Parshat Tzav
by Rabbi Avi Billet
The tragic story of a fire in Brooklyn coming on the ten year anniversary of a similar story in Teaneck has left the greater Jewish community reeling. We mourn with these families, and wish for a recovery for those still in medical care.
Having seen and experienced devastating loss, the only thing I know to be experientially true is that love and the passage of time are the most important ingredients to being able to continue with life and to find happiness once again – if that becomes a goal in life. Having faith in God is also helpful, because it can help a person find a sense of purpose in living beyond tragedy.
Towards the beginning of its commentary on our parsha, the Midrash Rabba aims to explain how those who suffer through devastating ordeals can get closer to God, utilizing the experience of King David, who said in Tehillim (Psalms 51:19): “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; O God, You will not despise a broken and crushed heart.”
How true this statement is, and how true do we hope for it to always be.
Of course, the Midrash does not raise this sentence in a vacuum. The parsha does focus heavily on sacrifices. And the Midrash paints King David’s statement as one of hope for how he could get closer to God despite having suffered terrible calamities.
One utilization of the verse asserts King David’s Teshuva (repentance) process, in the aftermath of the Batsheva incident of Samuel II 12 as, “God, I have overcome my evil inclination, and I have repented before You. If You accept my repentance, I know that my son Shlomo will build the Beit Hamikdash, and build the Mizbeach, and burn the sacrifices on it.” This is how “a broken spirit” can turn into the fulfillment of “the sacrifices of God,” when the dream of what future generations can hopefully accomplish can be articulated and hopefully actualized.
Another view utilizes the same verse as the answer to a question – not about King David and his son Shlomo, but about any person looking to find God: How do we know that a person who repents is given the credit for having gone up to Jerusalem, having built the Temple, having built the Mizbeach, and for sacrificing all of the offerings? Because this is how “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit.” The broken heart that accompanies repentance can bring about the highest level of serving God.
But closeness to God is not only achieved through repentance, as is demonstrated through the concluding teaching of the Midrash, in the name of Rabbi Alexandri. If a human being is served with broken vessels, it is assumed to be an insult. But God is the opposite – He knows that the most powerful and the most poignant service comes from the brokenhearted. “The Lord is near to the broken-hearted, and He saves those of crushed spirit.” (Tehillim 34:19) God is the One “Who heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Tehillim 147:3). The prophet Isaiah (57:15) quotes God Himself, who said, “With the lofty and the holy ones I dwell, and with the crushed and humble in spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble and to revive the heart of the crushed…”
What, therefore, is the meaning of “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit?” That through a broken heart one has the ability to come closest to God.
The broken heart can be demonstrated in one of two ways. Either a person sins and breaks one’s heart through repentance. Or tragedy breaks one’s heart, and the person turns to God through serving him.
When a nation can collectively have a broken heart, this Midrash is suggesting that we are experiencing the closest chance we have to seek out God’s presence, and to feel His comforting hand. When King David wrote Tehillim 51 in the aftermath of the Batsheva tale, he had two experiences which weighed heavily on his conscience.
The first was that his conduct in that story was sinful and he needed to return to God. His deed was public, his exhortation from the prophet was spelled out to him, and he was also made aware through prophesy of what was expected of him.
The second was that he had suffered the ultimate loss of several of his children – the first child born from his union with Batsheva (Shlomo was the 2nd child of that union), the deaths of his sons Avshalom and Amnon in his lifetime, as well as his daughter Tamar’s defilement at the hands of her half-brother Amnon. (Adoniyahu, another son, was killed shortly after King David’s death.)
In our local story, there is no sin. There is no prophet. And there are no answers. There is only tragedy, suffering, and loss, for a family and for a community.
There is no healing from losses of this kind. There is always an emptiness in the lives of surviving family members, as well as in the greater community.
Hopefully, with the outpouring of love and with time, everyone will be able to find some kind of comfort from the ultimate Comforter because He will see that what brings us closest to Him is the broken heart.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
The Sin of Doing One Mitzvah
Parshat VAYIKRa
by Rabbi Avi Billet
There’s a strange phrase that repeats itself several times in the parsha. “If a person sins… and does one of the commandments of God that one is [instructed] not to do” then a consequence follows. The consequence might be elaborated upon over several verses, or, as in the case, of 4:27, the consequence is preceded by the word, “v’ashem,” which means “and he is guilty.”
