every fruit-bearing tree." Why doesn't it say "…to the land I am giving you?" Because the land "is only given to you" as a direct result of the receiving and acceptance of the Torah at Sinai.

This is why the initial question should not be about Shmittah, because Shmittah is a mere by-product of the real focus in the verse, namely, the two great gifts God bequeathed to the Israelite nation, which are inextricably intertwined.

Without the Torah, it seems, there is no claim to the land of Israel. It was a gift for which God received nothing in return. A gift He gave because the recipients were now the Israelite nation, as defined by the Sinaitic experience at which they declared "Naaseh V'nishma" – we will observe [the law] and we will hear [as in, learn what it's all about].

The subtleties and nuances of the gift-giving that Maimonides discusses is open for discussion: what is a matnat chinam (free gift), how do we define each group and category, in what way does being or not being idolators change the possible benefits package?

What is clear is that God chose the people who were to be observing His Torah to receive the land as well. And they, in turn, are allowed to give gifts to those who are "Ger Toshav" – who accept the law of the land and who live in peace with their Israelite neighbors, and do not present a threat to their mortal existence.

Politics and political correctness aside, this seems like sane advice – don't give away anything if you do not receive something tangible in return. There are no freebies; there are only proper business transactions, where the cost of what you get is just about equal in value to what you are giving up.

From the other side of the coin, the Torah is the unequivocal key ingredient that makes the nation of Israel and the land of Israel a match literally made in heaven.

May we merit to see the day that all of Israel not only knows this to be true, but takes steps to live their Jewish lives guided by and in accordance with the precepts of the Torah.

Irrelevance is Relative

Parshat Emor

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Last week I was privileged to teach a class about Mikveh to a group of non-Orthodox Jews. The first ten minutes of the class focused on the concepts of "tumah" and "taharah" and how every single-word or two-word "translation" of each of these words does not do justice to the discussion. Neither people or animals are "unclean," or "contaminated," or "impure."  They can be "tameh" or be in a status of "tumah" (or be "tahor" or in a status of "taharah"). This does not reflect a hygiene issue even in the slightest.

In discussing the concept of "tumah" – which I define as a "spiritual status which bars something or someone from participating in a holy act" – the question was raised as to how much tumah plays a role in our lives today. Without the Temple in Jerusalem, which contained the system and formula for getting rid of tumah – as well as the major source for the need to do such - much of the tumah discussions are irrelevant today.

We do remove tumah with water when we ritually wash our hands and when we go to the mikveh. However, without the Red Heifer (Bamidbar 19), everyone of us is "tameh" in some manner.

            

This leads us to our parsha, which opens with a tumah warning that is still largely practiced today, even in the absence of the Temple in Jerusalem. Kohanim are not to become tameh through contact with (or certain proximity to) dead bodies, with the exception of a close relative, as per the Torah's allowance.

            

When I was a senior in high school, Rav Dovid Lifshitz zt"l's wife passed away, and her funeral was actually held in the yeshiva's beis medrash. A couple of the rebbeim, who were Kohanim, took all the Kohen students to a different building and had the morning classes with them until the funeral was over. I recall going to the teachers' lounge during lunch and seeing one of the non-observant Jewish teachers who had a Priestly last name. I asked him a couple of questions about something we had been learning, and then he lowered his voice to a serious tone and asked me, "Is the funeral still going on?" I told him it was. He said, "I probably shouldn't be in the building. Right?"

            

The Midrash Rabba 26:6 quotes the verse in Tehillim 19:10 that says "Fear of God is pure, enduring forever." Rabbi Levi taught, "From the fear that Aharon reserved for God, he merited that this section in the Torah was given to him and his descendants until the end of time – and never becomes irrelevant. This refers to the section about how to deal with a dead body, as it says 'God said to Moshe to tell the Kohanim, the sons of Aharon…'"

            

A few paragraphs earlier (26:3) the Midrash recounted the fact that in the times of King David, little children knew how to understand and explain all the facets of the laws of tumah and taharah. I would equate this notion (on a limited scale) to some of the laws of kosher with which our children these days are largely familiar.

            

My two year old can distinguish between a dairy and meat dish. He understands that when I say a treat in the supermarket he has his eye on is "not kosher," there is nothing to discuss because we don't eat that.

            

When you are living and breathing a reality, kids soak it up from the moment they have any conscious notion of understanding.

            

Over the last couple of months, I have read a number of articles (see here and here) as well as a book review, that address the never overstated concern over "what we're doing to keep our kids interested in remaining observant Jews." It is easy to create form-fitting robots who go through the motions of washing and bentching and davening in shul, but are we reaching the neshama (soul)? Is there depth to the commitment? Will an unanswerable question prop itself up one day and shatter everything?

            

Do we even know what our goals ought to be in this matter of a lifestyle we call "observance?" How do we reconcile the fact that over half of the counted commandments in the Torah do, in fact, have no relevance to our lives in the Temple's absence?

