Religious Roles: Where Sharing Really is Caring

Parshat Naso

 by Rabbi Avi Billet

 The very last verse in our parsha comes after the concluding and summarizing statement of the sacrifices of the princes. And it seems totally out of place.

“When Moses came into the Communion Tent (Ohel Moed) to speak with [God], he would hear the Voice speaking to him from between the two cherubs on the ark cover over the Ark of Testimony. [God] thus spoke to him.” (7:29) 

 There has been no discussion of Moshe and the Ohel Moed. There was no indication of God’s presence communicating from the near the Ark. This little anecdote is coming out of left field.

 The Alshikh notes the odd placement, how this verse is not connected to what came before it nor to what follows it. “The Rabbis noted (in Tanchuma Behaalotkha 5) the connection between the next parsha and the dedication of the Mizbe’ach (altar). They said that Aharon was thinking and was hurt because all of the tribes had representatives bringing sacrifices and he hadn’t brought anything as a representative of Levi. And God told him, ‘Your portion is greater than theirs because B’haalotkha Et HaNerot (8:2) – when you light the candles – you are doing something none of them can do.’”

 With this background tale, the Alshikh notes, the verse about Moshe communicating with God in the Ohel Moed seems to only serves as an unnecessary interruption! God has to give an answer to Aharon based on what has just happened! Not based on Moshe’s ill-placed communication with the Divine!

 Rashi notes the strange format of the verb which describes God’s speech from between the cherubs. The word in the verse is “Mee-daber” (with the ‘chirik’ vowel) instead of “M’daber” (with the double-dotted shva na vowel) which indicates that God was speaking to Himself, and Moshe was allowed to listen in. 

Alshikh finds this problematic. Because it makes it seem as if Moshe does not belong there. Moreover, the verse says “Va’y’daber Eilav” (And He spoke to him), which indicates that God did speak to Moshe and wasn’t just ‘conversing’ with His own entity. The verse is also proof positive to Moshe’s humility. When he came to engage the Almighty in conversation, he was filled with trepidation and was unable to express anything without permission. That God spoke first indicated that God wanted to speak with Moshe as well. 

Now we can begin to understand why the verse about Moshe appears in between Aharon’s pain and Aharon’s vindication. Because Moshe was also a fine representative of the tribe of Levi. And Moshe had similar thoughts as his brother's, over the lack of Levite representation in the dedication of the Mizbe’ach. 

But Moshe did not complain! Before Moshe could even say anything, God would speak to him to show Moshe the special place he had, the special role he played. And that in life, there are other ways to fill what some may consider a lack in the fulfillment of their religious experiences.

 The verse comes to show us that Moshe and Aharon were in a similar boat in their wanting to be as close to God as the tribal leaders. And they just needed a reminder that what they had was pretty good. What they had was unique, a connection to God that no other individuals had.

 What Moshe and Aharon went through was not on the same level as the Korach tale. Moshe and Aharon always wanted to get closer and closer to God. But the tale of the princes was a very human lesson to Moshe and Aharon, that you don’t need to do it all.

 And, to their credit, Moshe and Aharon did not pull their “I’m the leader” card and bring sacrifices anyway. They didn’t inveigle themselves into a role that was not theirs by nature or by God-appointment.

 In shuls, these kinds of challenges come up all the time. Some shuls have a beautiful system in place in which gabbai roles are shared and rotated and the opportunities to lein and to lead the davening are rotated systematically in order to include as many people as possible (of course assuming that those who assume these roles are qualified and capable to fulfill these responsibilities admirably to the standards of the synagogue).

 And there are places where the same gabbai is gabbai for life (and will never give it up!), and where the same individual rushes to lead the davening or won’t give others the chance to lein at Shabbos mincha. Or where the Maftir Yonah is “owned” by a significant contributor, or certain specialty davenings are “always” led by the same person, or where the otherwise democratic nature of the synagogue is thrown away to satisfy the whims of a selfish individual. Former presidents keep all the keys they had in order not to relinquish an element of “power” held during those years of service. [These examples are culled from years of listening to tales from shul-goers I've met, from all around the country.]