Wouldn’t the verse make more sense if it said “If a person sins and violates a commandment…” or just leave it at “If a person sins…” and then list the consequence? It almost sounds like the Torah is saying that if a person sins through doing a mitzvah, then there is a consequence! How could a person sin through doing a mitzvah?!
Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev was known to look at the good of every Jew. One tale finds Reb Levi Yitzchak encountering a Jew who was smoking on Shabbos. The sinner refuted each benefit the rabbi ascribed to him. “You probably didn’t know it was Shabbos.” The man knew. “You probably didn’t know smoking is prohibited on Shabbos.” The man knew. “You must be smoking for health reasons.” No – that’s not the case.
Reb Levi Yitzchak turned heavenward and said, “Even when your children commit sins, they tell the truth!”
And yet, Reb Levi Yitzchak did not hold back in criticizing the Jew who is satisfied with a minimal connection with God. In his Kedushas Levi, Reb Levi Yitzchak looked at our verse in question and creatively explained the way the Torah depicts the sin of the individual. The more a person sincerely serves God, the more the person appreciates the tremendous disparity that exists between the great and Almighty God and the tiny human being.
But, as in our verse, when a person does one mitzvah and thinks this is an adequate form of serving God, even the one mitzvah is inconsequential. To put it more succinctly – there are mitzvot which people categorize as mitzvot “that I don’t do.” I have the mitzvot that I do, the ones I am comfortable with, the ones that work for me. But there are mitzvot that fall out of my comfort zone, so I never do them. Or, perhaps, I may do it once in a while.
Reb Levi Yitzchak said that the sin is not the doing of the mitzvah – though he questions whether the occasional trek into mitzvah-doing is worth anything, as opposed to a total commitment to mitzvoth. The sin is in having the attitude that “I have mitzvot that I don’t do” while still feeling that this incompleteness is a proper form of serving God.
Reb Levi Yitzchak lived in a different time. And while I don’t think his entire message is apropos today – it is certainly not applicable to Jews who know very little about Judaism – there is much introspection demanded of Jews who do know better, who claim to believe in God and who live observant lifestyles, but who opt out of certain mitzvot because “I don’t do those” or who focus on one mitzvah that does work (while ignoring many others) who still think, “I am serving God properly as a Jew.”
We live in a cynical society where the loudest people are anti-religion. Ironically, the religious population of the United States of America is one of the highest percentages in the world. For people who identify as religious Jews, it behooves us to never be satisfied with our personal status quo, and to continue to challenge ourselves to take more obligations upon ourselves, and to humbly add to our service of God, as we become increasingly aware of that disparity between ourselves and our Creator.
The sin Reb Levi Yitzchak reads into this verse is a sin of arrogance, a sin of minimal obligation and responsibility, and a sin of checking out of mitzvot based on external criteria.
Let us embrace our responsibilities and obligations, let us be humble, and let us increasingly get closer to God so that the verses in question need not apply to our own Jewish experiences.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
There’s a strange phrase that repeats itself several times in the parsha. “If a person sins… and does one of the commandments of God that one is [instructed] not to do” then a consequence follows. The consequence might be elaborated upon over several verses, or, as in the case, of 4:27, the consequence is preceded by the word, “v’ashem,” which means “and he is guilty.”
Wouldn’t the verse make more sense if it said “If a person sins and violates a commandment…” or just leave it at “If a person sins…” and then list the consequence? It almost sounds like the Torah is saying that if a person sins through doing a mitzvah, then there is a consequence! How could a person sin through doing a mitzvah?!
Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev was known to look at the good of every Jew. One tale finds Reb Levi Yitzchak encountering a Jew who was smoking on Shabbos. The sinner refuted each benefit the rabbi ascribed to him. “You probably didn’t know it was Shabbos.” The man knew. “You probably didn’t know smoking is prohibited on Shabbos.” The man knew. “You must be smoking for health reasons.” No – that’s not the case.
Reb Levi Yitzchak turned heavenward and said, “Even when your children commit sins, they tell the truth!”
And yet, Reb Levi Yitzchak did not hold back in criticizing the Jew who is satisfied with a minimal connection with God. In his Kedushas Levi, Reb Levi Yitzchak looked at our verse in question and creatively explained the way the Torah depicts the sin of the individual. The more a person sincerely serves God, the more the person appreciates the tremendous disparity that exists between the great and Almighty God and the tiny human being.
