Parshat Ki Tetze
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Everyone who is familiar with the story of Ruth knows the Talmudic sentiment (Yevamot 69a, 77a and Ketuvot 7b) that a Moabite female is permitted to join the Jewish people. The Talmud has a classic word-game which helps clarify the mitzvah in Devarim 23:4-7, that an Ammonite and a Moabite may never join the Jewish people.
The Torah gives two reasons for the mitzvah: “Because they did not greet you with bread and water when you were on the way out of Egypt, and also because they hired Balaam son of Beor from Pethor in Aram Naharaim to curse you.” (23:5) (Compare this to Devarim 2:29)
It is understandable that the Moabites would be viewed negatively in that generation. But forever? The modern reader will certainly be troubled by what seems to be a racial sentiment in this law, that there is an inherent flaw in Moabite males that can never be undone, that there is no way Moabite men can ever overcome their natural feelings towards the Jewish people, no matter how society evolves and the world changes.
Could this really be the Torah’s message?
To call this a racial flaw is wrong, simply because Moabite women are welcome to join the Jewish people. But putting the Moabite men in such a category seems to fall under the rubric of a national “punishment” – irrespective of an individual’s behavior – that can last forever.
There is much more background to this story that is needed to help us understand the Torah’s message. Firstly, Ammon and Moav were children of Avraham’s nephew Lot. This made them, in Torah terms, brothers with the Israelite nation. They were untouchable and their land was untouchable. However, owing to the fact that Sichon King of Emori had conquered the lands of Ammon and Moav (Bamidbar 21:26), their original lands were no longer unavailable to the Israelites. When Sichon came out to attack (Bamidbar 21:23), he opened himself to losing all his lands, including those he had conquered himself.
See how Israel treated Edom (Bamidbar 20:14-21), Esav’s kin, offering to merely pass through their land while reminding them “We are your brothers, you know what we’ve been through,” we have no issues with you as we are merely going to retrieve our Promised Land. There is no reason to assume they would have treated Moav any differently (See Shoftim 11:18). And yet, Moav spends an entire Torah portion (Parshat Balak) trying to destroy the Israelite nation through necromancy and the curses of Bilaam.
The Midrash Tanaim raises the possibility that “when you come to a city to fight, you should first offer peace” includes reaching out in this fashion to the Ammon and Moav nations, but concludes that it does not include them. But then the Midrash goes on to recount an episode when a potential Ammonite convert came to the religious court during the Talmudic period. Rabban Gamliel told him he could not join the Jewish people, while Rabbi Shimon said he could. When Rabban Gamliel challenged Rabbi Shimon based on the verse in the Torah, Rabbi Yehoshua countered saying that Sennacherib had thrown the world into disarray replacing populations, and there was no longer any truly identifiable Ammonite or Moabite.
In simple terms, this would suggest that God had a plan for a certain amount of time, knowing that Sennacherib would come along one day and neutralize this law – along with the law of killing Amalekites, etc.
Another answer is one that I first read in a sermon of Rabbi Norman Lamm from the 1960s in which he decried judging the Torah’s laws and narrative based on modern sensibilities which tend to be become more liberal over time.
And yet, maybe there is something to the everlasting grudge. Ramban says, “Even though they are your family, and Avraham your father loved their father [Lot] like a brother, you cannot be brothers with them, because they abrogated the covenant of brotherhood, and destroyed it forever.” Certainly until Sennacherib, the national punishment against the male Moabite population would be carried forever. This is not about the individuals – it is a collective rule that no Moabite can become an Israelite.
In our modern world, we often look to sins of the past and say “we are not like those people any more. We have evolved. We have tolerance and patience now.” Think about the relationship between Jews and Christians for millennia, blacks and whites for centuries in the Americas, and all the politics which were attached to the Confederate Battle Flag in the aftermath of the tragic shooting in mid-June at the AME Church in South Carolina mid-June. Christians are often the biggest supporters of Israel, racism is not allowed in the US as an official policy, and long-time Southerners have had to express that the Confederate flag stands for honor and not racism, at the same time as it is being pulled off of flagpoles at public buildings. Society evolves. Thanks to Sennacherib, even the Moabite could join the Jewish people today.
