Bedikat Chametz: Do I have to or not?

With Pesach around the corner, and a lot of people going away, the question comes up whether a home needs to be checked for chametz. Can't I just "sell" my house and everything in it?

Here are the rules simply summarized:

0. If you are home for Pesach, Bedikat Chametz takes place in your home during the evening, on the night before Seder-night.

1. If you will be out of the house more than 30 days prior to Pesach, you do not need to do a bedikah.

2. If you are still in the house within 30 days of the holiday, do a bedikah before you leave, unless...

3. If someone is staying in your house, AND they have access to the house before the 14th of Nissan (the night of bedikat chametz), THEY must do the bedikah. In this case, you should have the house cleaned (which is hopefully obvious), but the obligation of bedikah is upon those who will be in the house for 14 Nissan.

4. If your home will be available to others for chol hamoed or later, you (the homeowner) must do the bedikah.

Remember that Bedikat Chametz does not have to drive you crazy. If you've cleaned your house (an ordinary cleaning), and you've looked in places you might have placed chametz and know they are clean, you do not need to "check them." [Having little kids who don't follow house rules can put a slight damper on this.] As long as you haven't been carrying chametz around the house, bedikat chametz need only take place in rooms where you know food was brought since the cleaning.

If you are selling your chametz, the chametz should be placed in boxes or cabinets that are sealed and/or covered.

Good luck. And chag kasher v'sameach!

7 Days To Reflect on Life

Parshat Tazria

by Rabbi Avi Billet

A simple reading of the Gemara in Arakhin 16a informs us that tzaraat, a spiritual disease with a physical manifestation that is definitely not “leprosy,” could come upon a person for one of seven sins: lashon hora (slander and gossip), murder, swearing in vain, immorality, haughtiness, theft, and stinginess.

            

Raise your hand if you might get tzaraat if such a disease were extant today. (We can all put our hands down now)

            

It’s sad that most people focus only on Lashon Hara, because the reality is that even people who are not gossipers are not immune to the other causes of tzaraat. Everyone has a yetzer hara (evil inclination) and everyone makes mistakes. While murder is presumably most uncommon, the rest of the seven are not that far fetched for many people, in one form or another.

            

In its time, getting tzaraat would trigger being sent out of the camp of Israel, while they traveled in the wilderness, and outside of town once settled in the land, for the duration of a week. This week-long exile, which was sometimes extended for a week (or two!), was meant to give the person pause, to think, to reflect on which sin caused the affliction and how the person could make different choices for the future.

            

Hopefully, the tzaraat was meant to give the exiled a week to rethink choices and make a commitment to a different future – one of ahavat yisrael (loving one’s fellow Jew), and ahavat habriyot (loving one’s fellow Man). The actions which lead to tzaraat have a common theme that the violator sees himself/herself as being better than others, or above the law. The change would shift a person's entire essence to being a top-of-the-line mentsch. 

            

There isn’t much to say about tzaraat that does not venture beyond the theoretical and hypothetical, simply because it is not our reality today. But we do have week-long excursions that are not brought on by sins which may nonetheless give us pause to reflect and to think about our lives and what is most important to us. (Disclaimer:) The only comparison to be taken here is the length of time the people in question are removed from “normal life.”

            

One week long venture is a holiday such as the upcoming Pesach. Another 7-day escape is the vacation. Sometimes the holiday and the vacation are combined. A third 7-day removal from the day-to-day norm is when someone dies and the family sits for the mourning period of “shiva.”

            

On holidays and on vacations, and particularly when they are combined, whether people go to a hotel, a different state, or just don’t go to work, the test of “who we are and what we stand for and believe” is brought to the fore. How do we conduct ourselves? How do we portray ourselves? How do we spend the time we don’t normally have? Are we unaccountably lazy? Do we only spend the time doing fun things? Where is the dedication to Torah and Tefillah (prayer)? Do others see us as gluttonous? Or gaudy? Do we show off? 

            

We must reflect, think, and look at ourselves very introspectively and try to comprehend how others see us. And we must also hold ourselves accountable for how we use our time. It is OK to enjoy a vacation and to spend quality family time having fun. But a Jew is a Jew 24/7, not just when life is normal, kids are in school, and there’s a daily commute to work. The goal is to be mekadesh shem shamayim (to sanctify God's name) at every turn.

            

This is why those who are committed to davening and daf yomi have an easier time because they are driven to keep it up even when life’s routine is interrupted.

Shiva is a very different kind of escape. And the reflection is surreal. Everyone experiences shiva differently, and since the deceased’s age and stage of life is different in every home, the feeling in every shiva home is different as well.

            

Shiva is not just a reflective time for the mourners. It is also for the visitors to think about life and to remember the deceased and to focus on why mourners mourn and what the role of the “Menachamim” – the consolers – is supposed to be.