 Moshe and Aharon teach us that people who are capable of leading and of taking on these roles should be able to be “sam’e’ach b’chelkam” (happy with their portion) and should find the strength to be “mevatrim” – people who give up the honors so others can have them. Because there is nothing more honorable or gracious than being able to say, “While I enjoy doing this, the right thing to do is to give someone else a chance. I don’t have to do everything.”

 May we find the strength (and create systems) to share responsibilities with others, and create wholesome shul environments in which jealousy and envy have no place because everyone is willing and ready to let another person have a chance to represent the congregation.

Seven Complete Weeks - A Lesson in Quality Time

Shavuot

by Rabbi Avi Billet

 In Parshat Emor, the Torah tells us, “You shall then count for yourselves seven complete weeks after the day following the [Passover] holiday when you brought the omer as a wave offering.” (Vayikra 23:15)

 The term “seven complete weeks” is used by the Ta”z (R David HeLevi) and others as proof that Maariv (the evening prayer) on the eve of Shavuot is not to begin until after the stars have appeared. This delay is meant to assure that the Sefirat HaOmer period is over (the weeks are “completed”), so that the holiday of Shavuot can now commence.

 Is this a proper argument? Could the Torah’s terminology in this case be used to prevent the holiday from starting earlier? Shabbat often begins early. Sukkot begins early. Even Pesach may begin early, as the Shulchan Arukh states in 472:1: “One’s table should be set when it is still daytime, to be able to eat immediately when it gets dark… However, he should not say Kiddush until it is dark.” The Mishnah Berurah notes there, that one is not obligated to begin eating at nightfall, but if it helps the children stay up, the earlier one starts, post nightfall, the better. Obviously, if the meal can begin immediately at nightfall, Maariv will have been prayed a little earlier.

 While synagogues should certainly follow their customs, it is worthy to note that the Magen Avraham (R Avraham Gombiner) uses the same verse from Vayikra to teach us that just like at Pesach, “We do not say Kiddush until the stars have come out.” (Shulchan Arukh 494, Introduction)

 The debate is clear – either Maariv or Kiddush must wait until the stars have come out.

 But maybe the premise of the argument is based on an error. Or, to say it a little nicer, maybe the reading of the word “complete” is inaccurate.

 The Ktav V’hakabalah (Rabbi Yaakov Zvi Mecklenburg) notes that the word used in Vayikra 23:15 to describe the 7 weeks is “Temimot,” which more often means perfect or wholesome. The word the Torah does not use is “Shleimot,” which would more precisely mean “complete” or “full.” He defines “Temimot” as a qualitative form of completion, while “Shleimot” would be the proper term to be utilized for a quantitative assessment of completion. In other words, the way the Torah depicts the completeness of the 7 weeks, using the word “Temimot,” would more accurately be defined as an instruction to make the 7 weeks qualitatively whole.

 Quoting a Midrash (Vayikra Rabba Emor 28), the Ktav V’hakabalah suggests that what makes the 7 weeks perfect or wholesome has nothing to do with a timeclock that says the 7 weeks are full or complete only when the stars have come out at the end of the 49th day. The “Temimot” weeks are achieved when the Children of Israel use the time of Sefirat Ha’Omer to fulfill God’s will.

 While I personally think it is OK to rely on the Magen Avraham to have Maariv a little earlier as long as Kiddush is after nightfall, it is understood that others will follow the Ta”z and Mishnah Berurah and wait for Maariv to start that late. Certainly this year, with Shavuot starting at the end of Shabbat, it is likely most people would wait anyway.

 But let us not lose sight of the the very important lesson the Ktav ve’Hakabalah is teaching us. Our Sefirat Ha’Omer period was meant to be a time of introspection, of qualitative preparation for the celebration of Matan Torah, of reliving the experience of being given the gift of the Torah.