And yet I know people who had a fallout and will never ever move past their fight. They will never forgive. They will never pick up the phone and make the call to move on in peace. There is a piece of human nature in this. But it is unhealthy for a society, and especially for a Jewish community, to see these kinds of attitudes in play.
Rosh Hashana is fast approaching. We need to find a way to put the hurt behind us, and foment peace in our own ranks. Only then will our Teshuvah (repentance) be complete.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Thursday, August 20, 2015
The Tree In Me
or The Connection Between Appointing Honest Judges and Not Planting Trees for Idolatry
Parshat Shoftim
by Rabbi Avi Billet
At the beginning of Parshat Behar, when the Torah describes the laws studied at Mt. Sinai, Rashi asks a question that is well-known by those who study Rashi’s commentary: What does the topic of Shmittah (resting the land on the seventh year) have to do with Sinai? This question is utilized in almost equivalent usage as “what does this have to do with the price of tea in China?”, meaning what do two unrelated topics mentioned near each other have to do with one another?
We can ask the same question at the beginning of our Parsha. We are first told that judges and officers need to be placed at the gates of cities, and that they should be upright and honest men who do not take bribes. Immediately after this, we are told, “Do not plan an asheirah or any tree near the altar of God.” (16:21) An asheirah is usually defined as a tree that is worshipped in some kind of idolatrous practice, but Rashbam says in this context it refers to any kind of tree, and Rashi adds that a building is also forbidden to be erected near the altar.
What does the asheirah tree have to do with appointing honest judges?
In Sanhedrin 7b, Resh Lakish describes anyone who appoints an unfit judge as being just as guilty as if he planted an asheirah tree. The Midrash Aggadah repeats this teaching without attribution. Some of the commentaries on this verse echo Resh Lakish, noting, for example, that the numerical value (gematria) of “asheirah” (506) is the same as “dayan she’eno hagun” (an unfit judge), which indicates that appointing an unfit judge is like planting an asheirah tree, because the judges sat near the mizbeach (Baal Haturim). Targum Yonatan removes the hints and says rather straightforwardly, “Just as you are not permitted to plant an asheirah next to the Mizbeach of God, so too you are not allowed to match a foolish man to dictate the law along with wise judges.”
The Alshikh makes the parallel a little more poetic, as he gives us an image which we can understand. Just as a planted tree grows and becomes more beautiful and impressive over time, even though the asheirah is either for idolatry or is simply planted in the wrong place, a bad and unfit judge starts off with small iniquities, and becomes increasingly corrupt as well as entrenched in his position over time. Similarly, Maimonides (laws of Sanhedrin 3:8) describes how easy it is to justify hiring a bad judge based on his social skills, his strength, nepotism, his knowledge of languages, etc. and not based on the proper criteria, such as his knowing the law. We similarly might admire a tree, not knowing whether it is a tree used for idolatry.
It is notable that the warning in the Torah for how a judge should not behave, as well as the warning in the Torah against planting an asheirah, sound the same. The word in question is spelled differently, but to the ear, it can be confused due to the similarity of sound: “Lo tateh” means do not bend judgment, “Lo titah” means do not plant.
The Kli Yakar notes (quoting a Midrash) that all of the warnings at the beginning of our parsha, were engraved in the steps leading up to King Solomon’s throne. Don’t bend, don’t show favor, don’t take bribes, don’t plant, don’t erect (a monument), and don’t offer (a blemished animal). The connection to Solomon was that all of these rules applied to whomever was serving as a judge.
Kli Yakar explains the many parallels between judges and the rules that follow it, about planting trees and erecting monuments. For example, a judge should not stand alone like a monument, but should be one of many “stones” in a Sanhedrin, just as there are many stones that make up a mizbeach. This makes it easier to be just, and to avoid bribes.
In 20:19 we are reminded that a person is, in some ways, compared to a tree. In one of the last mishnayot in Avot 3, Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya teaches how a person whose deeds are greater than his wisdom is compared to a tree with very strong roots who can’t be toppled over by even the strongest of winds.