            

Too many people come to shiva homes for personal reasons instead of to be there for the mourners. Too many people talk about nonsense when conversations, if there should even be conversations, are supposed to be directed by the mourner, while the consoler’s job is to keep it focused on the deeds of the deceased, to help the mourner in such a personal reflection.

            

It should go without saying, but too many well-meaning people say the dumbest or most regrettable things during their shiva visits. How the person died is not as relevant as how the person lived. The details of the final moments are not as important as the details of the legacy left behind, or in the event of the tragic death of a young person, the absolute sadness and profound loss felt by those who are mourning. In this latter case, the mourners need to know they have friends who care about them. They don’t need to know whether life will ever be the same or that “I know how you feel.” (We don’t.)

            

Every 7-day escape is indeed a time to reflect and contemplate who we are, what we believe, what we stand for and what is most important to us. Hopefully we can use the time well and come out of the experience with a new commitment to be more aware, more sensitive, more caring, and more humble in the way we present ourselves and the way we relate to others.

           

What is My Destiny?

Being Honest About the Roles We Play in Our Lives 

(It May Take a Week to Figure It Out) 

 Parshat Shmini 

 by Rabbi Avi Billet 

 The Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 11:6) records a strange narrative surrounding the appointment of Aharon and his sons as the Kohanim.

Rabbi Yudan in the name of Rabbi Yosi bar Yehuda, and Rabbi Berachia in the name of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Korkha said, All the years in the desert, Moshe served as co-Kohen Gadol as well (based on Tehillim 99:6 or Divrei Hayamim I 23:13-14).

Rabbi Yudan further notes that Moshe served for the 7 days of the Miluim (Dedication of the Mishkan). Rabbi Shmuel bar Nachman compares this to the Midrashic approach that Moshe conversed with God for 7 days at the Burning Bush. At that time, God spent six days trying to convince Moshe he was the right man for the job. On the seventh day, Moshe said, “Send someone else.”

The Midrash claims God’s unstated response was, “I swear I will clip your wings [when you want it most].” Rabbi Levi explains that for the first six days of the last Adar of his life Moshe prayed before God that he should be allowed to enter the Land of Israel. It was on the seventh day of Adar that God said to him, “You will not cross this River.”

Rabbi Chelbo said the same thing was going on in our parsha. For seven days Moshe served as Kohen Gadol and thought the position was his. On the seventh day, however, he was told, “The job is not yours. It belongs to Aharon your brother.” Thus, “And it was on the eighth day that Moshe called to Aharon and his sons, and told them…” the instructions that begin our parsha.

The combination of Rabbis Yudan, Shmuel, Levi and Chelbo leaves us wondering: what kind of games are being played in these Midrashim? Did God really punish Moshe for his hesitation to go before Pharaoh at the burning Bush? And even if God did punish him (see Rashi Shmot 4:14), is this kind of measure for measure really necessary? You, Moshe, played on God’s hopes for 6 days, and then let Him down on day 7, so He is going to play on your hopes for 6 days and let you down on day 7! Ha! Gotcha!

Really?!

One piece of this Midrash – which stands almost as an aside to the Midrash’s narrative – could provide the answer to our question (also in Yerushalmi Yoma 1:1). “Rabbi Tanchum said that Moshe served all 7 days as Kohen Gadol, and God’s presence was not apparent through his hand.”

There is an opinion (Shemot Rabba 37:1, Rashi Zevachim 19b sv “Moshe V’Aharon”), which  Rabbi Zev Volf of Horadna (commentary on the Midrash) attributes to Rabbi Eliezer b’rabi Yehuda, that Moshe only served during that 7-day period. Perhaps this approach – rather than the one that he was an equal Kohen Gadol for 39 years – can help us resolve our quandary.

It is only after Moshe lets go, when Moshe resigns himself to the reality that he and Aharon have separate roles and that Moshe does not need to do everything, that he can once again serve in the role he was meant to serve, to bring the presence of God down to the people.

If his cup is too full, if he is trying to serve as leader and as Kohen Gadol, God’s presence can not be felt. Moshe is too distracted.

So why the week-long game? Why does Moshe need to be played in the same manner that he “played” God into thinking he wanted the role of leader at the Burning Bush?

Because 6-7 days is a decent amount of time to know whether a person likes something, whether it is something a person can go with, continue doing, or whether it is something that is just wrong.

For 6 days at the Burning Bush, Moshe raised every objection, and each one was answered. No one will believe you? Here are signs. You can’t speak? Your brother Aharon will be with you. You don’t know my name? Here it is. Pharaoh won’t believe you? I have a plan.

Moshe holds out for six days, and on the last day he throws in the zinger, “Eh, I never wanted the job to begin with.” Moshe, how could you say such a thing to God?

