Parshat Miketz
by Rabbi Avi Billet
One of the fascinating aspects of actual Torah study – study of the Five Books of Moses – comes in the subtlety of language. The usage of specific words, and sometimes even a single letter, all open the door to interpretation which is simply lost through the study of the Torah through a translation.
Here is a wonderful example of this. Were one to read a translation of the verses 41:15-16, one would miss the oddity of an additional word which need not be in the text. As Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan translates it in his “Living Torah”: Pharaoh said to Joseph, 'I had a dream, and there is no one who can interpret it. I heard that when you hear a dream, you can explain it.' Joseph answered Pharaoh, 'It is not by my own power. But God may provide an answer concerning Pharaoh's fortune.'
Nothing seems amiss or afoul here. And then, Rabbi Kaplan is not famous for a literal translation. His translation is a commentary as well in its attempt to give form and structure to the Torah’s narrative.
And so, when we look at the Hebrew we find something that need not be said. Pharaoh said, “I have heard about you ‘laymor’ (saying) that you will hear a dream and interpret it.” And Yosef answered ‘laymor’ (saying), “Not me. God will give the answer for Pharaoh’s peace (of mind).”
The word ‘laymor’ is used most often in the Torah to describe either that which God told Moshe, or that which Moshe will tell the people based on God’s instruction. Here, however, the word ‘laymor’ is superfluous in both contexts in which it appears. Pharaoh need only say “I have heard that you hear dreams and interpret them” and Yosef’s response should simply be “And Yosef answered, “It’s not me. God will provide the answer…”
The Talmud tells us in Sanhedrin 56b that the word “laymor” actually has another meaning. If one looks back to Bereshit 2:16, one finds the verse that describes how God commanded the original human – and from this verse the Talmud derives the seven Noachide laws. The verse itself translates to “God gave the man a commandment, saying, 'You may definitely eat from every tree of the garden,’” and from the word in the middle – “laymor” (saying), the Talmud implies the command against immorality and promiscuity.
And so, an implication that can be derived here, from the extra word Pharaoh throws at Yosef, and from the exact same word that Yosef throws back at Pharaoh, is that the accusation that sent Yosef to prison is still hovering over his head.
Pharaoh is therefore hinting to this when he says, “I’ve heard about your laymor (business with the wife of Potiphar) AND that you interpret dreams.” And Yosef’s response is, “The laymor (business) is not me! (In other words, it was and remains a false accusation!) AND God will provide the answer…”
If we think about Yosef’s ordeal, we may come to think about any person who is sent to prison for a crime they did not commit – especially when the sentence is so long. And how they profess their innocence to the point that no one believes them, and to the point that it becomes a joke to anyone who will listen. “Yeah yeah, Yosef. Of course you’re innocent. Like everyone else.” And the person may feel very depressed. Never really getting a chance to explain. A chance to set things right. A chance to prove one’s innocence.
But if we recall what Yosef said to the Chief Wine Pourer last week, he said, “When you are freed, mention me to Pharaoh, for I was kidnapped from the land of Ivrim, and here I have done nothing wrong.”
It could very well be that when the wine pourer did tell his boss about Yosef, that he remembered to mention all these things as well. And since Pharaoh had taken Yosef out to interpret dreams, he needed to find out if Yosef’s criminality was a real issue, or if what he had been told in Yosef’s name from his wine pourer had truth to it.
Throwing the subtle hint to Yosef through the word “Laymor” may have been his way of saying to Yosef, “Now that you are here, you have the hearing you’ve always wanted. You’ll get one chance to clear your name. Use it well.”
And Yosef does do well. He catches Pharaoh’s softball, denies all connection to what he was accused of, and moves on the business at hand. It is not so farfetched to see the behind-the-scenes narrative taking this turn, because anyone who reads the chapter in which Yosef is accused could easily note how when Potiphar gets angry (39:19) it was at his wife, and not at Yosef who he trusted with his whole household. He had to throw Yosef in prison because of course his wife is believed over the word of a mere slave/servant. But the jail was in his own house (see 40:3 when the Chief Wine Pourer and Baker were placed in the same prison).
Lesson: Learn Torah in the original Hebrew. It opens the door for so many more questions and for incredible answers, but also opens a pandoras box of interpretation gleaned from the subtle addition of a seemingly unnecessary phrase, word, or even letter.
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Friday, December 23, 2016
Yosef the Ruler v. Yosef the Brother - bad guy or good guy?
Parshat Vayeshev
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When we read the story of Yosef and his brothers carefully, a number of things jump out at us that mirror the Torah’s narrative from the depiction of creation.
Beginning with Yosef’s first dream, we note that it takes place in a field where some of the bundles bow to one bundle – an image of subservience and, seemingly unrelated, farming.
The brothers say to Yosef, “Do you want to be our king? Do you intend to rule over us?”
This might not seem so significant, except that one of the terms they use – “Im Mashol timshol banu” – includes a word that appears only one other time in the entire Bible. That word is “timshol” and it is the same word God uses to tell Kayin to take control of his desires and emotions and try to do better rather than harbor a grudge forever.
His second dream invokes the celestial entities that were created on Day 4 – the sun, moon and stars.
And after his second dream, the brothers go to take care of sheep.
The image of farming in dream #1, and the brothers getting away from Yosef through being shepherds reminds us of the first conflict of brothers, that of Kayin and Hevel.
As we know the story that is coming, we tend to identify Yosef as the “good guy” and the brothers as the “bad guys.” In the Kayin/Hevel story, as Kayin is the murderer and Hevel is the victim, we always identify Kayin as the “bad guy” and Hevel as the “good guy.”
But the use of the word “timshol” being directed at Kayin and at Yosef would seem to imply that in some way they are in the same boat – you have the opportunity to rule over something… what are you going to do with that?
Kayin did not control his passion and he killed his brother. Maybe the brothers are hinting to Yosef that if you don’t control this desire to rule over us, someone may come to be murdered.
The parallel is not exact, and it is therefore imperfect. For example, Yosef’s first dream implies that they are all farming – not just Yosef – and that somehow either he is the best farmer, or his produce is better than that of his brothers.
Their response to his dreams (they don’t directly respond to his dream about the stars) is to go shepherding. Are they identifying with Hevel? Are they giving a premonition that they are going to right the wrong done so long ago to Hevel on account of a similar fight between the farmer and the shepherd?
This leads into a very different discussion about how we determine right from wrong.
For example, is it always true that when a 2-person fight ends with one dead and the other standing that the survivor is guilty of murder? Of course not. Self-defense, a boxing match or other contact sport in which the players know the risks, a battlefield, or a righteous execution (think Nuremberg, Eichmann, etc.) are all examples of a justified killing (or, at least in the boxing case, one with no criminal intent).
In the case of Kayin and Hevel, there is a very simple way to read the verse to suggest that Kayin may have been acting in self-defense, or at the very least, he rose from an inferior position to knock Hevel who had overpowered him (see Midrash Aggadah 4:8). This perspective changes our perception of right and wrong (don’t worry too much, as most commentaries paint Kayin as the bad guy).
In the case of Yosef and his brothers, it is very easy to make the case for the brothers being the good guys and Yosef being the bad guy. In ancient times, the first born was the natural leader of a family. True, Yosef was the first born to Rachel, but he had a lot of half-brothers who were older than he. But Reuven should have been the natural leader. Additionally, if a new nation is to arise, as we’ve seen in other cases (Yishmael, Nachor), the twelve children are equal princes, with equal shares until their father dies and their oldest sibling takes over.
Yosef making his own inroads disturbs the brothers on many levels. He is jumping into a position that is not naturally his. He is the recipient of his father’s favoritism, which did not go well in keeping a family together in the past (see what happened with Yishmael and Eisav), and his being chosen bodes poorly for the future of the rest of the family. Will they be rejected from Yaakov’s family?
Perhaps the brothers, in looking at all this, are realizing the connection to the first fight between brothers and are determined that the majority will not be lost due to the whims of a fractional minority of one. Certainly in their eyes, Yosef is the “bad guy” and they are the “good guys.”
Recall as well that the fight to the death between Kayin and Hevel took place in a “sadeh” (field), while in Yosef’s dream of the farming, the brothers are all in a “sadeh,” and when Yosef is looking for his brothers in Shechem, he is lost in a “sadeh.” (37:15)
I think it is that encounter, when a third party, a mysterious man, meets Yosef, when the shift from a correction of a past misdeed to a different kind of story begins to unfold.
The man asks Yosef “What are you looking for?” And Yosef says, “I am seeking out my brothers.” Because despite everything, Yosef knows in his heart that he is not looking to change anything in their relationship. He may have dreams of grandeur and of royalty, but he does not believe that he will rule OVER his brothers. More that his position will be of great benefit to his family.
And so it becomes a matter of perspective. Perhaps Yosef putting his cards on the table – “I seek my brothers” ends up changing the direction of the story so much that his brothers detect in him a brother when they see him. And while they don’t treat him nicely, they do come to the realization that “our hand shall not be upon him, for he is our brother.” (37:27)
If only all the Jewish people could remember that in the end, all of the Jewish people are “our brother” we would be able to look past differences and note what we have in common and mend many open wounds without any need for even the verbal violence that sometimes passes between us.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When we read the story of Yosef and his brothers carefully, a number of things jump out at us that mirror the Torah’s narrative from the depiction of creation.
Beginning with Yosef’s first dream, we note that it takes place in a field where some of the bundles bow to one bundle – an image of subservience and, seemingly unrelated, farming.
The brothers say to Yosef, “Do you want to be our king? Do you intend to rule over us?”
This might not seem so significant, except that one of the terms they use – “Im Mashol timshol banu” – includes a word that appears only one other time in the entire Bible. That word is “timshol” and it is the same word God uses to tell Kayin to take control of his desires and emotions and try to do better rather than harbor a grudge forever.
His second dream invokes the celestial entities that were created on Day 4 – the sun, moon and stars.
And after his second dream, the brothers go to take care of sheep.
The image of farming in dream #1, and the brothers getting away from Yosef through being shepherds reminds us of the first conflict of brothers, that of Kayin and Hevel.
As we know the story that is coming, we tend to identify Yosef as the “good guy” and the brothers as the “bad guys.” In the Kayin/Hevel story, as Kayin is the murderer and Hevel is the victim, we always identify Kayin as the “bad guy” and Hevel as the “good guy.”
But the use of the word “timshol” being directed at Kayin and at Yosef would seem to imply that in some way they are in the same boat – you have the opportunity to rule over something… what are you going to do with that?
Kayin did not control his passion and he killed his brother. Maybe the brothers are hinting to Yosef that if you don’t control this desire to rule over us, someone may come to be murdered.
The parallel is not exact, and it is therefore imperfect. For example, Yosef’s first dream implies that they are all farming – not just Yosef – and that somehow either he is the best farmer, or his produce is better than that of his brothers.
Their response to his dreams (they don’t directly respond to his dream about the stars) is to go shepherding. Are they identifying with Hevel? Are they giving a premonition that they are going to right the wrong done so long ago to Hevel on account of a similar fight between the farmer and the shepherd?
This leads into a very different discussion about how we determine right from wrong.
For example, is it always true that when a 2-person fight ends with one dead and the other standing that the survivor is guilty of murder? Of course not. Self-defense, a boxing match or other contact sport in which the players know the risks, a battlefield, or a righteous execution (think Nuremberg, Eichmann, etc.) are all examples of a justified killing (or, at least in the boxing case, one with no criminal intent).
In the case of Kayin and Hevel, there is a very simple way to read the verse to suggest that Kayin may have been acting in self-defense, or at the very least, he rose from an inferior position to knock Hevel who had overpowered him (see Midrash Aggadah 4:8). This perspective changes our perception of right and wrong (don’t worry too much, as most commentaries paint Kayin as the bad guy).
In the case of Yosef and his brothers, it is very easy to make the case for the brothers being the good guys and Yosef being the bad guy. In ancient times, the first born was the natural leader of a family. True, Yosef was the first born to Rachel, but he had a lot of half-brothers who were older than he. But Reuven should have been the natural leader. Additionally, if a new nation is to arise, as we’ve seen in other cases (Yishmael, Nachor), the twelve children are equal princes, with equal shares until their father dies and their oldest sibling takes over.
Yosef making his own inroads disturbs the brothers on many levels. He is jumping into a position that is not naturally his. He is the recipient of his father’s favoritism, which did not go well in keeping a family together in the past (see what happened with Yishmael and Eisav), and his being chosen bodes poorly for the future of the rest of the family. Will they be rejected from Yaakov’s family?