We have a challenge to take the tree metaphor and apply it to our lives in the best of ways. To make sure our roots are strong, that our foundation isn’t flawed, and that we are planting ourselves in the right places to allow for the best spiritual growth we can achieve.
The further we spread our branches and leaves, the harder it becomes to nourish the outer limits of our reach. But if we maintain the connection to our roots and to our source, we can continue to grow, stronger and taller, as the canopy we create becomes a source of nourishment, shade, comfort, and inspiration to ourselves, our families, and those we care about most.
Parshat Shoftim
by Rabbi Avi Billet
At the beginning of Parshat Behar, when the Torah describes the laws studied at Mt. Sinai, Rashi asks a question that is well-known by those who study Rashi’s commentary: What does the topic of Shmittah (resting the land on the seventh year) have to do with Sinai? This question is utilized in almost equivalent usage as “what does this have to do with the price of tea in China?”, meaning what do two unrelated topics mentioned near each other have to do with one another?
We can ask the same question at the beginning of our Parsha. We are first told that judges and officers need to be placed at the gates of cities, and that they should be upright and honest men who do not take bribes. Immediately after this, we are told, “Do not plan an asheirah or any tree near the altar of God.” (16:21) An asheirah is usually defined as a tree that is worshipped in some kind of idolatrous practice, but Rashbam says in this context it refers to any kind of tree, and Rashi adds that a building is also forbidden to be erected near the altar.
What does the asheirah tree have to do with appointing honest judges?
In Sanhedrin 7b, Resh Lakish describes anyone who appoints an unfit judge as being just as guilty as if he planted an asheirah tree. The Midrash Aggadah repeats this teaching without attribution. Some of the commentaries on this verse echo Resh Lakish, noting, for example, that the numerical value (gematria) of “asheirah” (506) is the same as “dayan she’eno hagun” (an unfit judge), which indicates that appointing an unfit judge is like planting an asheirah tree, because the judges sat near the mizbeach (Baal Haturim). Targum Yonatan removes the hints and says rather straightforwardly, “Just as you are not permitted to plant an asheirah next to the Mizbeach of God, so too you are not allowed to match a foolish man to dictate the law along with wise judges.”
The Alshikh makes the parallel a little more poetic, as he gives us an image which we can understand. Just as a planted tree grows and becomes more beautiful and impressive over time, even though the asheirah is either for idolatry or is simply planted in the wrong place, a bad and unfit judge starts off with small iniquities, and becomes increasingly corrupt as well as entrenched in his position over time. Similarly, Maimonides (laws of Sanhedrin 3:8) describes how easy it is to justify hiring a bad judge based on his social skills, his strength, nepotism, his knowledge of languages, etc. and not based on the proper criteria, such as his knowing the law. We similarly might admire a tree, not knowing whether it is a tree used for idolatry.
It is notable that the warning in the Torah for how a judge should not behave, as well as the warning in the Torah against planting an asheirah, sound the same. The word in question is spelled differently, but to the ear, it can be confused due to the similarity of sound: “Lo tateh” means do not bend judgment, “Lo titah” means do not plant.
The Kli Yakar notes (quoting a Midrash) that all of the warnings at the beginning of our parsha, were engraved in the steps leading up to King Solomon’s throne. Don’t bend, don’t show favor, don’t take bribes, don’t plant, don’t erect (a monument), and don’t offer (a blemished animal). The connection to Solomon was that all of these rules applied to whomever was serving as a judge.
Kli Yakar explains the many parallels between judges and the rules that follow it, about planting trees and erecting monuments. For example, a judge should not stand alone like a monument, but should be one of many “stones” in a Sanhedrin, just as there are many stones that make up a mizbeach. This makes it easier to be just, and to avoid bribes.
In 20:19 we are reminded that a person is, in some ways, compared to a tree. In one of the last mishnayot in Avot 3, Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya teaches how a person whose deeds are greater than his wisdom is compared to a tree with very strong roots who can’t be toppled over by even the strongest of winds.