 Are we worthy? Did we do our jobs? Did we make the 7 weeks “Temimot,” wholesome and perfect? Do we live our lives yearning and aiming for this kind of completion – a qualitative one?

 Or are we living our Jewish lives trying to be “Shleimot?” Do we merely tick off checks and fill in boxes in the proverbial achievement chart of our lives?

 Do we measure our Jewish achievements in quantity, or in quality?

 Let us let the qualitative interpretation of Temimus be a charge to all of us to make every day count on a much higher level than “another day gone.”

 Quantity is easily measured. But quality is the hallmark of a meaningful life.

The Blessing of God's Presence

Parshat Bechukotai 

 by Rabbi Avi Billet 

 The beginning of Parshat Bechukotai paints an image of the kind of blessing we hope to receive from God. There are three conditions for Israelites to fulfill before they can enjoy the blessing of God’s bounty: a. walk in God’s decrees, which means to labor in Torah, b. observe the commandments – to guard them in one’s heart, through remembering what we learn, and c. the actual fulfillment of mitzvos.

 The message is a very logical one. The Torah makes it clear here that when the Jewish people fulfill their end of the deal, life in the land will be incredibly blessed.

 The blessing we ask of from God is for rain, crops, and produce, in overabundance.

 We ask for peace, for no dangerous animals to threaten, and for the sword to not even pass through the land.

We pray that enemies will be easily chased away, and large numbers of them will be defeated by very small numbers of us.

We embrace the blessing of people being fertile and numerous in the land.

 We accept the blessing that the Mishkan will last in the land and not grow tired of us.

All of this culminates with the most amazing promise of, “I will make My presence felt among you. Thus I will be a God to you, and you will be a nation dedicated to Me.” (26:12)

 Some of the commentaries describe these last blessings as referring to the World to Come. Others say it is a reference to what will happen in the Land of Israel when all of the Jewish people are fulfilling their missive as Jews who observe and keep the Torah and try to do as many mitzvot as they can.

Ramban talks about God’s presence here as the introduction to the concept of the “Shechinah.” He explains that the complete presence of God will only be felt when the heavens and earth can be complete, in the way they are meant to be. He cautions that these blessings were never achieved in their entirety – not by the masses nor by an individual, because their merits never added up.

Ramban concludes his commentary on this verse with a Midrashic quote that was expanded upon by Rashi who describes the image of God “making His presence felt amongst you” as “God strolling with us in the Garden of Eden like one of us.”

Imagine such a vision. Imagine taking a stroll with God. What to say? What to do? Shoot the breeze? Ask the deepest philosophical questions? Or just bask in the glow of that moment and cherish it forever because what more do we really need?

This is the ultimate blessing.

 There are many ways for blessings to manifest themselves. They can be given from humans to humans. They can be given from God to humans. People can feel blessed – by God or by the good turns their lives take. 

We can also be blessed to acknowledge God at all times, to be the ones to give blessings to others (as well as receive from others) and we can aim to see the blessing that Avraham received fulfilled in us – when he was first told to branch out on his own and make his way to the land that God will show him that he should BE a blessing to all who encounter him.

What an amazing life we would be living if we could only merit to be a blessing to all we encounter. And who knows? Perhaps if we lived life in such a way, we could merit to not have to wait for the Garden of Eden experience for God to be so closely among us. Perhaps we can achieve the “completeness” Ramban referred to, and thereby merit all the blessings of Parshat Bechukotai.

The Desecration of the Tell-All Essay

Parshat Emor

by Rabbi Avi Billet

According to Rambam (Maimonides) in his Sefer Hamitzvot (book of Commandments), there are two mitzvot to be gleaned from the verse: “Do not desecrate My holy name. I must be sanctified among the Israelites. I am God [and] I am making you holy.” (Vayikra 22:32 )

 The first is a negative commandment not to do anything to give God or His Torah a bad name (Negative Commandments #63), and the second is the mitzvah of Kiddush Hashem, to enhance the reputation of God and His Torah (Positive Commandment #9).