Perhaps the brothers, in looking at all this, are realizing the connection to the first fight between brothers and are determined that the majority will not be lost due to the whims of a fractional minority of one. Certainly in their eyes, Yosef is the “bad guy” and they are the “good guys.”
Recall as well that the fight to the death between Kayin and Hevel took place in a “sadeh” (field), while in Yosef’s dream of the farming, the brothers are all in a “sadeh,” and when Yosef is looking for his brothers in Shechem, he is lost in a “sadeh.” (37:15)
I think it is that encounter, when a third party, a mysterious man, meets Yosef, when the shift from a correction of a past misdeed to a different kind of story begins to unfold.
The man asks Yosef “What are you looking for?” And Yosef says, “I am seeking out my brothers.” Because despite everything, Yosef knows in his heart that he is not looking to change anything in their relationship. He may have dreams of grandeur and of royalty, but he does not believe that he will rule OVER his brothers. More that his position will be of great benefit to his family.
And so it becomes a matter of perspective. Perhaps Yosef putting his cards on the table – “I seek my brothers” ends up changing the direction of the story so much that his brothers detect in him a brother when they see him. And while they don’t treat him nicely, they do come to the realization that “our hand shall not be upon him, for he is our brother.” (37:27)
If only all the Jewish people could remember that in the end, all of the Jewish people are “our brother” we would be able to look past differences and note what we have in common and mend many open wounds without any need for even the verbal violence that sometimes passes between us.
Friday, December 16, 2016
Only Milah L'Shem Shamayim (Circumcision, for Heaven's Sake)
Parshat Vayishlach
by Rabbi Avi Billet
We are a people who are proud to honor the Bris Milah, and we very willingly and unquestioningly circumcise our sons. We do this because of our commitment to our end of the Covenant, and our belief that as long as we do our part, God will continue to do His.
Would we be as willing to do this if we had to circumcise at a later age? Would we at the very least reconsider the age at which we do this?
In 2009, an Israel-born woman named Danae Elon produced a movie called “Partly Private” in which she explored the cultural attachment people around the world have to circumcision. Coming from an anti-religious home, and a father who told her that if he could do it over he wouldn’t have circumcised his sons (he was young and naïve and just did what everyone else did), now that she was pregnant, she wanted to come from a place of knowledge in reaching her decision whether to circumcise.
While her particular story is for those who are interested, what I found fascinating was a circumcision party she attended in an Arabic community somewhere (I believe it was Turkey), in which they had boys age 6-9 circumcised in a spectacle that was most public. And while all the fathers were saying, “my son will go through with it no matter what. He doesn’t have a choice” when they turned the camera to some of the boys, they gave a thumbs down and expressed their displeasure in having to undergo this procedure.
A few years ago, a friend of mine, who is also a rabbi of a shul, called me with a dilemma. A family came to him for their son’s bar mitzvah. I don’t think they were particularly observant. There was a question about the circumcision – had it been done at the right time? Was the person who did the circumcision reliable to do it properly? I don’t remember the particulars, but I do recall that what I felt was the best option was for the child to have “hatafat dam” – a largely ceremonial procedure (which could be done privately) in which the tiniest amount of blood is drawn from the circumcision scar to symbolically turn a medical circumcision into a Bris Milah. This procedure is done on circumcised males who convert to Judaism, and on Jews whose circumcisions were done in a manner not following Jewish law.
To make a long story short, when the young man was given this information, he balked and did not go through with the procedure (I think they had enough “safek” (doubt) to accept that the child’s circumcision was kosher in order to go through with the bar mitzvah without the hatafat dam).
I bring all of this as background for a simple question. Shchem the prince agreed to circumcise himself when the brothers of Dinah insisted upon it, and he even underwent the procedure right away. Why do we continue to look at him as deserving of his fate (killed by Shimon and Levi) after he clearly was following his heart and trying to do the right thing after having done a very wrong thing with Dinah? It’s not easy to do what he did – to own up, apologize, ask how he could make things better, and then undergo circumcision!
The Midrash Sechel Tov says this wasn’t for love. It was for lust. It was certainly not for the sake of heaven. In other words, whatever was driving him remained insincere, as evidenced in his not even attempting to understand why circumcision was of value to Yaakov’s family.
Alshikh argues that his prime motivation wasn’t even for Dinah! It was to convince everyone else, the people of Shchem-city, to go through with it. If he came home and said, “I think we should all do this!” no one would have listened. But when he came home already circumcised, it was a much easier sell. And the pitch was that “you will all profit from this relationship!” which, as we know, was not a very honest pitch.
On the other hand, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch points out the likelihood that in some manner all the people of the city were not merely subjects of the lord and prince, but were actually owned by them in a way, used to having to follow the whims of their masters.
Malbim and Netziv highlight how when he underwent the surgery, his motivation as described in the Torah is “his desire for the daughter of Yaakov.” It’s no longer his love for the young maiden, but to be connected to Yaakov.
There’s an old saying that “money is the root of all evil.” It seems that Shchem used a desire to be connected to the wealthy Yaakov as the motivating factor behind his circumcision. I’ve heard some people say in jest – though I wonder if they aren’t somewhat serious – that they’d give up an arm or at least a finger to attain a certain financial status and stature. If that’s the case, then what’s the loss of a foreskin? According to some in the know, not much. One would typically miss it much less than a limb or even a finger, as its absence changes very little in terms of a person’s day-to-day functional living.
And so we need not give credit to Shchem, the opportunist and the rapist, who cared for Dinah only until he had his way with her, and then turned to bigger, greener sights, when he realized from which family she came.
To answer the opening question, I like to believe that if we had to do this at a later age, we would go for it all the same. The righteous converts I have met were happy, if not in some cases excited, to have their circumcision turned in to a bris. I can’t speak for those who undergo circumcision, as I haven’t spoken to many – most men I meet who have joined the Jewish people as adults happened to be circumcised as children. But I imagine they know coming into it that circumcision will be one requirement. And they continue to go through with it. More to the point, however, is the example we have from the many Jews who came from the former Soviet Union, who did not hesitate to have themselves circumcised as teenagers or as adults. God bless them and their wonderful example of showing what it means to be devoted to God, even when the challenge is so difficult. They proved to us that the Jewish people are not deterred by the difficulty they face when the motivation is indeed for the sake of heaven.
**********************
p.s. I recall the words of a father who had been through this who told me at his son's bris, "Rabbi, I am so glad we are doing this for my son at this age, when he'll have no memory of it. When I came over from the Soviet Union, I was 19. I was excited to have my bris. But I also remember the pain - I couldn't walk for a month!"
As willing as he was, he was grateful to be in a country where he did not have to hide his religion and could circumcise his son at the right time - 8 days old!
by Rabbi Avi Billet
We are a people who are proud to honor the Bris Milah, and we very willingly and unquestioningly circumcise our sons. We do this because of our commitment to our end of the Covenant, and our belief that as long as we do our part, God will continue to do His.
Would we be as willing to do this if we had to circumcise at a later age? Would we at the very least reconsider the age at which we do this?
In 2009, an Israel-born woman named Danae Elon produced a movie called “Partly Private” in which she explored the cultural attachment people around the world have to circumcision. Coming from an anti-religious home, and a father who told her that if he could do it over he wouldn’t have circumcised his sons (he was young and naïve and just did what everyone else did), now that she was pregnant, she wanted to come from a place of knowledge in reaching her decision whether to circumcise.
While her particular story is for those who are interested, what I found fascinating was a circumcision party she attended in an Arabic community somewhere (I believe it was Turkey), in which they had boys age 6-9 circumcised in a spectacle that was most public. And while all the fathers were saying, “my son will go through with it no matter what. He doesn’t have a choice” when they turned the camera to some of the boys, they gave a thumbs down and expressed their displeasure in having to undergo this procedure.
A few years ago, a friend of mine, who is also a rabbi of a shul, called me with a dilemma. A family came to him for their son’s bar mitzvah. I don’t think they were particularly observant. There was a question about the circumcision – had it been done at the right time? Was the person who did the circumcision reliable to do it properly? I don’t remember the particulars, but I do recall that what I felt was the best option was for the child to have “hatafat dam” – a largely ceremonial procedure (which could be done privately) in which the tiniest amount of blood is drawn from the circumcision scar to symbolically turn a medical circumcision into a Bris Milah. This procedure is done on circumcised males who convert to Judaism, and on Jews whose circumcisions were done in a manner not following Jewish law.
To make a long story short, when the young man was given this information, he balked and did not go through with the procedure (I think they had enough “safek” (doubt) to accept that the child’s circumcision was kosher in order to go through with the bar mitzvah without the hatafat dam).
I bring all of this as background for a simple question. Shchem the prince agreed to circumcise himself when the brothers of Dinah insisted upon it, and he even underwent the procedure right away. Why do we continue to look at him as deserving of his fate (killed by Shimon and Levi) after he clearly was following his heart and trying to do the right thing after having done a very wrong thing with Dinah? It’s not easy to do what he did – to own up, apologize, ask how he could make things better, and then undergo circumcision!
The Midrash Sechel Tov says this wasn’t for love. It was for lust. It was certainly not for the sake of heaven. In other words, whatever was driving him remained insincere, as evidenced in his not even attempting to understand why circumcision was of value to Yaakov’s family.
Alshikh argues that his prime motivation wasn’t even for Dinah! It was to convince everyone else, the people of Shchem-city, to go through with it. If he came home and said, “I think we should all do this!” no one would have listened. But when he came home already circumcised, it was a much easier sell. And the pitch was that “you will all profit from this relationship!” which, as we know, was not a very honest pitch.
On the other hand, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch points out the likelihood that in some manner all the people of the city were not merely subjects of the lord and prince, but were actually owned by them in a way, used to having to follow the whims of their masters.
Malbim and Netziv highlight how when he underwent the surgery, his motivation as described in the Torah is “his desire for the daughter of Yaakov.” It’s no longer his love for the young maiden, but to be connected to Yaakov.
There’s an old saying that “money is the root of all evil.” It seems that Shchem used a desire to be connected to the wealthy Yaakov as the motivating factor behind his circumcision. I’ve heard some people say in jest – though I wonder if they aren’t somewhat serious – that they’d give up an arm or at least a finger to attain a certain financial status and stature. If that’s the case, then what’s the loss of a foreskin? According to some in the know, not much. One would typically miss it much less than a limb or even a finger, as its absence changes very little in terms of a person’s day-to-day functional living.
And so we need not give credit to Shchem, the opportunist and the rapist, who cared for Dinah only until he had his way with her, and then turned to bigger, greener sights, when he realized from which family she came.
To answer the opening question, I like to believe that if we had to do this at a later age, we would go for it all the same. The righteous converts I have met were happy, if not in some cases excited, to have their circumcision turned in to a bris. I can’t speak for those who undergo circumcision, as I haven’t spoken to many – most men I meet who have joined the Jewish people as adults happened to be circumcised as children. But I imagine they know coming into it that circumcision will be one requirement. And they continue to go through with it. More to the point, however, is the example we have from the many Jews who came from the former Soviet Union, who did not hesitate to have themselves circumcised as teenagers or as adults. God bless them and their wonderful example of showing what it means to be devoted to God, even when the challenge is so difficult. They proved to us that the Jewish people are not deterred by the difficulty they face when the motivation is indeed for the sake of heaven.
**********************
p.s. I recall the words of a father who had been through this who told me at his son's bris, "Rabbi, I am so glad we are doing this for my son at this age, when he'll have no memory of it. When I came over from the Soviet Union, I was 19. I was excited to have my bris. But I also remember the pain - I couldn't walk for a month!"
As willing as he was, he was grateful to be in a country where he did not have to hide his religion and could circumcise his son at the right time - 8 days old!
Friday, December 9, 2016
Meet Leah, the "Hated" Wife
Parshat Vayetze
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In Parshat Ki Tetze we are told a tale about a man who has two wives, one who is beloved (“Ahuva”) and one who is detested (“S’nuah”) (Devarim 21:15). Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch notes that the term used there is the exact term used by God (29:31) and Leah (29:33) in describing her own situation with respect to her husband.
In Ki Tetze, Rabbi Hirsch quotes the Talmud (Yevamot) to suggest that the word “S’nuah” is the Torah’s way of expressing disapproval of a marriage. He then mentions the Sifre where the word describes one who is “discriminated against undeservedly.” Through his analysis of the difference between the word “S’nuah” and “S’niah” Hirsch raises a third possibility that the term implies a wife who is “less loved.”
In our parsha, Hirsch calls Leah “the hated… i.e. less beloved” wife, as he notes that
When faced with trying to understand the relationship that Yaakov had with Leah, if we want to be myopic, we can pretend to understand Yaakov on a level each of us might feel in such a situation.