We have a challenge to take the tree metaphor and apply it to our lives in the best of ways. To make sure our roots are strong, that our foundation isn’t flawed, and that we are planting ourselves in the right places to allow for the best spiritual growth we can achieve.
The further we spread our branches and leaves, the harder it becomes to nourish the outer limits of our reach. But if we maintain the connection to our roots and to our source, we can continue to grow, stronger and taller, as the canopy we create becomes a source of nourishment, shade, comfort, and inspiration to ourselves, our families, and those we care about most.
Friday, August 14, 2015
To Sell, or to Give? Increasing Holiness When Unloading 'Neveilah'
Parshat Re'eh
by Rabbi Avi Billet
It is understandable that meat that is forbidden will be given away or sold. But why does the Torah say to give it to the ger toshav, but sell it to the stranger? Why can’t the owner earn a profit no matter where his ‘neveilah’ goes? Why can’t he give it to the stranger? These questions are addressed in the Talmud Chullin (114b), where Rabbi Meir suggests that indeed a person can go either route with either kind of person, giving or selling to whomever one pleases.
And yet the Torah’s language remains specific, and it warrants an explanation. In that Talmudic passage, Rabbi Meir further suggests that the Torah is teaching us a priority. We should be giving the ‘ger’ before we sell to the ‘stranger.’ While Rabbi Yehuda argues saying such an order of priority is obvious, one wonders how obvious it really is. Wouldn’t turning a profit, and the concept of parnasah (earning a living), be more obvious than giving things away - especially when we're not talking about an item that can be given as tzedakah, as a fellow Jew has no need or purpose for this meat?
We do have a mitzvah to ‘love the ger.’ (Devarim 10:19) But there is confusion as to which type of ‘ger’ that sentiment refers to. Is it the colloquial ‘ger’ – one who has become a full Jew? Or does it refer to the ‘ger toshav?’
This is why a different understanding is imperative in helping us understand why the Torah distinguishes between giving and selling, and between the ‘ger toshav’ and the ‘stranger.’ The Alshikh focuses on the Kedusha (holiness) aspect that is drawn out in the verse. What is “kedusha?” Kedusha does not come from any superiority inherent in any individual. All people are the same – they are all descendants of Adam and Noach. What raises a person’s kedusha level is that “I serve God, while the nations of the world serve other gods.”
The same holds true, Alshikh continues, for the neveilah itself. A living cow has the potential to produce Kosher meat, if it is slaughtered properly. But if something happens to it, such as if it dies naturally, its meat is neveilah and forbidden to the kosher consumer.
The same is true for the “stranger.” He too is a descendant of Noach, and therefore a potential contributor to the godliness of the global family of humanity. But something “happened” to him, in that he clings to idolatry, which allows him to partake of neveilah.
But the ‘ger toshav’ is different than the ‘stranger’ because he has rejected idolatry, and should therefore not be eating neveilah. However, since he nonetheless eats neveilah, we are commanded to give it to him for free, because it’s not the idolatry distinction that distinguishes the ‘stranger’ from the ‘ger toshav,’ but the question of kedushah. And His holiness factor, in turn, is what informs whether he can be gifted food prohibited to Jews, or whether he needs to pay for it.
In a sense, we have redefined kedusha, and what it means to be holy. For the Jewish people, our kedusha is enhanced by our closeness to God, and through doing deeds that enhance our connection to God. For people who are not Jewish, it is not mitzvot which contribute to their holiness, but their rejection of that which takes away from God’s holiness with respect to humanity.
It becomes our duty to embrace those that reject any notion of idolatry, or any notion of worship that is distinct from the worship of God. As should we support , in any way we can, anyone who promulgates a Godly existence, in a manner similar to how we embrace our God. And if supporting such efforts with free meat that is forbidden to us is an acceptable form of appreciation to them, the Torah makes it our priority to share such commerce, before we sell it to someone else for a profit.