Therefore Moshe is given the message twice – once at the beginning of his career, and once at the end of his career. You never wanted the job – and it took you six days to actually say the truth? Now that you want the job of Kohen Gadol, or the right to go into the Land, it will take six days until God reveals the truth to you.

At the same time, you need to understand that it’s not your destiny. There are other factors at play. Aharon is Kohen Gadol because you can’t double up. And you can’t lead the people in to the Land, because that role requires a different kind of leader – a person who lives in the trenches, who identifies with the people in a way you could not when your leadership was called into question. Rashi on Devarim 2:16 says that God did not communicate with Moshe in a significant way for 38 years. He only got his last hurrah and final communication with God when he was about to die.

Be a straight shooter, know your role, don’t seek more than necessary, understand where your strengths fit into your destiny, and carve out a life that puts together all of these ingredients. These are the important lessons we can learn from Moshe’s occupational revelation at the beginning of Parshat Shemini.

Libsumei B'Puria

Understanding the Strange Obligation of "Getting Drunk" on Purim

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Rava said, “A person has the obligation ‘libsumei b’puria’ until he does not know the difference between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordechai.’” – Talmud Megilla 7b 

The Talmudic passage is very well known amongst observant Jews, and has even been made into several songs. Many people take it to understand that Rava is saying a person has an obligation to get drunk on Purim until he can not distinguish between which is better – cursing Haman and bringing about his downfall, or blessing Mordechai and bringing about his promotion.

Of course, one could argue that there is no difference. Were we to conduct a straw poll, I would imagine that there would be a fairly even split over which is better. Which would lend itself to mean that there is no difference to be found. Both are equally good.

In truth, both are essential (versus one possibly being better), because one without the other creates an incomplete picture. If Haman isn’t demoted, he remains in power even with a promoted Mordechai. If Mordechai isn’t promoted, he is powerless to overturn Haman’s decree, even with a demoted Haman.

But the real question is “what does ‘libsumei b’puria’ mean?”

Most of the commentaries on the Tur and on the Shulchan Arukh talk about the depravity and anti-Torah behavior that comes from drunkenness. The tale that follows Rava's statement in the Talmud, about Rabba getting drunk on Purim and killing Rabbi Zeira, many argue, is the antithesis of Rava’s statement, which goes to show what kind of horrific behavior can come from becoming drunk – even if Rabbi Zeira was revived in the morning after Rabba prayed for him. Perhaps in telling the tale the Talmud serves as counterpoint, suggesting that getting drunk on Purim is very very bad.

We are all well aware of what people under the influence of alcohol can do – even unintentionally – and when it is younger people who are less familiar with alcohol, control, and understanding limits, the results are at a minimum a desecration of God’s name (chillul Hashem), and can, at worst, lead to severe hospitalization and even untimely death.

The Ramban refers to getting drunk as being a “Naval Birshut Hatorah” – being disgusting with the Torah’s approval. In other words, as the Torah doesn’t forbid the consumption of wine, drinking wine in excess is not against the Torah. However, just because the Torah allows consuming wine does not meant the Torah condones the resulting behavior which comes from drunkenness. This, Ramban argues, is absolutely against the Torah.

If getting drunk is forbidden (as Maimonides, the Tur, Beit Yosef, etc all say it is), then how could the Talmud say it is an obligation on Purim to get drunk?

Maybe we are reading the Talmud incorrectly. The word “Puria” appears over twenty times in the Talmud. In most cases the word means either a bed or a couch. In the Talmudic passage in question, it seems strange that it should mean “Purim” because two lines later the word “Purim” itself is used to refer to the holiday! If within the same breath the Talmud can say “Purim,” why would it use the term “Puria” to refer to Purim?

The word “libsumei” appears four times in the Talmud, and every other time (aside from our Megillah 7b passage) it means pleasantness or sweetening, in the context of either a pleasant voice or a sweet voice.

So perhaps the phrase can be understood to mean that “a person is obligated to feel pleasant or sweet on a bed until the point that he does not know the difference between cursed is Haman and blessed is Mordechai.” How is this accomplished? Maimonides suggests that on Purim one should drink a little more than usual, to the point of falling asleep, because while sleeping a person doesn’t even think about the difference between cursing Haman or blessing Mordechai – both of which might be the same thing anyway (their numerical values (gematria) happen to be the same as well), or meaningless as one without the other.

So what does one do with the Talmudic story? The Meiri suggests that the word which is usually translated as “slaughtered” should be read with the letter “sin” instead of a “shin” to suggest that Rabba “squeezed” Rabbi Zeira. Thus it could follow that Rabbi Zeira may have lost consciousness, but may not have died. (The Talmud never said he died, but that he was revived afterwards.)