But, as in our verse, when a person does one mitzvah and thinks this is an adequate form of serving God, even the one mitzvah is inconsequential. To put it more succinctly – there are mitzvot which people categorize as mitzvot “that I don’t do.” I have the mitzvot that I do, the ones I am comfortable with, the ones that work for me. But there are mitzvot that fall out of my comfort zone, so I never do them. Or, perhaps, I may do it once in a while.
Reb Levi Yitzchak said that the sin is not the doing of the mitzvah – though he questions whether the occasional trek into mitzvah-doing is worth anything, as opposed to a total commitment to mitzvoth. The sin is in having the attitude that “I have mitzvot that I don’t do” while still feeling that this incompleteness is a proper form of serving God.
Reb Levi Yitzchak lived in a different time. And while I don’t think his entire message is apropos today – it is certainly not applicable to Jews who know very little about Judaism – there is much introspection demanded of Jews who do know better, who claim to believe in God and who live observant lifestyles, but who opt out of certain mitzvot because “I don’t do those” or who focus on one mitzvah that does work (while ignoring many others) who still think, “I am serving God properly as a Jew.”
We live in a cynical society where the loudest people are anti-religion. Ironically, the religious population of the United States of America is one of the highest percentages in the world. For people who identify as religious Jews, it behooves us to never be satisfied with our personal status quo, and to continue to challenge ourselves to take more obligations upon ourselves, and to humbly add to our service of God, as we become increasingly aware of that disparity between ourselves and our Creator.
The sin Reb Levi Yitzchak reads into this verse is a sin of arrogance, a sin of minimal obligation and responsibility, and a sin of checking out of mitzvot based on external criteria.
Let us embrace our responsibilities and obligations, let us be humble, and let us increasingly get closer to God so that the verses in question need not apply to our own Jewish experiences.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Retaking the Gift of Shabbat
Parshat VAYAKHEL
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When we read the parshas surrounding the building of the Mishkan, we are reminded of the fealty we, the Jewish people, are to have to Shabbat. The laws of Shabbat are derived from the proximity of the actual construction of the vessels and structures of the Mishkan to a reminder about Shabbat – both of which appear in Shmot chapter 35. Shabbat was also mentioned in last week’s Torah portion at the conclusion of the initial instructions for the Mishkan, in the “V’shamru” passage which is most famous because it is part of our liturgy as well (31:13-17)
It’s not only that Shabbat is a day the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob are meant to rest to imitate God who “rested” on the seventh day after Creating. Shabbat is considered in the Talmud to be a gift that God gave to the Jewish people (Talmud Shabbat 10b). One who keeps or observes the Shabbat is considered to be attesting to God’s role in the creation of the world.
Hillel Halkin, a secular Jewish writer who lives in Israel, wrote an article several years ago entitled, “You don't have to be Orthodox to cherish the Sabbath,” which can be easily found through a Google search. The title almost says it all, though Halkin does a good job of explaining why he, as a secular Jew, cherishes the Shabbat and wishes (at least when he wrote the article) that other Jews could appreciate Shabbat more.
Former Senator Joseph Lieberman also wrote a book to this effect, offering Shabbat as a needed respite for all of humanity.
The Chofetz Chaim, whose rare image was recently uncovered in an old film reel from the 1920s, would describe the Talmudic sentiment of the gift given to the Jewish people like a groom giving his bride a present. If the bride returns the gift, it is a good indication that she does not want the groom and the match is as good as over.
His message was the same about Shabbat. If the Jewish people do not keep the Shabbat properly, they are essentially returning the gift to God, indicating they have no interest in the bond that unites the Jews to God.
It is a sad state of affairs for the Jewish people when the attitude to Shabbat outside of the religious Jewish community (however people define “religious”) is the way it is today. Halkin, for example, at least respects the Shabbat, even if he does not observe.
Some statistics from national polls of the last few years bear out the dire circumstances we face in terms of appreciation of this gift. A December 2012 Gallup poll said 41% of Jews say religion is important to them, while 65% said they attend religious services seldom or never. 22% of Jews have no religion at all. According to the Pew poll of 2013, 28% of Jews don’t believe in God, while 73% think being Jewish means remembering the Holocaust.