This is how holiness is spread in the world.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
“Don’t eat ‘neveilah’ (meat from the carcass of an animal that dies a natural death) – give it to the ‘ger’ who lives in your gates, and he shall eat it. Or sell it to the ‘stranger.’ For you are a holy nation to the Lord your God. Don’t cook kid in its mother’s milk.” (Devarim 14:21)The word ‘ger’ in this sentence clearly does not refer to the person who converts to Judaism, because the convert is a Jew who is obligated in all the mitzvot of the Torah. This is why the Midrash Aggadah (quoted by Rashi) identifies the ‘ger’ as a ‘ger toshav,’ one who rejects idolatry, embraces Jewish sovereignty, lives with the Jewish people, but does not join the Jewish people through what we would call conversion. The stranger, notes the Ibn Ezra, does not live with the Jewish people.
It is understandable that meat that is forbidden will be given away or sold. But why does the Torah say to give it to the ger toshav, but sell it to the stranger? Why can’t the owner earn a profit no matter where his ‘neveilah’ goes? Why can’t he give it to the stranger? These questions are addressed in the Talmud Chullin (114b), where Rabbi Meir suggests that indeed a person can go either route with either kind of person, giving or selling to whomever one pleases.
And yet the Torah’s language remains specific, and it warrants an explanation. In that Talmudic passage, Rabbi Meir further suggests that the Torah is teaching us a priority. We should be giving the ‘ger’ before we sell to the ‘stranger.’ While Rabbi Yehuda argues saying such an order of priority is obvious, one wonders how obvious it really is. Wouldn’t turning a profit, and the concept of parnasah (earning a living), be more obvious than giving things away - especially when we're not talking about an item that can be given as tzedakah, as a fellow Jew has no need or purpose for this meat?
We do have a mitzvah to ‘love the ger.’ (Devarim 10:19) But there is confusion as to which type of ‘ger’ that sentiment refers to. Is it the colloquial ‘ger’ – one who has become a full Jew? Or does it refer to the ‘ger toshav?’
This is why a different understanding is imperative in helping us understand why the Torah distinguishes between giving and selling, and between the ‘ger toshav’ and the ‘stranger.’ The Alshikh focuses on the Kedusha (holiness) aspect that is drawn out in the verse. What is “kedusha?” Kedusha does not come from any superiority inherent in any individual. All people are the same – they are all descendants of Adam and Noach. What raises a person’s kedusha level is that “I serve God, while the nations of the world serve other gods.”
The same holds true, Alshikh continues, for the neveilah itself. A living cow has the potential to produce Kosher meat, if it is slaughtered properly. But if something happens to it, such as if it dies naturally, its meat is neveilah and forbidden to the kosher consumer.
The same is true for the “stranger.” He too is a descendant of Noach, and therefore a potential contributor to the godliness of the global family of humanity. But something “happened” to him, in that he clings to idolatry, which allows him to partake of neveilah.
But the ‘ger toshav’ is different than the ‘stranger’ because he has rejected idolatry, and should therefore not be eating neveilah. However, since he nonetheless eats neveilah, we are commanded to give it to him for free, because it’s not the idolatry distinction that distinguishes the ‘stranger’ from the ‘ger toshav,’ but the question of kedushah. And His holiness factor, in turn, is what informs whether he can be gifted food prohibited to Jews, or whether he needs to pay for it.
In a sense, we have redefined kedusha, and what it means to be holy. For the Jewish people, our kedusha is enhanced by our closeness to God, and through doing deeds that enhance our connection to God. For people who are not Jewish, it is not mitzvot which contribute to their holiness, but their rejection of that which takes away from God’s holiness with respect to humanity.
It becomes our duty to embrace those that reject any notion of idolatry, or any notion of worship that is distinct from the worship of God. As should we support , in any way we can, anyone who promulgates a Godly existence, in a manner similar to how we embrace our God. And if supporting such efforts with free meat that is forbidden to us is an acceptable form of appreciation to them, the Torah makes it our priority to share such commerce, before we sell it to someone else for a profit.
This is how holiness is spread in the world.