To bring a few possibilities:
Some of these don’t really make sense. Because if Yaakov really hated her, it stands to reason he would have divorced her. After all, his marriage to her was made under false pretenses.
So what does it mean that “she was hated?”
Hirsch’s insights are very good. A lot of it could have been in her mind, comparing herself to her sister (Rachel married Yaakov a week after Leah). God’s perspective could also simply be a reflection of Leah’s feelings. It’s not farfetched to say that she was “less loved,” as the Torah doesn’t mince words in describing Yaakov’s love for Rachel (29:18,20,30)
At the same time, Yaakov also gets angry at Rachel (30:2), in a manner we never see him treating Leah – even when Leah seems to be very forward after trading her “dudaim” (flowers – mandrakes?) to Rachel in exchange for the evening with Yaakov.
So was it real hatred that was going on here?
Reb Bunem of Pshischa had a different perspective in explaining Leah’s being “hated.” He suggests it is impossible that Yaakov hated her. Rather, she was hated by herself, the same way that a true righteous person is very hard on his or herself. She saw her own flaws, knew her inadequacies, may have had leftover feelings of sadness from the thought that at any time Yaakov might divorce her, leaving her open to being picked up by Eisav.
As on target as Reb Bunem might be in protecting Yaakov from being a hater, the idea that Leah feels so inadequate is nonetheless sad to consider (even though I think it is a great explanation). We all know and see people who live lives of (personally inflicted) inadequacy. Some feel they can never date or marry due to some flaw they see in themselves. Some feel they can never get the kind of job they want or do the things they want to do because they won’t do it perfectly, or even well, or because they are “no good at anything.”
A wise woman I know likes to say, “There will be plenty of people who will put you down in your lifetime. Don’t ever be a person who puts yourself down.”
Leah carries the title of one of the “Imahot” (mothers) of the Jewish people because of her many good qualities. It is sad that this stain of being “S’nuah” is on her resume, even if it helped her become a great mother, and cemented her place as the wife buried next to her shared husband.
And then, maybe she became so great because of or in spite of her hated status. And that’s a thought worth mulling over.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In Parshat Ki Tetze we are told a tale about a man who has two wives, one who is beloved (“Ahuva”) and one who is detested (“S’nuah”) (Devarim 21:15). Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch notes that the term used there is the exact term used by God (29:31) and Leah (29:33) in describing her own situation with respect to her husband.
In Ki Tetze, Rabbi Hirsch quotes the Talmud (Yevamot) to suggest that the word “S’nuah” is the Torah’s way of expressing disapproval of a marriage. He then mentions the Sifre where the word describes one who is “discriminated against undeservedly.” Through his analysis of the difference between the word “S’nuah” and “S’niah” Hirsch raises a third possibility that the term implies a wife who is “less loved.”
In our parsha, Hirsch calls Leah “the hated… i.e. less beloved” wife, as he notes that
“God chose precisely the one who felt slighted and disadvantaged, and made her the principal ancestress of His people. For the names that this less-loved wife gave to her sons show us that, precisely in her feeling of disadvantage, she was saturated with love for her husband; the names show us that she uplifted herself to fully appreciate the role of motherhood in the destiny of woman and the happiness of marriage, and that for both she cast her burden on God, Who sees and hears all and causes His Presence to dwell between man and woman. Her husband’s love was her goal, and with every child born to her, she hoped to add another layer to the foundation of this love. In the end, her hopes were fulfilled. What was denied to the bride and wife was granted to the mother of children.”
When faced with trying to understand the relationship that Yaakov had with Leah, if we want to be myopic, we can pretend to understand Yaakov on a level each of us might feel in such a situation.
To bring a few possibilities:
- He liked Leah as a cousin, but never wanted to marry her.
- He had been tricked into marrying her, and hated her because he was victim of a rouse.
- He had been tricked into marrying her, and he hated her because of her role in not owning up to her true identity,
- She was a detestable woman, so he hated her.
Some of these don’t really make sense. Because if Yaakov really hated her, it stands to reason he would have divorced her. After all, his marriage to her was made under false pretenses.
So what does it mean that “she was hated?”
Hirsch’s insights are very good. A lot of it could have been in her mind, comparing herself to her sister (Rachel married Yaakov a week after Leah). God’s perspective could also simply be a reflection of Leah’s feelings. It’s not farfetched to say that she was “less loved,” as the Torah doesn’t mince words in describing Yaakov’s love for Rachel (29:18,20,30)
At the same time, Yaakov also gets angry at Rachel (30:2), in a manner we never see him treating Leah – even when Leah seems to be very forward after trading her “dudaim” (flowers – mandrakes?) to Rachel in exchange for the evening with Yaakov.
So was it real hatred that was going on here?
Reb Bunem of Pshischa had a different perspective in explaining Leah’s being “hated.” He suggests it is impossible that Yaakov hated her. Rather, she was hated by herself, the same way that a true righteous person is very hard on his or herself. She saw her own flaws, knew her inadequacies, may have had leftover feelings of sadness from the thought that at any time Yaakov might divorce her, leaving her open to being picked up by Eisav.
As on target as Reb Bunem might be in protecting Yaakov from being a hater, the idea that Leah feels so inadequate is nonetheless sad to consider (even though I think it is a great explanation). We all know and see people who live lives of (personally inflicted) inadequacy. Some feel they can never date or marry due to some flaw they see in themselves. Some feel they can never get the kind of job they want or do the things they want to do because they won’t do it perfectly, or even well, or because they are “no good at anything.”
A wise woman I know likes to say, “There will be plenty of people who will put you down in your lifetime. Don’t ever be a person who puts yourself down.”
Leah carries the title of one of the “Imahot” (mothers) of the Jewish people because of her many good qualities. It is sad that this stain of being “S’nuah” is on her resume, even if it helped her become a great mother, and cemented her place as the wife buried next to her shared husband.
And then, maybe she became so great because of or in spite of her hated status. And that’s a thought worth mulling over.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Seeking God In Traumatic Times - Lessons from the first Baalat Teshuvah
Parshat Toldot
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Unaware that she is carrying twins, Rivkah has second thoughts when the “child” in her rumbles around. The rabbis teach us that when she passed a house of study Yaakov tried to emerge, while when she passed a house of idolatry Eisav fought to emerge. For a woman who believes she is carrying one child, this disparity of views from within the womb is quite perplexing. And so the verse says, “She went to seek of God.” (25:22)
There are a number of views as to what it was she went to seek: she went to “the house of Shem” (Midrash Aggadah); “She went to request for mercy for the rest of her pregnancy… She went to offer a sacrifice” (Pesikta); to seek out God, she went to pray at a place of purity – namely, the same place where Yitzchak had gone to pray for her to become pregnant, Mt. Moriah (Pirkei D’Rabi Eliezer 32). Many commentaries suggest that she went to the prophets of her time for answers, while Ramban says the only definition of seeking out God is prayer.
Some wonder (see Radak, for example) why she didn’t ask her husband Yitzchak or her father-in-law Avraham for answers. The Maharal of Prague answers, in his Gur Aryeh, suggesting that she didn’t go to them because she was afraid that it was on account of some sin (he doesn’t identify it) that she had difficulty in her pregnancy. The rabbis explained (Sotah 12a) that the righteous women were not subject to the decree pit against Chava to have difficulty in pregnancy and childbirth. She thought that her personal experience was testimony to some flaw in her that would degrade her in the eyes of her husband and father-in-law, the latter telling his son she isn’t good enough for him.
With our own 20-20 hindsight, such a thought is certainly quite disturbing. One wonders how often such thoughts are passed from parent to child today, questioning the worthiness of a spouse, when a parent sees something he or she does not like in their child’s spouse’s behavior or choices.
Getting back to Rivkah, let us look at the explanation offered by the Kli Yakar on what Rivkah sought. He explains that in her thinking that she was only carrying one child, its pernicious behavior in utero was indicating that there may in fact be two deities. Wondering, “If this is the case, what do I need this for?” she was in fact asking “How am I different from other women (in my view of monotheism) if in fact there are two deities?” And so, Kli Yakar suggests, “she went to seek out God” means she went to seek out the truth of God’s essence.
He goes on to explain, in 25:23, that the reason Yitzchak prayed on her behalf (25:21) was because he feared that she was barren on account of her family relations, being the daughter of Betuel and the sister of Lavan. Rivkah herself, after becoming pregnant and having all her doubts because of the instability of her fetus, wondered why she had even prayed for a child – as her child was giving every indication of her being no better than Hagar, and her child being no better than the child of Hagar.
From one perspective, like other commentaries, Kli Yakar also has Rivkah seeking answers. From a different perspective, he has Rivkah seeking more than a mere understanding of the battle taking place in her womb, but of Who and What God is in this world.
It’s pretty incredible to consider that even after 20 years of living with Yitzchak and of being removed from her father’s home that there were still smidgens of doubt and questions still floating around in Rivkah’s mind.
I don’t think doubts and questions are a bad thing. The simple concept of “Emunah” (often translated as “belief”) implies an element of doubt, as it is not as definitive as “knowing.” But the question is what one does with one’s “Emunah” and one’s knowledge.
But what does one who has gone through a dramatic transition do when a traumatic event comes? Does one’s trust in God become strengthened? Does one have a burst of getting-closer to God? Or does everything crumble?
I know Jews who converted to Judaism a long time ago, who have more faith and trust in God than many born-Jews I know. I know people who became “Baalei Teshuvah” a long time ago, who have been on a constant climb up, becoming more and more in touch with their Godly side over time – certainly with struggles through the years, but nonetheless knowing where they want to end up.
And I also know people in similar boats who remained stagnant forever, in their many years of classifying themselves as a convert or as a “baal teshuva,” who, when the going got rough, they got going, dropping much if not all of their “progress.” Perhaps the tower they had created was a house of cards. Others remain committed, but also stagnant, with little growth over the ensuing years.
Rivkah’s experience proves that when the going gets rough, one has to seek the right answers, go to the right people, and have a degree of clarity in terms of where a person wants to go.
This is the challenge for all Jews, no matter their background or upbringing, to be on a constant climb upward. Asking ourselves, “What do I know? What do I not know? Where am I at peace in my Jewish experience, and where do I still struggle? What skills what I like to have as a Jew – to read, write, speak Hebrew? To lead the davening or read from the Torah? To know how to kasher a kitchen? To know how to ritually slaughter? To be able to check a mezuzah, tie tzitzis or tefillin?”
Do we grow stagnant in any aspect of our lives as professionals, in athletics, in our understanding of the world, in our personal interests? Then why is stagnancy acceptable in our Judaism?
Rivkah came from an upbringing entrenched in idolatry and taught us that stagnancy is unacceptable. This is an important lesson for all.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Unaware that she is carrying twins, Rivkah has second thoughts when the “child” in her rumbles around. The rabbis teach us that when she passed a house of study Yaakov tried to emerge, while when she passed a house of idolatry Eisav fought to emerge. For a woman who believes she is carrying one child, this disparity of views from within the womb is quite perplexing. And so the verse says, “She went to seek of God.” (25:22)
There are a number of views as to what it was she went to seek: she went to “the house of Shem” (Midrash Aggadah); “She went to request for mercy for the rest of her pregnancy… She went to offer a sacrifice” (Pesikta); to seek out God, she went to pray at a place of purity – namely, the same place where Yitzchak had gone to pray for her to become pregnant, Mt. Moriah (Pirkei D’Rabi Eliezer 32). Many commentaries suggest that she went to the prophets of her time for answers, while Ramban says the only definition of seeking out God is prayer.
Some wonder (see Radak, for example) why she didn’t ask her husband Yitzchak or her father-in-law Avraham for answers. The Maharal of Prague answers, in his Gur Aryeh, suggesting that she didn’t go to them because she was afraid that it was on account of some sin (he doesn’t identify it) that she had difficulty in her pregnancy. The rabbis explained (Sotah 12a) that the righteous women were not subject to the decree pit against Chava to have difficulty in pregnancy and childbirth. She thought that her personal experience was testimony to some flaw in her that would degrade her in the eyes of her husband and father-in-law, the latter telling his son she isn’t good enough for him.
With our own 20-20 hindsight, such a thought is certainly quite disturbing. One wonders how often such thoughts are passed from parent to child today, questioning the worthiness of a spouse, when a parent sees something he or she does not like in their child’s spouse’s behavior or choices.
Getting back to Rivkah, let us look at the explanation offered by the Kli Yakar on what Rivkah sought. He explains that in her thinking that she was only carrying one child, its pernicious behavior in utero was indicating that there may in fact be two deities. Wondering, “If this is the case, what do I need this for?” she was in fact asking “How am I different from other women (in my view of monotheism) if in fact there are two deities?” And so, Kli Yakar suggests, “she went to seek out God” means she went to seek out the truth of God’s essence.