Those of us who love the Torah and cherish the Shabbat have a very big job ahead of us. So many Jews identify as Jewish for cultural reasons and on account of the ancestral heritage, without knowledge of a Torah, mitzvot, or any of the wisdom contained therein. Show an ignorant-of-Judaism Jew a Jewish library or Beit Midrash, and the eyes open up and the jaw drops at how much specifically Jewish knowledge and scholarship is out there. Sure they know that many Jews of the past were smart people. But the breadth of knowledge of rabbinic sages is what they hear about, if at all, from PJ library story books, which do not exactly come from a wellspring of Jewish tradition that goes back centuries or millennia. We have so much to offer, but despite all the efforts that are being made by those who reach out to lost or searching Jews, there is still a very long way to go in bringing Shabbat to the masses in a palatable way.
We need the connection with God more than ever. We have to earn back His trust through our retaking His gift of Shabbat.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When we read the parshas surrounding the building of the Mishkan, we are reminded of the fealty we, the Jewish people, are to have to Shabbat. The laws of Shabbat are derived from the proximity of the actual construction of the vessels and structures of the Mishkan to a reminder about Shabbat – both of which appear in Shmot chapter 35. Shabbat was also mentioned in last week’s Torah portion at the conclusion of the initial instructions for the Mishkan, in the “V’shamru” passage which is most famous because it is part of our liturgy as well (31:13-17)
It’s not only that Shabbat is a day the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob are meant to rest to imitate God who “rested” on the seventh day after Creating. Shabbat is considered in the Talmud to be a gift that God gave to the Jewish people (Talmud Shabbat 10b). One who keeps or observes the Shabbat is considered to be attesting to God’s role in the creation of the world.
Hillel Halkin, a secular Jewish writer who lives in Israel, wrote an article several years ago entitled, “You don't have to be Orthodox to cherish the Sabbath,” which can be easily found through a Google search. The title almost says it all, though Halkin does a good job of explaining why he, as a secular Jew, cherishes the Shabbat and wishes (at least when he wrote the article) that other Jews could appreciate Shabbat more.
Former Senator Joseph Lieberman also wrote a book to this effect, offering Shabbat as a needed respite for all of humanity.
The Chofetz Chaim, whose rare image was recently uncovered in an old film reel from the 1920s, would describe the Talmudic sentiment of the gift given to the Jewish people like a groom giving his bride a present. If the bride returns the gift, it is a good indication that she does not want the groom and the match is as good as over.
His message was the same about Shabbat. If the Jewish people do not keep the Shabbat properly, they are essentially returning the gift to God, indicating they have no interest in the bond that unites the Jews to God.
It is a sad state of affairs for the Jewish people when the attitude to Shabbat outside of the religious Jewish community (however people define “religious”) is the way it is today. Halkin, for example, at least respects the Shabbat, even if he does not observe.
Some statistics from national polls of the last few years bear out the dire circumstances we face in terms of appreciation of this gift. A December 2012 Gallup poll said 41% of Jews say religion is important to them, while 65% said they attend religious services seldom or never. 22% of Jews have no religion at all. According to the Pew poll of 2013, 28% of Jews don’t believe in God, while 73% think being Jewish means remembering the Holocaust.
Those of us who love the Torah and cherish the Shabbat have a very big job ahead of us. So many Jews identify as Jewish for cultural reasons and on account of the ancestral heritage, without knowledge of a Torah, mitzvot, or any of the wisdom contained therein. Show an ignorant-of-Judaism Jew a Jewish library or Beit Midrash, and the eyes open up and the jaw drops at how much specifically Jewish knowledge and scholarship is out there. Sure they know that many Jews of the past were smart people. But the breadth of knowledge of rabbinic sages is what they hear about, if at all, from PJ library story books, which do not exactly come from a wellspring of Jewish tradition that goes back centuries or millennia. We have so much to offer, but despite all the efforts that are being made by those who reach out to lost or searching Jews, there is still a very long way to go in bringing Shabbat to the masses in a palatable way.
We need the connection with God more than ever. We have to earn back His trust through our retaking His gift of Shabbat.