Perhaps, however, following along the line of our novel interpretation, the pleasantness which was achieved through their celebrating properly led them to fall asleep, and the resulting tale was merely a dream. Perhaps Rabbi Zeira had a harder time waking in the morning, prompting Rabba to pray for him. But all’s well that ends well because Rabbi Zeira was fine in the end.

So why did he opt out of celebrating with Rabba the following year? Being pressured by a friend to drink is never a pleasant experience. If indeed Rabbi Zeira had a severe hangover the following day, perhaps he thought another bout of such celebrating could be damaging to his health.

Rabbi Zeira had the strength and fortitude to resist the peer pressure of going to a party in which the drinking might get out of hand (he unfortunately learned this the hard way). May we be blessed to celebrate Purim with those who understand limits and how to properly celebrate ths special holiday of Purim.

Serving God As Body AND Soul

Parshat Vayikra

by Rabbi Avi Billet

In his Yizkor sermon on Yom Kippur 1963 (“Body and Soul”), Rabbi Norman Lamm introduced a fascinating idea in the name of Rabbi Mosheh Avigdor Amiel. The Torah utilizes different terms when introducing generic humans. Before Avraham, humans were referred to as “Basar” (literally “humans” or “flesh”). “Man shall leave his father and mother, and cling to his wife so they may become one ‘basar’ (human/flesh).” “And all the ‘basar’ (humans) died [in the flood].”

After Avraham is introduced to us, people are referred to as “Nefesh” (literally “souls”). “And Avram took… the ‘nefesh’ (people) they [taught] in Charan.”

Rabbi Lamm’s sermon is a work of art, worthy of being read in its entirety. For our parsha it opens the door to a similar theme – that for the most part (9 times) all those who sin and are mandated to bring an offering are refered to as “Nefesh,” with the exception being the first person mentioned, who is referred to as “Adam” (a human being).  (1:2)

It is curious to note that Onkelos and Targum Yonatan don’t seem to distinguish between the terms (Onkelos calls both an “Enash”, while Targum Yonatan calls the “Adam” an "Enash," and the “Nefesh” a "Bar Nash"), and yet the distinction is not lost on other commentaries.

Rashi notes (1:2), for example, that the use of the word “Adam” is meant to specifically bring to mind the man Adam, “Just as Adam did not bring any offerings from stolen property, since the world belonged to him, so should everyone bring offerings only from their own property.”

Rashi also takes the specific usage of the word “Nefesh” in 2:1 as a springboard to suggest that since it is only a pauper who offers a flour offering (instead of a more expensive animal), it is viewed by God as if he is literally offering his soul (his ‘nefesh’).

Ibn Ezra refers to the Nefesh as an indication of a whole hearted donation.  Ramban (4:2) explains how the accidental sin is sometimes brought about through a thought that originates within the soul. Since it is the soul, in that sense, that is sinning, it is the soul that needs atonement.

Rabbenu Bachaye is a little more holistic in his approach (or should I say whole-istic) when he suggests that the word “Nefesh” refers to the combined body and soul - the whole person. (With apologies to Rabbi Lamm)

A distinction needs to be made, however, in exactly how the Adam and the Nefesh are presented in our parsha. It says “When an Adam will bring his offering close” (1:2) and (multiple times - ) “When a Nefesh sins…”  In a spiritual sense, this is easily understood. When a person sins, it is his Nefesh, his spiritual side, which can’t afford the sin. It is the spiritual side which suffers on account of it. The "Adam," the human side, probably derives pleasure from the sin. The Torah therefore warns the Adam – “You are the responsible party! You have to bring the offering! Don’t allow your Nefesh to sin!”

At the same time, the Adam, the physical aspect of his existence, is the one bringing the offering. He needs a reminder to behave, to remain physically pure, so he can complete his offering bringing, to help achieve the atonement that his body and soul so desperately need.

It is this duality of our existence, that we all contain a body and a soul, that drives everything we do. Both need sustenance. Our bodies need nourishment and need to be kept in decent working condition to last as long as we hope for ourselves.

And our souls also need nourishment and need to be kept in decent working condition so we may be blessed to last as long as we hope for ourselves.

I’ll leave the body’s nourishment instruction to the dietitians, doctors and the physical health experts.

But the soul’s nourishment comes from living a life of Torah and chesed. Of being aware of Mitzvot, and doing our best to fulfill them. Of including Torah learning in our weekly (if not daily) schedules. Of fighting with the body in its pursuit of sinful pleasures.

Thank God there are plenty of pleasures in the world that do not conflict with the soul and are either not sinful or are even Mitzvot!

Let us pray that we can achieve an alignment of our bodies and our souls so that the instructions given to Adam and Nefesh can mesh together as our souls and bodies complement each other in the service of God. When the spirit and physical unite, they become a driving force for achieving greatness, on individual and communal levels.