He goes on to explain, in 25:23, that the reason Yitzchak prayed on her behalf (25:21) was because he feared that she was barren on account of her family relations, being the daughter of Betuel and the sister of Lavan. Rivkah herself, after becoming pregnant and having all her doubts because of the instability of her fetus, wondered why she had even prayed for a child – as her child was giving every indication of her being no better than Hagar, and her child being no better than the child of Hagar.
From one perspective, like other commentaries, Kli Yakar also has Rivkah seeking answers. From a different perspective, he has Rivkah seeking more than a mere understanding of the battle taking place in her womb, but of Who and What God is in this world.
It’s pretty incredible to consider that even after 20 years of living with Yitzchak and of being removed from her father’s home that there were still smidgens of doubt and questions still floating around in Rivkah’s mind.
I don’t think doubts and questions are a bad thing. The simple concept of “Emunah” (often translated as “belief”) implies an element of doubt, as it is not as definitive as “knowing.” But the question is what one does with one’s “Emunah” and one’s knowledge.
But what does one who has gone through a dramatic transition do when a traumatic event comes? Does one’s trust in God become strengthened? Does one have a burst of getting-closer to God? Or does everything crumble?
I know Jews who converted to Judaism a long time ago, who have more faith and trust in God than many born-Jews I know. I know people who became “Baalei Teshuvah” a long time ago, who have been on a constant climb up, becoming more and more in touch with their Godly side over time – certainly with struggles through the years, but nonetheless knowing where they want to end up.
And I also know people in similar boats who remained stagnant forever, in their many years of classifying themselves as a convert or as a “baal teshuva,” who, when the going got rough, they got going, dropping much if not all of their “progress.” Perhaps the tower they had created was a house of cards. Others remain committed, but also stagnant, with little growth over the ensuing years.
Rivkah’s experience proves that when the going gets rough, one has to seek the right answers, go to the right people, and have a degree of clarity in terms of where a person wants to go.
This is the challenge for all Jews, no matter their background or upbringing, to be on a constant climb upward. Asking ourselves, “What do I know? What do I not know? Where am I at peace in my Jewish experience, and where do I still struggle? What skills what I like to have as a Jew – to read, write, speak Hebrew? To lead the davening or read from the Torah? To know how to kasher a kitchen? To know how to ritually slaughter? To be able to check a mezuzah, tie tzitzis or tefillin?”
Do we grow stagnant in any aspect of our lives as professionals, in athletics, in our understanding of the world, in our personal interests? Then why is stagnancy acceptable in our Judaism?
Rivkah came from an upbringing entrenched in idolatry and taught us that stagnancy is unacceptable. This is an important lesson for all.
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
Avraham - The Prototype
Parshat Chayei Sarah
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Were the forefathers Jewish? Leaving aside the anachronistic usage of the term “Jew,” there are those who argue that while the forefathers were monotheists, calling them “Jewish” is a little disingenuous. The Torah hadn’t been given yet. The covenant of Sinai hadn’t been forged. And so, while they may have been the beginners of the family that came to be known as the Children of Israel, the faith that we now call Judaism hadn’t been formalized yet.
On the other hand, the Talmud claims the forefathers kept all the commandments of the Torah! (See Yoma 28b)
Notwithstanding the fact that during his lifetime Revelation is a few hundred years away, it can be argued that Avraham is the prototype of what it means to be a Jew. Consider this eulogy for Avraham, written by Rabbi Hertz, and inserted in his Chumash at the conclusion of Avraham's living presence in the Torah.
"He was the pioneer of the monotheistic faith. Undazzled by the heathen splendour of a Nimrod or a Hammurabi, he broke away from the debasing idol worship of his contemporaries and devoted his life to the spread of the world-redeeming truth of the One God of Justice and Mercy.
"He forsook home and family to brave unknown dangers because the voice of God bade him to do so; and, throughout his days, he showed that faith in God must manifest itself in implicit and joyful surrender to the divine will. He set an example to his children to sacrifice the dearest things in life, and, if need be, life itself, in defence of the spiritual heritage entrusted to their care. While he preached renunciation in the service of God, he practiced lovingkindness and truth towards his fellow men.
"Witness his magnanimity in his treatment of Lot; his fine independence in the refusal to accept any of the spoils won by the men of his household; his benevolence in the reception of strangers; his stand for justice, when pleading for the doomed cities; and his all-embracing human pity, which extended even to those who had forfeited all claim to human pity. Finally, the closing stage of his life shows his anxiety that the spiritual treasures he has acquired should be transmitted unimpaired through his son to future generations. Verily, he is the prototype of what the Jew should aim at being.
"The divine exhortation addressed to Israel is in Isaiah 51:1-2: 'Look at Abraham your father and at Sarah who bore you, for when he was but one I called him, and I blessed him and made him many.'"
Interestingly, Avraham is the only person referred to in the Bible as “Echad” – one; he's the only figure other than God to get such a title (see the Shema). In Ezekiel 33:24 we are told, "Son of man, the dwellers of these ruins on the soil of Israel speak, saying: Abraham was one, and he inherited the land, and we are many-the land has [surely] been given to us for an inheritance”
Avraham was Echad – He was the first, he was the innovator, he was the one who set the tone for what a Godlike existence could be, ought to be, is… essentially, what Rabbi Hertz called the prototype.
On the other hand, we have a different perspective about Avraham that should give us pause to think what our lives are about. Isaiah prophesied about a time when the needy will no longer need assistance. (Isaiah 29:20-24) In that section, the prophet throws in an aside, “Therefore, so said the Lord to the House of Jacob, Who redeemed Abraham…”
What could the verse be telling us when it says Avraham was redeemed by Yaakov?
The Midrash Rabba (63:2) tells us that “Avraham was saved from the fiery furnace on account of the merit of Yaakov." In other words, the Midrash explains, God knowing the future is what saved Avraham, because He knew Yaakov was to be born.
There are two choices we have in front of us when we think of modeling a life after Avraham:
The first is to be the first – or to model the path set for us by Avraham, each in our own way. I'm going to be an innovator. I'm going to connect with God on my terms. In my way.
The second is to take a moment to pause and reflect what purpose our lives serve. Perhaps some of us should consider that we are here "in the merit of someone who descends from me, whom I may or may not meet in my lifetime. It is my duty to set a good example. To become a legacy that people speak fondly of, not only when I'm alive, but even moreso when I'm gone." It is the people who leave legacies who, like Avraham, find a way to live forever.
Avraham's life mission was to get close to God, to have a child with whom he could share his spiritual legacy, and to teach his children about righteousness and justice. There are movements today that call for Justice (in some cases referring to the non-prosecution for a crime), but they neglect to focus on the need for righteousness among the same people for whom they seek “justice.” This is disingenuous and does not promote for an advancement of society – only hurting the next victims of criminals and excusing those who could otherwise be making positive contributions to society were they to simply make better choices in life.
May we merit to live up to the two lessons we learn from Avraham. To continue the tradition set by Avraham, the prototype, in our relationship with God, and to live up to the legacy we are meant to transmit to those whose future existence may have redeemed our own existence.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Were the forefathers Jewish? Leaving aside the anachronistic usage of the term “Jew,” there are those who argue that while the forefathers were monotheists, calling them “Jewish” is a little disingenuous. The Torah hadn’t been given yet. The covenant of Sinai hadn’t been forged. And so, while they may have been the beginners of the family that came to be known as the Children of Israel, the faith that we now call Judaism hadn’t been formalized yet.
On the other hand, the Talmud claims the forefathers kept all the commandments of the Torah! (See Yoma 28b)
Notwithstanding the fact that during his lifetime Revelation is a few hundred years away, it can be argued that Avraham is the prototype of what it means to be a Jew. Consider this eulogy for Avraham, written by Rabbi Hertz, and inserted in his Chumash at the conclusion of Avraham's living presence in the Torah.
"He was the pioneer of the monotheistic faith. Undazzled by the heathen splendour of a Nimrod or a Hammurabi, he broke away from the debasing idol worship of his contemporaries and devoted his life to the spread of the world-redeeming truth of the One God of Justice and Mercy.
"He forsook home and family to brave unknown dangers because the voice of God bade him to do so; and, throughout his days, he showed that faith in God must manifest itself in implicit and joyful surrender to the divine will. He set an example to his children to sacrifice the dearest things in life, and, if need be, life itself, in defence of the spiritual heritage entrusted to their care. While he preached renunciation in the service of God, he practiced lovingkindness and truth towards his fellow men.
"Witness his magnanimity in his treatment of Lot; his fine independence in the refusal to accept any of the spoils won by the men of his household; his benevolence in the reception of strangers; his stand for justice, when pleading for the doomed cities; and his all-embracing human pity, which extended even to those who had forfeited all claim to human pity. Finally, the closing stage of his life shows his anxiety that the spiritual treasures he has acquired should be transmitted unimpaired through his son to future generations. Verily, he is the prototype of what the Jew should aim at being.
"The divine exhortation addressed to Israel is in Isaiah 51:1-2: 'Look at Abraham your father and at Sarah who bore you, for when he was but one I called him, and I blessed him and made him many.'"
Interestingly, Avraham is the only person referred to in the Bible as “Echad” – one; he's the only figure other than God to get such a title (see the Shema). In Ezekiel 33:24 we are told, "Son of man, the dwellers of these ruins on the soil of Israel speak, saying: Abraham was one, and he inherited the land, and we are many-the land has [surely] been given to us for an inheritance”
Avraham was Echad – He was the first, he was the innovator, he was the one who set the tone for what a Godlike existence could be, ought to be, is… essentially, what Rabbi Hertz called the prototype.
On the other hand, we have a different perspective about Avraham that should give us pause to think what our lives are about. Isaiah prophesied about a time when the needy will no longer need assistance. (Isaiah 29:20-24) In that section, the prophet throws in an aside, “Therefore, so said the Lord to the House of Jacob, Who redeemed Abraham…”
What could the verse be telling us when it says Avraham was redeemed by Yaakov?
The Midrash Rabba (63:2) tells us that “Avraham was saved from the fiery furnace on account of the merit of Yaakov." In other words, the Midrash explains, God knowing the future is what saved Avraham, because He knew Yaakov was to be born.
There are two choices we have in front of us when we think of modeling a life after Avraham:
The first is to be the first – or to model the path set for us by Avraham, each in our own way. I'm going to be an innovator. I'm going to connect with God on my terms. In my way.
The second is to take a moment to pause and reflect what purpose our lives serve. Perhaps some of us should consider that we are here "in the merit of someone who descends from me, whom I may or may not meet in my lifetime. It is my duty to set a good example. To become a legacy that people speak fondly of, not only when I'm alive, but even moreso when I'm gone." It is the people who leave legacies who, like Avraham, find a way to live forever.
Avraham's life mission was to get close to God, to have a child with whom he could share his spiritual legacy, and to teach his children about righteousness and justice. There are movements today that call for Justice (in some cases referring to the non-prosecution for a crime), but they neglect to focus on the need for righteousness among the same people for whom they seek “justice.” This is disingenuous and does not promote for an advancement of society – only hurting the next victims of criminals and excusing those who could otherwise be making positive contributions to society were they to simply make better choices in life.
May we merit to live up to the two lessons we learn from Avraham. To continue the tradition set by Avraham, the prototype, in our relationship with God, and to live up to the legacy we are meant to transmit to those whose future existence may have redeemed our own existence.
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
Sarah, Mt. Moriah, and Prayers for Our Future
Parshat Vayera
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When we consider the story of the binding of Yitzchak, one of the characters, who played quite a significant role until this tale, is conspicuously missing from the narrative. That person, of course, is Sarah.
In Pirkei D’Rabi Eliezer, chapter 32, he notes the absence of Sarah from the tale, but also suggests that when Sarah heard about where Avraham and Yitzchak were going and why, she cried in a manner echoing the sound of the Shofar (this suggests we blow shofar in this memory, not for the mother of Sisera – which can easily be explained as a mistake in pronunciation, as the Torah Shleimah claims: it should be the cries of “Ema Sarah” not “Ema d’Siserah”).
Rashi, among others, attaches Sarah’s death to the news of the binding and sacrifice of her son. And yet, that is not the only interpretation, as the age of Yitzchak at this time is subject to debate as well. And if it is true that he was younger than 37 (his age at the time of his mother’s death) at his binding, then Sarah’s death would not be connected to the news of his near-death experience. This is the approach in “Yismach Moshe,” in which the argument is presented that Sarah’s life was cut short on account of the way she treated her husband (and Hagar) in chapter 16.