 In his depiction of the positive commandment, Rambam brings examples from history that the ideal way to sanctify God’s name is to be willing and ready to die for the sake of His Name. Utilizing a lesson taught by the prophet Isaiah, Rambam writes, while referring to a period when enemies have dominance over the Jewish people and are murdering men, women and children that “[even] children should not fear death and should give up their lives, and publicize and strengthen their faith, and sanctify The Name before the masses.” I'll add that to get to such a level requires a very high level of education and connection to our faith that must be modeled for our children and lived by example day in and day out. Perhaps what we might call "living al Kiddush Hashem."

The commandment to avoid desecrating God’s name is what Rambam calls “the opposite of sanctifying God’s Name.” And it carries three possible forms of violation. First, that whoever is put into a position, under duress of an enemy nation, to violate any mitzvah in the Torah, or in times of peace to violate either the laws of murder, immorality and idolatry, must not succumb to the pressure to violate the law (this is the reverse of Positive Command #9).

 This kind of violation (meaning if one does the sin anyway), however, is the most lenient, as it involves coercion or force. The person is not sinning out of desire to sin, but out of desire to stay alive.

 The second kind of violation also does not come from desire to do the sin or the forbidden act. Rather it is an act of rebelliousness and the removal of the Heavenly yoke of responsibility. It’s not the sin itself which is the intent, but the motivation for the sin, such as perhaps to “spite God,” is a key factor.

 The third type of violation is on a personal level, when an individual who has a stellar reputation does even a single act which is viewed by the masses as an “Aveirah” (sin), as an act which is not worthy of being respected. Even if the act turns out to be permissible, God’s Name could still be disgraced through the deed in question. An example cited by the Talmud is of a rabbi who takes a nice piece of meat from the butcher, but does not pay for it right away (this would not apply in a credit-card society). Another example: Cutting a line might not be illegal or a Torah prohibition, but it could very well be a chillul Hashem.

 While we can all write essays about those that fall into the third category, it is the second category that is becoming more and more apparent in our “I have a blog world,” where every week (if not every day) another person comes out with an essay or a book on “why I left Orthodoxy.” Inevitably the person will write about certain things s/he loves about Orthodox Judaism, but how “I still can’t get over the contradictions.” The loudest ones are often ex-Hassidim who could not find another option under the tent of Orthodoxy (maybe they were always told that Modern Orthodoxy is not Jewish).

 Most humorously, a person will make a claim such as “I went through 12 years of day school education, so I know all I need to know.” Or “For a long time I enjoyed the davening in our shul because it’s spiritual. But now it’s empty to me.”

 With all respect to our yeshiva and day school system, products of it do not “know everything they need to know.” And davening in shul is not meant to be “spiritual because there is singing.”

 We can all name Torah giants who passed away in the last few years. Rabbis Yosef S. Elyashiv, Ovadia Yosef, and more recently Shmuel Wozner and Aharon Lichtenstein. These leaders knew all there is to know, and they never stopped learning.

 Prayer is not supposed to be spiritual because there is singing. It is the individual’s responsibility to tap into the words one is saying, have them enter the heart, and impact one’s soul.

 More importantly, as Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein was famous for saying, it is OK to live with questions. We don’t have all the answers, and maybe we never will have all the answers. But just because a couple of things bother someone does not mean it is OK to air your personal dirty laundry on the Huffington Post.

 “My story must be heard!” Actually, it need not be heard. Your story and your personal “crisis of faith” (which is not really a crisis, but is just your own baggage) is only a chillul Hashem, a desecration of God’s name.

 Let us all become more knowledgable and more in touch with our faith so we can always be a source of Kiddush Hashem, of sanctifying God’s Holy Name. And then, we will happily read your tale of triumph over adversity in the Huffington Post.