Friday, March 6, 2015
The Calling of Self Sacrifice (via the Kiyor)
Ki Tisa
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Towards the beginning of Ki Tisa, the Torah gives us the first depictions of the Kiyor, the washbasin that was to be used by the Kohanim before they engaged in any Mishkan service. So important is the act of washing the hands and feet, that the verb “rachatz” (wash) appears in every one of the four verses that describe this vessel, and the warning of “and they will not die” (as long as they are sure to wash) appears twice.
Let’s address three questions. First, why such a severe warning and punishment of death for not rinsing one’s hands and feet? Second, is there something to be learned from the overuse of the verb “rachatz”? Finally, why is the command for the Kiyor issued so far after all the other vessels of the Mishkan have been described? Was it an afterthought?
The Pesikta (Ki Tisa 30:21) summarizes the offenses that could bring about the Kohen’s death: doing the service while intoxicated, with a bare head, missing a garment, or not having washed hands and feet before doing the Mishkan service. The Mechilta answers our glaring question – this is a “Chok,” a rule which defies logic, which comes from the One Above, of how He wants His Mishkan to operate.
There is a debate as to how many spigots the Kiyor had. Rabbi Chaim Paltiel noted that the root “rachatz” appears four times, indicating there were four spigots, enough for Aharon, Moshe and Aharon’s sons to wash at the same time (based on Shmot 40:31). Oddly enough, Aharon had four sons at this time. Are we to infer from this opinion that two of his sons were fated to die, even before they entered the Holy of Holies (Vayikra 10:2)? (I wonder…) [see Zevachim 19b, and Rambam hilchot Biat Hamikdash 5:13, who says the four people were Aharon, Elazar, Itamar and Pinchas]
Ibn Ezra records the opinion of the ancient Rabbis, that there were two spigots. If this approach is true, our question of the fate of Aharon’s sons can be voided.
The Seforno explains that this vessel was not an afterthought, but its purpose does not align with the spiritual purpose of every other vessel. Each vessel had an element of Holiness, Kedusha, in its essence. Whether it just sat there (the Ark), or had a minimal function (the Table), was used daily (the Menorah), or more often than once a day (the large and small mizbeach), there was an element of Holiness in the existence of these items that the Kiyor lacked. On the other hand, the Kiyor’s simple function set the stage for all the holiness of the Mishkan to be carried out. It was the vessel which provided the water through which the kohanim could wash their hands to perform the services of the day.
The Chizkuni noted the placement of the Kiyor, that it was outdoors, between the Mishkan building and the Mizbeach, so the Kohanim could walk to it, and be sure to wash their hands before commencing with their service of the day. Oddly enough, they have to pass the Mizbeach before getting to the Kiyor! Wouldn’t it have made more sense for the Kiyor to be the first thing they bump into?
Perhaps a deeper appreciation for the role of the Kiyor can be understood when we consider the materials used for making the Kiyor. The Torah tells us in Shmot 38:8 that the copper for the Kiyor was a conglomerate of mirrors which were used by women in Egypt, as Rashi there explains, to beautify themselves for their enslaved husbands, to ultimately bring about generations of Israelite children so the nation could survive.
It would seem the message of the Kiyor is much deeper than we could imagine. Because it is a reminder to the Kohen as he approached the copper-mirror-Kiyor that he, as a servant of the people and as an agent on their behalf in the service of God, is sacrificing his uniqueness, in a sense, in order to fill a role, and fulfill a purpose on behalf of the people. He needed to walk past the Mizbeach, to see the place where sacrifices are burned, to remember why he showed up for work today. Then he could properly prepare himself when he washed his hands and feet.
The women in Egypt, at great sacrifice, did what they needed to do to assure the survival of the nation. Every individual who brings a sacrifice, who needs it to be offered properly by the Kohen is, in a sense, sacrificing oneself. The representing agents, the kohanim, therefore, also needed to embrace the notion of self-sacrfifice on a daily basis.
When one looks at oneself in the mirror, one has the opportunity to look deeply, and to ask oneself “Who are you? What are you? Are you worthy of this job you have? Are you worthy to represent the people? Are you worthy to bring about atonement for others?”
Sacrificing for others is one of the most incredible callings a human being can undertake. If the role is understood and that deep introspection is taken and internalized properly, like the kohanim who washed their hands and feet and were ready to serve, we hope all those who sacrifice of themselves for the klal can merit to serve in a manner that is clean, holy, and beneficial to all, in the service of God.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Towards the beginning of Ki Tisa, the Torah gives us the first depictions of the Kiyor, the washbasin that was to be used by the Kohanim before they engaged in any Mishkan service. So important is the act of washing the hands and feet, that the verb “rachatz” (wash) appears in every one of the four verses that describe this vessel, and the warning of “and they will not die” (as long as they are sure to wash) appears twice.