            

This is why I think classes like the mikveh class, which revisit an old topic for some, but a new one for others, is such a healthy task to undertake:

We need to look at everything with a fresh eye. We need to question the role of tumah and taharah in our lives, and we need to understand why we still run from eating animals that are in the tameh category.

            

We need to recognize that the more we expose children to the truths of our Jewish lives from a younger age, the more aptly they will pick it up and "get it." And they will hopefully understand that a single bad experience or a specific unscrupulous individual need not be the cause for rejecting all of the Torah.  

            

And finally, we must treasure the kohanim, the last ones to carry the remnant of this ritual on a daily basis. A true testament to their "fear of God" is how much kohanim who bless the people take pride in their role and take extra care not to put themselves in a position that may compromise their ability to fulfill their mitzvah of blessing the people.

            

May we all merit to have a commitment and dedication to our Judaism as the kohanim (for the most part) have to their role in the Jewish community – a role that has somehow survived (in modified form) through two Temple destructions and thousands of years of exile.

Good Advice

Parshat Acharei-KEDOSHIM


by Rabbi Avi Billet

In these weeks between Pesach and Shavuot, there is a widely practiced custom to study Pirkei Avot – the Chapters or Ethics of the Fathers. Some even extend this practice until Rosh Hashana, instead of having one round of study, they complete Avot four times.

The repetition is not merely meant to be a rote review. It is meant to entrench in one's mind and heart important reminders and teachings from a whole slew of rabbinic figures from the Tannaitic period. Any person who follows even twenty five percent of the "Ethics" taught in the six chapters will be one of the more ethical and wholesome people around town.

Reading Parshat Kedoshim, one finds very similar sentiments. One can't help thinking that the idea of being "Kedoshim," or as Rashi translates it "Perushim" – separate and distinct – is not only our mandate from God, but a sort of ideal. It's not just a good idea, but it is the formula for being a "light unto the nations" and a model for the world of what a Godly existence can and ought to look like.

Revere your parents, observe the Sabbath. Remember God. When you bring and consume a sacrificial offering, don't let there be leftovers – you've got to finish what you've undertaken to complete, within the allotted time.

Leave over portions of your income – whether it's from your literal produce or whatever you produce – for the poor. [A family I know inspired us to keep a separate checking account which we use solely for charitable purposes. Any income is subject to its own deduction, transferred to this account. It makes giving (whatever percentage a person chooses) so much easier. The money is set aside for this purpose. This simple move has made giving a liberating experience, as opposed to what might sometimes feel like a difficult experience.]

Don't steal, don't deny a rightful claim, don't lie to one another, don't swear falsely using God's name. Don't withhold what you owe to your neighbor. Pay people on time.

Don't curse the deaf or trick those who are blind. These two instructions could literally refer to people afflicted with these disabilities. On a deeper level, it could be an instruction not to taunt or mislead people who will not "get it," or who are unaware that what you might be doing, which may be in the guise of being helpful, is actually harmful. A person needs to be morally upright, and tricking people who are weak or unaware is, simply put, an act of cruelty.

A judge must be blind to economic circumstances, not to favor the poor or the wealthy, or the "important," but to judge on the facts alone. There is flexibility in certain areas of Jewish law to look at the specific circumstance and situation, but when it comes to money, especially others' money, the law must do what is right. Judge people fairly.

Don't gossip. Don't be a tale-bearer. Don't stand by when your neighbor's blood is being shed. These two commandments might very well be connected to one another as a reminder that if you find yourself in a situation where someone is being slandered or being cut down or having a reputation be tarnished by ill-speak, it is important to stand up, to defend, and to try to twist the conversation in a positive way. To bring the "Kaf z'chut" – the benefit of the doubt – to the forefront, or even to contradict what is being said. And if everyone is against you because they disagree, make it clear that you will not be party to such a conversation that serves no purpose other than to destroy another human being. This is "not standing idly by when blood is being shed."

Don't hate your brother in your heart, admonish your neighbor – these all follow the same line of thinking. Don't take revenge nor bear a grudge...

            

All of this culminates with the Golden Rule, to love your neighbor.

            

There are many interpretations as to how to fulfill the Golden Rule. I present four interpretations for your contemplation.

Chizkuni suggests "You should love to do him a favor, just as you would love if he’d do you a favor." [Maimonides (Laws of Mourning 14:1) expresses a similar sentiment.]

Otzar Midrashim suggests to desire for one’s friend all that he loves and desires for himself.

The Seforno quips to "Love things about your friend that you’d love if you were in his shoes."

R Samson Raphael Hirsch summarizes proper treatment of a friend or neighbor, saying "We have to love and respect all that comes to our friends – ask about his health and well-being, be happy about his success and sad about his failures, help out when it is needed, try to relieve him of his difficulties or comfort him when he is in [emotional] pain…"

There are many more mitzvot and many more suggestions for proper behavior and "above and beyond" behavior.

May we find the strength to read, contemplate, and apply as many of the Torah's teachings to our own lives, to improve our own selves and create more wholesome atmospheres among those with whom we work as well as with the people we love.