It is interesting to note that the passage in Pirkei D’Rabi Eliezer describes how Mt. Moriah became a significant hotspot for the patriarchal family after the day of Isaac’s binding. Rabbi Yehuda explains that after 20 years of infertility, Yitzchak brought his wife to the place he had felt closest to God in his lifetime, so they could pray. It was in that spot that Yitzchak prayed and was heeded to, so his wife could become pregnant. When it was time for her to give birth and the labor pangs were driving her insane, Rivkah went “to seek out God” at a pure place: Mt. Moriah.
And of course, Yaakov’s dream and prayer on his way to Lavan’s house are also credited with having taken place there.
It is incredible that Mt. Moriah became a place associated with prayer at such an early time in our history. And that most of the prayers mentioned here were aimed at securing the future through the next generation. Though she is not there, Sarah cries out for her son when he is there at that place. Yitzchak prays to have children. Rivkah prays that her children can be born and that she could survive to raise them. Yaakov is thinking about his journey ahead, but he knows he is looking to find a wife, which will hopefully lead to his having children.
One can make the argument that Sarah’s prayer really set the stage for the experience that turned Mt. Moriah into a place not just of sacrifice, but of prayer. Not only of prayer, but of the kind of prayer that gets and almost immediate response to those who seek out God in a sincere way.
Mt. Moriah may not be available as a place of prayer to us today (as we say, the only people discriminated against as an official policy, unrelated to security concerns, in Israel are Jews looking to pray on the Temple Mount) but it does not take away from the significance of that space, and of the important focus in prayer – focusing on the wellbeing of our children and of future generations of our people.
This is the guiding principle that governed Sarah’s thinking in Chapters 21 and 22, when she alone seemed to be the only one looking out for Yitzchak’s wellbeing (even though Avraham had other considerations driving him).
May we be blessed to remember why we live the lives we live. Whether we have or do not have children, we attach ourselves to the Jewish system in which we find ourselves, because we are hoping to serve as a model and to look out for the longevity of our people for generations to come.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When we consider the story of the binding of Yitzchak, one of the characters, who played quite a significant role until this tale, is conspicuously missing from the narrative. That person, of course, is Sarah.
In Pirkei D’Rabi Eliezer, chapter 32, he notes the absence of Sarah from the tale, but also suggests that when Sarah heard about where Avraham and Yitzchak were going and why, she cried in a manner echoing the sound of the Shofar (this suggests we blow shofar in this memory, not for the mother of Sisera – which can easily be explained as a mistake in pronunciation, as the Torah Shleimah claims: it should be the cries of “Ema Sarah” not “Ema d’Siserah”).
Rashi, among others, attaches Sarah’s death to the news of the binding and sacrifice of her son. And yet, that is not the only interpretation, as the age of Yitzchak at this time is subject to debate as well. And if it is true that he was younger than 37 (his age at the time of his mother’s death) at his binding, then Sarah’s death would not be connected to the news of his near-death experience. This is the approach in “Yismach Moshe,” in which the argument is presented that Sarah’s life was cut short on account of the way she treated her husband (and Hagar) in chapter 16.
It is interesting to note that the passage in Pirkei D’Rabi Eliezer describes how Mt. Moriah became a significant hotspot for the patriarchal family after the day of Isaac’s binding. Rabbi Yehuda explains that after 20 years of infertility, Yitzchak brought his wife to the place he had felt closest to God in his lifetime, so they could pray. It was in that spot that Yitzchak prayed and was heeded to, so his wife could become pregnant. When it was time for her to give birth and the labor pangs were driving her insane, Rivkah went “to seek out God” at a pure place: Mt. Moriah.
And of course, Yaakov’s dream and prayer on his way to Lavan’s house are also credited with having taken place there.
It is incredible that Mt. Moriah became a place associated with prayer at such an early time in our history. And that most of the prayers mentioned here were aimed at securing the future through the next generation. Though she is not there, Sarah cries out for her son when he is there at that place. Yitzchak prays to have children. Rivkah prays that her children can be born and that she could survive to raise them. Yaakov is thinking about his journey ahead, but he knows he is looking to find a wife, which will hopefully lead to his having children.
One can make the argument that Sarah’s prayer really set the stage for the experience that turned Mt. Moriah into a place not just of sacrifice, but of prayer. Not only of prayer, but of the kind of prayer that gets and almost immediate response to those who seek out God in a sincere way.
Mt. Moriah may not be available as a place of prayer to us today (as we say, the only people discriminated against as an official policy, unrelated to security concerns, in Israel are Jews looking to pray on the Temple Mount) but it does not take away from the significance of that space, and of the important focus in prayer – focusing on the wellbeing of our children and of future generations of our people.
This is the guiding principle that governed Sarah’s thinking in Chapters 21 and 22, when she alone seemed to be the only one looking out for Yitzchak’s wellbeing (even though Avraham had other considerations driving him).
May we be blessed to remember why we live the lives we live. Whether we have or do not have children, we attach ourselves to the Jewish system in which we find ourselves, because we are hoping to serve as a model and to look out for the longevity of our people for generations to come.
Monday, November 21, 2016
Being Courteous and Respectful: A Motto For Life (even when you disagree!)
Parshat Lekh Lekha
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In our parsha we read about how when Avraham and Sarah embarked on their journey to the Land God will show them, they brought with them the “souls they made in Charan.”
Who these people were is unclear – though there are a number of possibilities that the Midrash and meforshim advance, depending on how they define the word “Asu” – “they made.”
They were people who had been converted by Avraham and Sarah to monotheism.
Or people who had been taught to do what is right – perhaps a group of humanitarians.
Rashi suggests they were Avraham’s and Sarah’s servants because “Asah – to make” (עשה) can be understood to mean “an acquisition.”
Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch notes how their “souls were created” – that people who had no spirituality in their lives had a fire lit inside them by Avraham and Sarah. Each “soul” was truly “created” by their mentors.
The Talmud (Avodah Zarah 9a) says that the world is supposed to last 6,000 years from Adam until the Messiah. The first 2000 years were emptiness, the next 2000 years were years of Torah, and the final 2000 years are called Y’mot Hamoshiach – the Days of the Messiah. The Talmud suggests that Avraham was 52 when these souls were “created,” since he was born in the year 1948 from the creation of Adam. 1948 plus 52 equals 2000, and at that age the 2000 years of Torah began.
Midrash goes into specific detail as to how Avraham brought these people in, and showed them love (Midrash Rabba 84 – Vayeshev). “Avraham would bring them into his home, feed them, give them to drink, bring them close, and enter them under the wings of the divine.”
So what happened to these people? Why is this the only reference to them in the Torah? Where were they in all of Avraham’s adventures – maybe they make an appearance in the war to save Lot. Maybe some of them are circumcised when Avraham circumcises himself. But otherwise they disappear. We don’t hear about this group in Yitzchak’s time. They certainly don’t accompany Yaakov down to Egypt.
In his Pardes Yosef, Rabbi Yosef Pazanowski quotes the Alexander Rebbe who says that after Avraham died, Avraham’s converts did not want to learn from Yitzchak. They never saw him like Avraham. They stayed in their homes, “because they didn’t think of him as they thought of Avraham, and they sat in their homes until their (souls) became cold and they returned to their old ways.”
Rav Chanokh Henikh Alexander said, “This teaches us that a person should never say that the righteous person of today is not like the tzaddik of previous generations. A person must glean what he or she can out of the tzaddik of the current times.”
This is a very important lesson about perspective. We know there are no Rav Moshe Feinsteins today, no Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbachs, no Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchiks, no Rav Ovadiah Yosefs. But there are people we can learn from. Who can inspire us in our times. If we pine only for the days of yesteryear, we can never grow in the times in which we are living. Because we are only living in the past. And that is not a healthy approach to living.
There is another important lesson as well, one that perhaps we should have learned before the election of this week. And maybe, now that it is over, we can try again. And that is that we should find ways to look past the negative things we see in others, embrace our commonalities, and even embrace our differences! I have seen vitriol the likes of which I haven’t seen in any election in my lifetime. Even Bill Maher, the very liberal liberal, noted of late that the way he threw John McCain and Mitt Romney under the bus, two honorable men with whom he had many differences, was disgraceful in the previous two elections. (What he has said in this election is similarly disgraceful)
Political discussions should be a space in which people can respectfully express their views and, when necessary, debate, without having their character assaulted just because they have such a view. Anyone who voted for the main party candidates (Democrat and Republican) in this election had to look past MANY character flaws and disturbing personal history to cast a vote. Anyone who doesn’t see the looming inadequacies of each candidate is living with blinders.
The inability to see past a difference in worldview and to find common ground is what caused the souls Avraham and Sarah had brought with them to be lost to their ways once they were gone. This is also the danger of a cult of personality we see so often today, where people attach themselves to a rabbi or some kind of charismatic leader, and are aimless, hopeless and helpless when that leader dies, leaves the spotlight, or turns out to be corrupt.
So let us make a commitment to be like Avraham as described in the Midrash – and not like Yitzchak, who dropped the ball on Avraham’s people – to embrace people no matter where they are, and bring them up in their experience, whether religious or in general, and not put them down.
And with the new leadership which will be upon this nation come January, may God bless the United States of America. We’ll need all the divine help we can get.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In our parsha we read about how when Avraham and Sarah embarked on their journey to the Land God will show them, they brought with them the “souls they made in Charan.”
Who these people were is unclear – though there are a number of possibilities that the Midrash and meforshim advance, depending on how they define the word “Asu” – “they made.”
They were people who had been converted by Avraham and Sarah to monotheism.
Or people who had been taught to do what is right – perhaps a group of humanitarians.
Rashi suggests they were Avraham’s and Sarah’s servants because “Asah – to make” (עשה) can be understood to mean “an acquisition.”
Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch notes how their “souls were created” – that people who had no spirituality in their lives had a fire lit inside them by Avraham and Sarah. Each “soul” was truly “created” by their mentors.
The Talmud (Avodah Zarah 9a) says that the world is supposed to last 6,000 years from Adam until the Messiah. The first 2000 years were emptiness, the next 2000 years were years of Torah, and the final 2000 years are called Y’mot Hamoshiach – the Days of the Messiah. The Talmud suggests that Avraham was 52 when these souls were “created,” since he was born in the year 1948 from the creation of Adam. 1948 plus 52 equals 2000, and at that age the 2000 years of Torah began.
Midrash goes into specific detail as to how Avraham brought these people in, and showed them love (Midrash Rabba 84 – Vayeshev). “Avraham would bring them into his home, feed them, give them to drink, bring them close, and enter them under the wings of the divine.”
So what happened to these people? Why is this the only reference to them in the Torah? Where were they in all of Avraham’s adventures – maybe they make an appearance in the war to save Lot. Maybe some of them are circumcised when Avraham circumcises himself. But otherwise they disappear. We don’t hear about this group in Yitzchak’s time. They certainly don’t accompany Yaakov down to Egypt.
In his Pardes Yosef, Rabbi Yosef Pazanowski quotes the Alexander Rebbe who says that after Avraham died, Avraham’s converts did not want to learn from Yitzchak. They never saw him like Avraham. They stayed in their homes, “because they didn’t think of him as they thought of Avraham, and they sat in their homes until their (souls) became cold and they returned to their old ways.”
Rav Chanokh Henikh Alexander said, “This teaches us that a person should never say that the righteous person of today is not like the tzaddik of previous generations. A person must glean what he or she can out of the tzaddik of the current times.”
This is a very important lesson about perspective. We know there are no Rav Moshe Feinsteins today, no Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbachs, no Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchiks, no Rav Ovadiah Yosefs. But there are people we can learn from. Who can inspire us in our times. If we pine only for the days of yesteryear, we can never grow in the times in which we are living. Because we are only living in the past. And that is not a healthy approach to living.
There is another important lesson as well, one that perhaps we should have learned before the election of this week. And maybe, now that it is over, we can try again. And that is that we should find ways to look past the negative things we see in others, embrace our commonalities, and even embrace our differences! I have seen vitriol the likes of which I haven’t seen in any election in my lifetime. Even Bill Maher, the very liberal liberal, noted of late that the way he threw John McCain and Mitt Romney under the bus, two honorable men with whom he had many differences, was disgraceful in the previous two elections. (What he has said in this election is similarly disgraceful)
Political discussions should be a space in which people can respectfully express their views and, when necessary, debate, without having their character assaulted just because they have such a view. Anyone who voted for the main party candidates (Democrat and Republican) in this election had to look past MANY character flaws and disturbing personal history to cast a vote. Anyone who doesn’t see the looming inadequacies of each candidate is living with blinders.