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
Unanimous Disapproval of Bad Behavior
Parshat Eikev
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Last week, from Tisha B’Av through Tu B’Av (7/26 – 7/31), was loaded with a particularly bizarre set of circumstances in Israel. From the vandalism on a Conservative (Masorti) synagogue in Modiin on Tisha B’Av, to the inexcusable stabbings at the gay pride parade – which led to a death of Shira Banki as reported on Sunday of this week, to the arson attack on the Dawabsheh family home in Duma last Friday in which an 18-month old toddler died, one wonders what happened to the idea of being a light unto the nations.
Of course, the media is all over these stories, as they should be, for each one, in its own way, is a heinous crime. As of this writing, the perpetrators of the vandalism and the arson had not been caught, and the speculation of both sets of attackers being Jews is circumstantial. But as most are assuming that the perpetrators in both cases are Jewish, let’s go with that assumption for now. The parade-stabber/murderer is clearly Jewish.
In Devarim 8:14, Moshe warns the people of what will happen when “your heart may then grow haughty, and you may forget God your Lord, the One who brought you out of the slave house that was Egypt.”
Ibn Ezra describes this haughtiness as the kind that comes from forgetting your past slave-life, and the suffering and the hunger and thirst you underwent. Presumably because now you have it all, life is good and easy, and you are coasting through a good life.
For more than a generation, the question of whether the Zionist-spirit is dead has been discussed in various mediums. The pioneering spirit to build the country has been replaced by an “it’s been built, now what?” different kind of sense-of-purpose question.
It has been argued that Arabs who engage in terror do so because they don’t have a self-fulfilling sense of purpose. They live in a culture of hate, in which too many people do not work, and therefore have the time to focus on destroying others’ lives instead of focusing on how to improve their own lives. How many people with families and a sense of purpose (a real job) engage in acts of terror? I would imagine the percentages are much lower than the unmarried non-working terrorists.
There is no question that Israel has been on the forefront of the world’s stage in technological innovation in medicine, arms-development, wifi and cellular technology, and hi-tech (computer systems, databases and apps). And so much more. Israel’s field hospitals in disaster and war zones is second to none, and is a model for the world of efficiency, care, and what it means to truly give in terms of resources, time, and manpower. So much good emanates from the tiny Jewish State, which aims to fulfill its purpose of being an accepted, contributing nation among nations.
But then we have a week like last week, and the pundits come out with an all-out criticism of the Jewish state.
As if the criminals represent the Jewish people. Which they don’t. And this point has been made clear with 100 percent condemnation from public leaders and private citizens alike.
Some look at the arson story, for example, responding, “Yeah? You think this is bad? How many Jews have been victims of terror? How many Jewish children have been killed by Arabs?” They don’t mean to justify, but to offer perspective. This is not helpful, however because all it does is try to create a moral superiority of “they have thousands of terrorists, we only have two.” Which is irrelevant.
The only “comparison” to be made is the 100% condemnation of these despicable acts, which is a sign that while the Jewish people apparently have criminals among us, our People are repulsed by individuals who act in a manner that may reflect an arrogance such as the kind the Torah frowns upon. On the other side, the polls that show the percentages of pro-Palestinian folks who say “terrorism is sometimes justified” are almost always in double-digits.
The parade-murderer helps us understand what the Talmud means when it talks about how there was a time in Jewish history when there were many murderers in Israel. There may have been self-appointed vigilantes who felt that they had the right to defend Torah law against those they considered sinners, and they chose to do so in a manner that included murder. The arsonists have a skewed perspective of right and wrong. And they are wrong. And the vandals also have no concept of what it means to respect property, even if they disagree with how Judaism is to be practiced.
Rabbi Morris Joseph wrote in the late 1890s “We thereby affirm, not that we are better than others, but that we ought to be better.” The first step in being “better” (a self-monitored aspiration) is coming to a communal and national sense of purpose, hopefully which comes from the opposite angle of what causes the problem outlined in Devarim 8. Our hearts must never grow haughty, and we must never forget the God who took us out of Egypt.
Because it is only through humility and through a God-oriented sense of purpose that respects all of God’s children that we can attain the status of being a light unto the nations. Most of us are there. We pray that all Jewish people can join the ranks of those who remember what it meant to be slaves, so we can live in peace with those who are looking to live a decent life.
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