Let’s address three questions. First, why such a severe warning and punishment of death for not rinsing one’s hands and feet? Second, is there something to be learned from the overuse of the verb “rachatz”? Finally, why is the command for the Kiyor issued so far after all the other vessels of the Mishkan have been described? Was it an afterthought?
The Pesikta (Ki Tisa 30:21) summarizes the offenses that could bring about the Kohen’s death: doing the service while intoxicated, with a bare head, missing a garment, or not having washed hands and feet before doing the Mishkan service. The Mechilta answers our glaring question – this is a “Chok,” a rule which defies logic, which comes from the One Above, of how He wants His Mishkan to operate.
There is a debate as to how many spigots the Kiyor had. Rabbi Chaim Paltiel noted that the root “rachatz” appears four times, indicating there were four spigots, enough for Aharon, Moshe and Aharon’s sons to wash at the same time (based on Shmot 40:31). Oddly enough, Aharon had four sons at this time. Are we to infer from this opinion that two of his sons were fated to die, even before they entered the Holy of Holies (Vayikra 10:2)? (I wonder…) [see Zevachim 19b, and Rambam hilchot Biat Hamikdash 5:13, who says the four people were Aharon, Elazar, Itamar and Pinchas]
Ibn Ezra records the opinion of the ancient Rabbis, that there were two spigots. If this approach is true, our question of the fate of Aharon’s sons can be voided.
The Seforno explains that this vessel was not an afterthought, but its purpose does not align with the spiritual purpose of every other vessel. Each vessel had an element of Holiness, Kedusha, in its essence. Whether it just sat there (the Ark), or had a minimal function (the Table), was used daily (the Menorah), or more often than once a day (the large and small mizbeach), there was an element of Holiness in the existence of these items that the Kiyor lacked. On the other hand, the Kiyor’s simple function set the stage for all the holiness of the Mishkan to be carried out. It was the vessel which provided the water through which the kohanim could wash their hands to perform the services of the day.
The Chizkuni noted the placement of the Kiyor, that it was outdoors, between the Mishkan building and the Mizbeach, so the Kohanim could walk to it, and be sure to wash their hands before commencing with their service of the day. Oddly enough, they have to pass the Mizbeach before getting to the Kiyor! Wouldn’t it have made more sense for the Kiyor to be the first thing they bump into?
Perhaps a deeper appreciation for the role of the Kiyor can be understood when we consider the materials used for making the Kiyor. The Torah tells us in Shmot 38:8 that the copper for the Kiyor was a conglomerate of mirrors which were used by women in Egypt, as Rashi there explains, to beautify themselves for their enslaved husbands, to ultimately bring about generations of Israelite children so the nation could survive.
It would seem the message of the Kiyor is much deeper than we could imagine. Because it is a reminder to the Kohen as he approached the copper-mirror-Kiyor that he, as a servant of the people and as an agent on their behalf in the service of God, is sacrificing his uniqueness, in a sense, in order to fill a role, and fulfill a purpose on behalf of the people. He needed to walk past the Mizbeach, to see the place where sacrifices are burned, to remember why he showed up for work today. Then he could properly prepare himself when he washed his hands and feet.
The women in Egypt, at great sacrifice, did what they needed to do to assure the survival of the nation. Every individual who brings a sacrifice, who needs it to be offered properly by the Kohen is, in a sense, sacrificing oneself. The representing agents, the kohanim, therefore, also needed to embrace the notion of self-sacrfifice on a daily basis.
When one looks at oneself in the mirror, one has the opportunity to look deeply, and to ask oneself “Who are you? What are you? Are you worthy of this job you have? Are you worthy to represent the people? Are you worthy to bring about atonement for others?”
Sacrificing for others is one of the most incredible callings a human being can undertake. If the role is understood and that deep introspection is taken and internalized properly, like the kohanim who washed their hands and feet and were ready to serve, we hope all those who sacrifice of themselves for the klal can merit to serve in a manner that is clean, holy, and beneficial to all, in the service of God.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)