The inability to see past a difference in worldview and to find common ground is what caused the souls Avraham and Sarah had brought with them to be lost to their ways once they were gone. This is also the danger of a cult of personality we see so often today, where people attach themselves to a rabbi or some kind of charismatic leader, and are aimless, hopeless and helpless when that leader dies, leaves the spotlight, or turns out to be corrupt.
So let us make a commitment to be like Avraham as described in the Midrash – and not like Yitzchak, who dropped the ball on Avraham’s people – to embrace people no matter where they are, and bring them up in their experience, whether religious or in general, and not put them down.
And with the new leadership which will be upon this nation come January, may God bless the United States of America. We’ll need all the divine help we can get.
Friday, November 4, 2016
Human goals... are they for the birds?
Parshat Noach
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Why send the raven – it didn’t seem to have a mission? Did the raven return to the Ark? Considering that it went out around three months before the occupants of the Ark were able to leave, was it able to fly around for that length of time? Why send the dove? Why not a different bird? Considering that the dove came back – seemingly unsuccessfully – why send it out again, why not change birds as he did from raven to dove?
Rabbi Chaim Paltiel notes that the raven was not sent “from being with him” nor was it sent “to see.” Firstly, the pure (what we might call “kosher”) birds lived with Noach in his domicile, while the impure (nonkosher) birds were elsewhere in the Ark. Secondly, the raven was not sent to see anything, because he was not sent on a particular mission. The Talmud tells us (Sanhedrin 108) that the raven was one of three beings (the others being the dog and Noach’s son Cham) that violated the moratorium on mating in the Ark. The raven was being sent out as a punishment – and it went back and forth, hoping Noach would take him back. Noach sent him out with the thought process that God had brought the flood on all living creatures, humans AND animals and birds, on account of sins of this nature. Noach felt he needed to send the raven off the boat.
Alshikh adds that the raven was sent out, after all rain ended, and he could perch himself on the deck of the Ark, because it is used to living on wood (branches). This kind of treatment was available to the raven, who had the gift of flight and the ability to survive in the elements, while the dog and Cham would not survive under such circumstances.
So why the dove? Alshikh quotes the Rabbis who say that the raven was not willing to go very far because he did not want to abandon his mate (I assume, even though Noach was blocking off access to her). But the dove is of a different mentality. It is very trusting of its mate – even if it is separate from her for a while, it did not enjoy being fed by Noach for it preferred to eat the bitter olive from God than any sweets from a human of flesh and blood. And Noach recognized this, saw that if the dove would find a place to live it wouldn’t come back, and through this he would know the land was dried up.
The only piece that is missing is why Noach would need such a sign. Wouldn’t he trust that God would tell him when to leave the Ark, as God in fact did in 8:16?
To summarize our answers, we see the raven was sent out for a very different reason than the dove – with no particular mission. It did not fly around aimlessly, as it simply moved its perch to the Ark’s deck. The dove was the bird that was itching to get away from the human, and ready to stay wherever it would find a place to stay. This is why the dove was sent again and again.
Which leaves us with Noach and his trust of God concern. This is a shot in the dark, but Noach demonstrated even at the beginning of the flood that he wasn’t going to wait for God to tell him what to do. (see Chapter 7:7-16, which is somewhat confusing) As such, waiting for God to tell him to leave wasn’t necessarily in his lexicon either.
The message we take from all this is that humans and animals all have character traits inherent in their nature. Some animals are more trusting of humans, some less so. Some march to the beat of their own drum, and some can be trained.
Humans also have their own issues with trust, and seeking out their own destiny. It is important to have trust in God. But sometimes it is also important not to wait for a sign from God, because that sign is not always coming. Some people are blessed to see signs in some or many of their experiences. But those who see that their destiny lies in the good decisions they make, and the initiatives they undertake to shape their future (“hishtadlut”) often see the true benefits of their efforts.
Like Noach, who – in general – did not wait around for things to happen, we should be blessed to take charge of our future, so we can see success in the areas of life which are in our control.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
“And he sent the raven, which went back and forth until the water dried up from upon the land. And he sent the dove from being with him, to see whether the water had lowered from being on the earth.” (8:7-8)A few questions strike us.
Why send the raven – it didn’t seem to have a mission? Did the raven return to the Ark? Considering that it went out around three months before the occupants of the Ark were able to leave, was it able to fly around for that length of time? Why send the dove? Why not a different bird? Considering that the dove came back – seemingly unsuccessfully – why send it out again, why not change birds as he did from raven to dove?
Rabbi Chaim Paltiel notes that the raven was not sent “from being with him” nor was it sent “to see.” Firstly, the pure (what we might call “kosher”) birds lived with Noach in his domicile, while the impure (nonkosher) birds were elsewhere in the Ark. Secondly, the raven was not sent to see anything, because he was not sent on a particular mission. The Talmud tells us (Sanhedrin 108) that the raven was one of three beings (the others being the dog and Noach’s son Cham) that violated the moratorium on mating in the Ark. The raven was being sent out as a punishment – and it went back and forth, hoping Noach would take him back. Noach sent him out with the thought process that God had brought the flood on all living creatures, humans AND animals and birds, on account of sins of this nature. Noach felt he needed to send the raven off the boat.
Alshikh adds that the raven was sent out, after all rain ended, and he could perch himself on the deck of the Ark, because it is used to living on wood (branches). This kind of treatment was available to the raven, who had the gift of flight and the ability to survive in the elements, while the dog and Cham would not survive under such circumstances.
So why the dove? Alshikh quotes the Rabbis who say that the raven was not willing to go very far because he did not want to abandon his mate (I assume, even though Noach was blocking off access to her). But the dove is of a different mentality. It is very trusting of its mate – even if it is separate from her for a while, it did not enjoy being fed by Noach for it preferred to eat the bitter olive from God than any sweets from a human of flesh and blood. And Noach recognized this, saw that if the dove would find a place to live it wouldn’t come back, and through this he would know the land was dried up.
The only piece that is missing is why Noach would need such a sign. Wouldn’t he trust that God would tell him when to leave the Ark, as God in fact did in 8:16?
To summarize our answers, we see the raven was sent out for a very different reason than the dove – with no particular mission. It did not fly around aimlessly, as it simply moved its perch to the Ark’s deck. The dove was the bird that was itching to get away from the human, and ready to stay wherever it would find a place to stay. This is why the dove was sent again and again.
Which leaves us with Noach and his trust of God concern. This is a shot in the dark, but Noach demonstrated even at the beginning of the flood that he wasn’t going to wait for God to tell him what to do. (see Chapter 7:7-16, which is somewhat confusing) As such, waiting for God to tell him to leave wasn’t necessarily in his lexicon either.
The message we take from all this is that humans and animals all have character traits inherent in their nature. Some animals are more trusting of humans, some less so. Some march to the beat of their own drum, and some can be trained.
Humans also have their own issues with trust, and seeking out their own destiny. It is important to have trust in God. But sometimes it is also important not to wait for a sign from God, because that sign is not always coming. Some people are blessed to see signs in some or many of their experiences. But those who see that their destiny lies in the good decisions they make, and the initiatives they undertake to shape their future (“hishtadlut”) often see the true benefits of their efforts.
Like Noach, who – in general – did not wait around for things to happen, we should be blessed to take charge of our future, so we can see success in the areas of life which are in our control.
Thursday, October 13, 2016
Raising Children Can't be Pawned Off to Others!
Parshat Haazinu
by Rabbi Avi Billet
With that as a background, the statement Moshe makes about being able to instruct children is actually profound. We tend to focus on our own connection to Judaism, and leave our children’s connection to their Rebbeim and Morahs. But Moshe does not say here “Leave your children’s education in others’ hands!” He says it is YOUR job.
So now I’m going to be a bit blunt. But there’s no time like right after Yom Kippur to face some hard truths.
Schools can only do so much. They have a lot to cram into an overwhelmingly long day. They can’t focus on middos. They bring in anti-bullying programs, but the bullying still goes on. What gives any child the right to mistreat another child? To make fun of a child who isn’t as quick on the uptake. Who looks a little funny. Who talks a little weird. Who has some kind of disability. Do our children not recognize that the child in question is a human being, created in the image of God, who is loved by his or her family?
Go on the internet and find Steve Hartman “on the road” videos in which he profiles – among other things – sports teams who have embraced a special needs child who found an outlet as a mascot on the team. Of course our children (hopefully) have a different attitude when they go to a HASC or YACHAD program. But they understand that these kids (or adults) are “different.” But in a mainstream school, the idea that “if you can’t take the pressure (from other kids) get lost and stay there” can not fly.
Teachers are humans. They are not perfect. They have lots of kids in their classes. As much as every school claims to be able to provide differentiated instruction, teaching the “whole student” and gearing towards different methods of learning and comprehension, the fact is that schools which provide this are few and far between. And when children disrespect the humanity of the teacher, make fun of the teacher, or say or do things knowing that the teacher can not do anything about it, this is a moral failing in the upbringing of these children.
I remember saying as a child at the end of school years, “no more pencils no more books, no more teachers dirty looks” and “no more chimmesh no more mishnayis, no more rebbes with longeh payis.” I was just repeating what other kids said. But the idea that these chants would even make it around to our schools shows a simple disregard for people, and for the concept of learning in general.
I find it odd that any of us look at vacation days as “vacation from Judaism” days. Boys leave their tefillin in school – what do they do Sunday if there’s no school? I actually know one father who bought his son a second pair of tefillin – one to leave in school, and one to have at home for when school was off. It’s a solution, but it also demands little responsibility of the child.
A few parting thoughts.
First, the Seforno, which we’ll have to unfortunately reject. He says that you have to instruct your children “at the end of your life as you write in your will to your children all of these things, that they should observe to guard their souls, lest they become corrupt.” As we all know, if we only wait until the end of our lives to instruct our children, by that time they may be too far away or completely lost.
More poignantly, Midrash Tanaim suggests Moshe is saying, “Just as I give you credit for following the Torah following my example, you should be complimentary to your children for following the Torah after your example.”
Alshikh says, “This is in your nature, and it is for your benefit.”
Explaining Moshe’s thought process, he says
by Rabbi Avi Billet
“Pay close attention to all the words through which I warn you today, so that you will be able to instruct your children to keep all the words of this Torah carefully.” (32:46)In preparation for my Shabbos Shuva Drasha, I came across a fascinating article printed in Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought, entitled “Is There a Disconnect between Torah Learning and Torah Living? And If So, How Can We Connect Them? A Focus on Middos” by Aharon Hersh Fried. Find it online. Read it. (http://www.hakirah.org/Vol%206%20Fried.pdf)
With that as a background, the statement Moshe makes about being able to instruct children is actually profound. We tend to focus on our own connection to Judaism, and leave our children’s connection to their Rebbeim and Morahs. But Moshe does not say here “Leave your children’s education in others’ hands!” He says it is YOUR job.
So now I’m going to be a bit blunt. But there’s no time like right after Yom Kippur to face some hard truths.
Schools can only do so much. They have a lot to cram into an overwhelmingly long day. They can’t focus on middos. They bring in anti-bullying programs, but the bullying still goes on. What gives any child the right to mistreat another child? To make fun of a child who isn’t as quick on the uptake. Who looks a little funny. Who talks a little weird. Who has some kind of disability. Do our children not recognize that the child in question is a human being, created in the image of God, who is loved by his or her family?
Go on the internet and find Steve Hartman “on the road” videos in which he profiles – among other things – sports teams who have embraced a special needs child who found an outlet as a mascot on the team. Of course our children (hopefully) have a different attitude when they go to a HASC or YACHAD program. But they understand that these kids (or adults) are “different.” But in a mainstream school, the idea that “if you can’t take the pressure (from other kids) get lost and stay there” can not fly.
Teachers are humans. They are not perfect. They have lots of kids in their classes. As much as every school claims to be able to provide differentiated instruction, teaching the “whole student” and gearing towards different methods of learning and comprehension, the fact is that schools which provide this are few and far between. And when children disrespect the humanity of the teacher, make fun of the teacher, or say or do things knowing that the teacher can not do anything about it, this is a moral failing in the upbringing of these children.
I remember saying as a child at the end of school years, “no more pencils no more books, no more teachers dirty looks” and “no more chimmesh no more mishnayis, no more rebbes with longeh payis.” I was just repeating what other kids said. But the idea that these chants would even make it around to our schools shows a simple disregard for people, and for the concept of learning in general.
I find it odd that any of us look at vacation days as “vacation from Judaism” days. Boys leave their tefillin in school – what do they do Sunday if there’s no school? I actually know one father who bought his son a second pair of tefillin – one to leave in school, and one to have at home for when school was off. It’s a solution, but it also demands little responsibility of the child.
A few parting thoughts.
First, the Seforno, which we’ll have to unfortunately reject. He says that you have to instruct your children “at the end of your life as you write in your will to your children all of these things, that they should observe to guard their souls, lest they become corrupt.” As we all know, if we only wait until the end of our lives to instruct our children, by that time they may be too far away or completely lost.
More poignantly, Midrash Tanaim suggests Moshe is saying, “Just as I give you credit for following the Torah following my example, you should be complimentary to your children for following the Torah after your example.”
Alshikh says, “This is in your nature, and it is for your benefit.”
Explaining Moshe’s thought process, he says
“Moshe wanted to give merits to the Israelites by giving them the chance to teach their children. Every Jewish person’s soul is naturally inclined to connect with God and His Torah, and as long as that connection remains the person can truly live. After telling the song of Haazinu to the people, much of which is negative and deflating visions of the future, Moshe felt the people needed a pick-me-up. So he spoke to them using a tone of love. Beginning with an image of rain falling, which causes grass to grow, then dew which helps the grass sustain itself without the rain, this is what the Torah is supposed to be for a person. Rain needs to be pounded in – the Torah needs to be pushed through the blood of the child, sometimes with real struggle – so that the grass can grow. Once the grass grows, the child can sustain him/herself with the tools that have sent it in the proper path and direction.“All this simply means, that with all the emphasis we claim to make on our commandments between Man and God and the relationships we are to have with our fellow man, there are conversations we should be having with our children on a regular basis. Here are some topics: why it’s wrong to steal; why being racist is a vile character trait; how we have to treat ALL people with respect, even if they’re different from us, and especially if they’re your siblings or parents (and how parents should treat their kids!); to greet everyone with a kind word and smiling countenance; to stand for the elderly under every circumstance; how to have empathy for others; how to stand up for the mistreated. Make your own list. It is our job – not to be pawned off to anyone. And the way we do all this is by modeling by example and practicing what we preach.
Thursday, October 6, 2016
Choosing the Relationship With God
Parshat Nitzavim
by Rabbi Avi Billet
There are at least two reasons why Parshat Nitzavim is read before Rosh Hashana. Firstly, it talks about Teshuvah (repentance) (Biur Halacha 428: “9 Av”), and secondly, it serves as a buffer between the Tokhacha (Rebuke) of Ki Tavo and Rosh Hashana (see also Biur Halacha there).
Simply consider how chapter 30 begins: after you will have experienced the blessings and curses (as discussed in last week’s Torah portion), you’ll think about what brought you to exile. You’ll then choose to return to God and the ways in which He commanded you. And after you return to Him, with your heart and soul, he will bring you back, gathering you from the nations of the world. (30:1-3)
Then Moshe tells the people that “Even if your diaspora is at the ends of the heavens, God will gather you up from there and He will take you back.” (30:4) This promise is followed by an additional promise of prosperity even greater than those who were there before you, as you will have the opportunity to get closer and closer to God. This will assure your survival.
The idea that the diaspora will go to the ends of the heavens is clearly not meant to be taken literally. Ibn Ezra says the edge of the heavens refer to the edges as seen from the land of Israel – in other words, the horizon. But it isn’t always true that the word “Shamayim” equals “sky” as a direct translation. So what is Moshe telling the people about what will happen in the future? Where will they be coming from when they are returning to God?
The Alshikh’s perspective on this set of verses may help us understand more clearly.
The return to God, he explains, will take place in the Babylonian exile. Of course it can only come after the realization of how and why the exile came about in the first place. The return will reflect the Shir Hamaalot we often sing before Birkat Hamazon “when God returns those who return to Zion” as happened in the time of Cyrus, the Persian king who allowed the Jews to return to build the second Temple.
However, since the repentance was not complete at that time, the Redemption was incomplete. And it will remain incomplete until the exile that took place at the time of the destruction of the Second Temple is gathered in.
All this is straightforward. And then Alshikh explains that the reason the exile isn’t completely over is because all of the repentance will have come about only out of fear. Real repentance must come out of love of God. This is why the segment ends with verse 6, “God will remove the barriers from your hearts and from the hearts of your descendants, so that you will love God your Lord with all your heart and soul.”
Perhaps now we can begin to understand what the diaspora being at the ends of the heavens means. When we think about the word “heaven” with reference to our relationship with God, the Hebrew phrase that comes to mind is “Yirat Shamayim” – fear of heaven. The Alshikh is telling us that the key to achieving a complete and final redemption does not come from a relationship with God grounded in fear, but rather in a relationship with God that is guided by love.
And what does the last verse of the parsha say is the goal for our people in “choosing life?” You have “to love God your Lord, to obey Him, and to attach yourself to Him.”
We are living in a time when the old method of “fear of God” is met with resistance, cynicism, and rejection. While there are Jewish communities that are strong and that seem successful in transmitting their vaiues to the next generation, the idea of fear of God doesn’t always sell. As well it shouldn’t.
Our goal is to foster and create a feeling that we are to love our God. Which shouldn’t be so hard, right? We do say it every day in the Shema!
And yet, it is an overwhelming challenge. Of course, love of God should lead to a “reverence” (better word than “fear”) of Heaven. But it is this limbo state of being between connecting with God through fear (having our diaspora spread as far as heaven goes), and having our love truly reach the heavens, in which we find ourselves.
It’s easy to “choose” to love God. It is much more of a challenge to actually demonstrate that love. Of course, as Rav Dessler has pointed out, love is about giving. Once upon a time we would give to God through offerings and sacrifices. Now we have to find other ways to give to God. If we could only be blessed to love God through the different ways in which we sacrifice and give to Him, perhaps we will be blessed to not just have some of the Jewish population of the world gathered again in Israel (as it is now), but we will see a Final Redemption, well deserved, in which all the Jewish people will feel at home in the Promised Land.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
There are at least two reasons why Parshat Nitzavim is read before Rosh Hashana. Firstly, it talks about Teshuvah (repentance) (Biur Halacha 428: “9 Av”), and secondly, it serves as a buffer between the Tokhacha (Rebuke) of Ki Tavo and Rosh Hashana (see also Biur Halacha there).
Simply consider how chapter 30 begins: after you will have experienced the blessings and curses (as discussed in last week’s Torah portion), you’ll think about what brought you to exile. You’ll then choose to return to God and the ways in which He commanded you. And after you return to Him, with your heart and soul, he will bring you back, gathering you from the nations of the world. (30:1-3)
Then Moshe tells the people that “Even if your diaspora is at the ends of the heavens, God will gather you up from there and He will take you back.” (30:4) This promise is followed by an additional promise of prosperity even greater than those who were there before you, as you will have the opportunity to get closer and closer to God. This will assure your survival.
The idea that the diaspora will go to the ends of the heavens is clearly not meant to be taken literally. Ibn Ezra says the edge of the heavens refer to the edges as seen from the land of Israel – in other words, the horizon. But it isn’t always true that the word “Shamayim” equals “sky” as a direct translation. So what is Moshe telling the people about what will happen in the future? Where will they be coming from when they are returning to God?
The Alshikh’s perspective on this set of verses may help us understand more clearly.
The return to God, he explains, will take place in the Babylonian exile. Of course it can only come after the realization of how and why the exile came about in the first place. The return will reflect the Shir Hamaalot we often sing before Birkat Hamazon “when God returns those who return to Zion” as happened in the time of Cyrus, the Persian king who allowed the Jews to return to build the second Temple.
However, since the repentance was not complete at that time, the Redemption was incomplete. And it will remain incomplete until the exile that took place at the time of the destruction of the Second Temple is gathered in.
All this is straightforward. And then Alshikh explains that the reason the exile isn’t completely over is because all of the repentance will have come about only out of fear. Real repentance must come out of love of God. This is why the segment ends with verse 6, “God will remove the barriers from your hearts and from the hearts of your descendants, so that you will love God your Lord with all your heart and soul.”
Perhaps now we can begin to understand what the diaspora being at the ends of the heavens means. When we think about the word “heaven” with reference to our relationship with God, the Hebrew phrase that comes to mind is “Yirat Shamayim” – fear of heaven. The Alshikh is telling us that the key to achieving a complete and final redemption does not come from a relationship with God grounded in fear, but rather in a relationship with God that is guided by love.
And what does the last verse of the parsha say is the goal for our people in “choosing life?” You have “to love God your Lord, to obey Him, and to attach yourself to Him.”
We are living in a time when the old method of “fear of God” is met with resistance, cynicism, and rejection. While there are Jewish communities that are strong and that seem successful in transmitting their vaiues to the next generation, the idea of fear of God doesn’t always sell. As well it shouldn’t.
Our goal is to foster and create a feeling that we are to love our God. Which shouldn’t be so hard, right? We do say it every day in the Shema!
And yet, it is an overwhelming challenge. Of course, love of God should lead to a “reverence” (better word than “fear”) of Heaven. But it is this limbo state of being between connecting with God through fear (having our diaspora spread as far as heaven goes), and having our love truly reach the heavens, in which we find ourselves.
It’s easy to “choose” to love God. It is much more of a challenge to actually demonstrate that love. Of course, as Rav Dessler has pointed out, love is about giving. Once upon a time we would give to God through offerings and sacrifices. Now we have to find other ways to give to God. If we could only be blessed to love God through the different ways in which we sacrifice and give to Him, perhaps we will be blessed to not just have some of the Jewish population of the world gathered again in Israel (as it is now), but we will see a Final Redemption, well deserved, in which all the Jewish people will feel at home in the Promised Land.
Post Rosh Hashana - Is There a Plan For the Future?
Some of the following was part of my sermon on the first day of Rosh Hashana. Perhaps I'll post some of my "Shabbos Shuva Drasha" later.
Shabbos Shuva
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Though Rosh Hashana was Monday and Tuesday, it never hurts to look back on what we saw.
The Torah reading of the first day of Rosh Hashana begins at the point when Sarah is remembered. The Talmud tells us in several places that Sarah and Rachel and Chana were all remembered on Rosh Hashana. In the same breath, the Talmud tells us in Meseches Rosh Hashana that Yitzchak was born at Pesach time.
These dates, of course, are 6.5 months apart. So, barring any information coming to light that Yitzchak was born 3 months premature, we have a problem.
It is possible that he was a preemie. Moshe may have been 3 months premature as evidenced in how long his mother was able to hide him. But wouldn’t the Torah have told us if something were out of the ordinary (beyond that his parents were 100 and 90)?
It is also possible that Sarah only noticed her pregnancy at the end of trimester I because she hadn’t been menstruating anyway. Perhaps in this light she felt remembered at that specific time – on Rosh Hashana. And six months later, Yitzchak was born.
Is this really why we read this portion on Rosh Hashana? In all seriousness, there are other tales of Avraham’s and Sarah’s life which are so much more impressive.
I would suggest that for Avraham and Sarah, the birth of Yitzchak turned them into people with a new sense of purpose. They were now parents. They had so much more to live for than at any other time in their lives.
In Vayikra Rabba 29:12, we are told that on Rosh Hashana everyone is viewed as a new creature. New creations. With a new slate. Perhaps, with a new lease on life.
From Avraham’s and Sarah’s perspective, therefore, this reading is perfect for this day and this time period. Because what any individual has been through during the year no longer matters. What does matter is the current situation, in which a new book is being opened, and how do we see ourselves on that opening page?
Avraham and Sarah had been “old.” Now they were a young couple with a baby. She becomes like a tiger-mom, showing that no one will take advantage of her child.
There is one more piece to the puzzle that helps us understand the Rosh Hashana/new beginnings nature of this Torah portion. And that is the end of Bereshit 21, when Avimelekh appears to make a treaty. He says, “Swear to me here by God that you will not deal falsely with me, with my children, or with my grandchildren. Show to me and the land where you were an immigrant the same kindness that I have shown to you.”
Why would he think otherwise? Because his reality has also changed. Up until now, Avimelekh assumed that when Avraham died, his belongings would go to society. After all, if you have no heir, you can’t take it with you.
But now that Yitzchak has been born and Avraham has an apparent heir, Avimelekh’s destiny has changed as well. And so he realizes that a treaty is the only way he can secure the safety of his descendants.
And for us, the question is, where does our new reality lead us?
Are we adequately prepared for what is coming? Some changes are amazing! Some changes are devastating. Do we have a plan for the best, and for the worst?
In this coming year, many people will turn bar mitzvah and bat mitzvah. Do they know what kind of commitment and responsibility comes with coming of age?
Many people will get engaged and married. Do they know that the life to be lived after the wedding requires much more preparation and planning than does the wedding itself?
Many people will finish school. Do they know what they’re going to do with their degrees? How they’ll earn a living? Do they know that it is OK to pursue a trade (plumber, electrician) – as long as they’re doing something to earn a living?
Some people will get divorced. Is there a plan for how to make such a very difficult decision least difficult for everyone involved? If there are children, is there a plan for them? Has a pre-nup or post-nup agreement been signed, to assure the timely deliverance of a “get”?
Some people will die this year. Are burial plots already purchased? Have pre-need funeral arrangements been made? Does each spouse have the tools and abilities to function alone, or will the death of one inevitably lead to the death of the other (in one form or another)?
Some people will suffer injuries, car accidents, etc. Are there plans in place – health insurance, disability insurance, life insurance?
We never want to think things are out of our control. And hopefully the life changes that come our way are in the positive side of the equation. But we learn from Sarah and Avraham – remembered on Rosh Hashana – that all kinds of changes can happen. How we choose to operate when those changes come will make all the difference in how our lives will turn out in the coming year.
Shabbos Shuva
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Though Rosh Hashana was Monday and Tuesday, it never hurts to look back on what we saw.
The Torah reading of the first day of Rosh Hashana begins at the point when Sarah is remembered. The Talmud tells us in several places that Sarah and Rachel and Chana were all remembered on Rosh Hashana. In the same breath, the Talmud tells us in Meseches Rosh Hashana that Yitzchak was born at Pesach time.
These dates, of course, are 6.5 months apart. So, barring any information coming to light that Yitzchak was born 3 months premature, we have a problem.
It is possible that he was a preemie. Moshe may have been 3 months premature as evidenced in how long his mother was able to hide him. But wouldn’t the Torah have told us if something were out of the ordinary (beyond that his parents were 100 and 90)?
It is also possible that Sarah only noticed her pregnancy at the end of trimester I because she hadn’t been menstruating anyway. Perhaps in this light she felt remembered at that specific time – on Rosh Hashana. And six months later, Yitzchak was born.
Is this really why we read this portion on Rosh Hashana? In all seriousness, there are other tales of Avraham’s and Sarah’s life which are so much more impressive.
I would suggest that for Avraham and Sarah, the birth of Yitzchak turned them into people with a new sense of purpose. They were now parents. They had so much more to live for than at any other time in their lives.
In Vayikra Rabba 29:12, we are told that on Rosh Hashana everyone is viewed as a new creature. New creations. With a new slate. Perhaps, with a new lease on life.
From Avraham’s and Sarah’s perspective, therefore, this reading is perfect for this day and this time period. Because what any individual has been through during the year no longer matters. What does matter is the current situation, in which a new book is being opened, and how do we see ourselves on that opening page?
Avraham and Sarah had been “old.” Now they were a young couple with a baby. She becomes like a tiger-mom, showing that no one will take advantage of her child.
There is one more piece to the puzzle that helps us understand the Rosh Hashana/new beginnings nature of this Torah portion. And that is the end of Bereshit 21, when Avimelekh appears to make a treaty. He says, “Swear to me here by God that you will not deal falsely with me, with my children, or with my grandchildren. Show to me and the land where you were an immigrant the same kindness that I have shown to you.”
Why would he think otherwise? Because his reality has also changed. Up until now, Avimelekh assumed that when Avraham died, his belongings would go to society. After all, if you have no heir, you can’t take it with you.
But now that Yitzchak has been born and Avraham has an apparent heir, Avimelekh’s destiny has changed as well. And so he realizes that a treaty is the only way he can secure the safety of his descendants.
And for us, the question is, where does our new reality lead us?
Are we adequately prepared for what is coming? Some changes are amazing! Some changes are devastating. Do we have a plan for the best, and for the worst?
In this coming year, many people will turn bar mitzvah and bat mitzvah. Do they know what kind of commitment and responsibility comes with coming of age?
Many people will get engaged and married. Do they know that the life to be lived after the wedding requires much more preparation and planning than does the wedding itself?
Many people will finish school. Do they know what they’re going to do with their degrees? How they’ll earn a living? Do they know that it is OK to pursue a trade (plumber, electrician) – as long as they’re doing something to earn a living?
Some people will get divorced. Is there a plan for how to make such a very difficult decision least difficult for everyone involved? If there are children, is there a plan for them? Has a pre-nup or post-nup agreement been signed, to assure the timely deliverance of a “get”?
Some people will die this year. Are burial plots already purchased? Have pre-need funeral arrangements been made? Does each spouse have the tools and abilities to function alone, or will the death of one inevitably lead to the death of the other (in one form or another)?
Some people will suffer injuries, car accidents, etc. Are there plans in place – health insurance, disability insurance, life insurance?
We never want to think things are out of our control. And hopefully the life changes that come our way are in the positive side of the equation. But we learn from Sarah and Avraham – remembered on Rosh Hashana – that all kinds of changes can happen. How we choose to operate when those changes come will make all the difference in how our lives will turn out in the coming year.
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Making the Most of Life, Or Dropping the Ball....
Parshat Ki Tavo
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Twice in Devarim 9 Moshe mentions that he was up on the mountain for 40 days during which time “I did not eat bread and I did not drink water.” It would seem that this would be part of Moshe’s formula to getting close to God – cut out fluids and carbs for a period of 40 days, and God will be right there with you as you learn the Torah.
Strangely enough, Moshe uses very similar language immediately after the Tokhacha (The Great Rebuke of chapter 28) when he addresses the generation about to enter the Promised Land. “I led you through the wilderness for 40 years… bread you did not eat, you did not drink wine or other alcohol, so that you will know that I am Hashem, your God.” (29:4-5)
I wonder if this is Moshe’s way of telling the people, “You’ve accomplished a lot in 40 years.” Is he suggesting that in 40 years they learned and covered what he had learned and accomplished over 40 days? It certainly is an interesting perspective, supported at least on one level by the parallel in the text.
There is an additional concern, however, which stems from the opening verse of Chapter 29. Moshe tells the people “You saw all that God did before your eyes in Egypt to Pharaoh, his servants, and his country (lit. land, though Malbim explains this to refer to his citizens). All the great miracles your eyes have seen, the signs and the great wonders.”
What is he talking about? Who saw? Moshe has been saying over and over that he is talking to the next generation, that “your parents are dead” etc. So if those who left Egypt are gone, how could Moshe be talking to them?
Ibn Ezra notes that some of them saw the wonders of Egypt, and all of them have seen the wonders of the Manna, as well as the defeat of Sichon and Og. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch adds to this list reminding us that the decree to die in the wilderness was not applied to the tribe of Levi, nor to women, nor to the group that was under age 20 at the time of the Spies incident. Therefore Moshe is, in fact, speaking to many people who witnessed the miracles of Egypt in Egypt.
Malbim is a little more esoteric, noting that Moshe is reminding everyone that what happened in Egypt was strictly God’s way of showing that He does take account of every person’s actions, to give each individual what they have coming to them. Pharaoh, for example, was in his own domain, pushing his own agenda, so he was responsible for his own recalcitrance. Pharaoh’s servants had the opportunity to appeal to Pharaoh to be more beneficent towards the Israelites. The common citizens were to blame for adding difficulties to the plight of the Israelites, contributing to their pain, rather than being righteous gentiles who could have eased the difficulties encumbering the Israelites from having an easier life.
This is an important lesson in seeing life for what it is, rather than playing blame games we so often see people play. Instead of trying to work through problems and difficulties and look and move forward, we try to analyze why something failed, who should be blamed, who needs to take the fall. It may be important in business and politics, but in real life, people need to continue living with one another. So how do we move on?
In his Panim Yafot, R’ Pinchas HaLevi Horowitz has a completely unique perspective, which actually takes the opposite perspective of my original assertion made from a parallel to Moshe’s not having consumed bread for 40 days. Not that they accomplished, but that their 40 years were the ultimate missed opportunity.
He says “Moshe was reproving them for not having been diligent in trying to understand the Torah until the time they were entering Israel, which would naturally elevate their capacity for wisdom (based on Bava Bathra 158b)… At a time when they had no need to concern themselves with their physical needs, because Manna was given to them and their clothing did not need laundering or repair (talk about the ultimate Kollel stipend!) they did not concern themselves with becoming great scholars of Torah.”
And so we’re left with two questions to consider. One – are we the blaming type, or do we concern ourselves with how to address issues? Two – do those of us who have the opportunity to utilize our time for Torah study and getting closer to God actually capitalize on such opportunities?
In one way or another, Moshe is addressing ALL of the Jewish people. Even though many of the people he spoke to had been in Egypt, many more had not been there. Moshe was telling them that no matter how you look at it, this is your story. So all the excuses “I got caught up in something… was reading an article… one more youtube video… the game was on… I can’t help myself when it’s the West Wing… needed to comment on a Facebook post, etc.” are just avoiding facing the problems head on. We need to prioritize where we want to be and what we need to accomplish. When we do that, we can proudly look to Moshe and say that our 40 years of no bread and wine were ones of great accomplishment, because we were mimicking what you did in establishing your connection with God, when you were at the top of Mt. Sinai.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Twice in Devarim 9 Moshe mentions that he was up on the mountain for 40 days during which time “I did not eat bread and I did not drink water.” It would seem that this would be part of Moshe’s formula to getting close to God – cut out fluids and carbs for a period of 40 days, and God will be right there with you as you learn the Torah.
Strangely enough, Moshe uses very similar language immediately after the Tokhacha (The Great Rebuke of chapter 28) when he addresses the generation about to enter the Promised Land. “I led you through the wilderness for 40 years… bread you did not eat, you did not drink wine or other alcohol, so that you will know that I am Hashem, your God.” (29:4-5)
I wonder if this is Moshe’s way of telling the people, “You’ve accomplished a lot in 40 years.” Is he suggesting that in 40 years they learned and covered what he had learned and accomplished over 40 days? It certainly is an interesting perspective, supported at least on one level by the parallel in the text.
There is an additional concern, however, which stems from the opening verse of Chapter 29. Moshe tells the people “You saw all that God did before your eyes in Egypt to Pharaoh, his servants, and his country (lit. land, though Malbim explains this to refer to his citizens). All the great miracles your eyes have seen, the signs and the great wonders.”
What is he talking about? Who saw? Moshe has been saying over and over that he is talking to the next generation, that “your parents are dead” etc. So if those who left Egypt are gone, how could Moshe be talking to them?
Ibn Ezra notes that some of them saw the wonders of Egypt, and all of them have seen the wonders of the Manna, as well as the defeat of Sichon and Og. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch adds to this list reminding us that the decree to die in the wilderness was not applied to the tribe of Levi, nor to women, nor to the group that was under age 20 at the time of the Spies incident. Therefore Moshe is, in fact, speaking to many people who witnessed the miracles of Egypt in Egypt.
Malbim is a little more esoteric, noting that Moshe is reminding everyone that what happened in Egypt was strictly God’s way of showing that He does take account of every person’s actions, to give each individual what they have coming to them. Pharaoh, for example, was in his own domain, pushing his own agenda, so he was responsible for his own recalcitrance. Pharaoh’s servants had the opportunity to appeal to Pharaoh to be more beneficent towards the Israelites. The common citizens were to blame for adding difficulties to the plight of the Israelites, contributing to their pain, rather than being righteous gentiles who could have eased the difficulties encumbering the Israelites from having an easier life.
This is an important lesson in seeing life for what it is, rather than playing blame games we so often see people play. Instead of trying to work through problems and difficulties and look and move forward, we try to analyze why something failed, who should be blamed, who needs to take the fall. It may be important in business and politics, but in real life, people need to continue living with one another. So how do we move on?
In his Panim Yafot, R’ Pinchas HaLevi Horowitz has a completely unique perspective, which actually takes the opposite perspective of my original assertion made from a parallel to Moshe’s not having consumed bread for 40 days. Not that they accomplished, but that their 40 years were the ultimate missed opportunity.
He says “Moshe was reproving them for not having been diligent in trying to understand the Torah until the time they were entering Israel, which would naturally elevate their capacity for wisdom (based on Bava Bathra 158b)… At a time when they had no need to concern themselves with their physical needs, because Manna was given to them and their clothing did not need laundering or repair (talk about the ultimate Kollel stipend!) they did not concern themselves with becoming great scholars of Torah.”
And so we’re left with two questions to consider. One – are we the blaming type, or do we concern ourselves with how to address issues? Two – do those of us who have the opportunity to utilize our time for Torah study and getting closer to God actually capitalize on such opportunities?
In one way or another, Moshe is addressing ALL of the Jewish people. Even though many of the people he spoke to had been in Egypt, many more had not been there. Moshe was telling them that no matter how you look at it, this is your story. So all the excuses “I got caught up in something… was reading an article… one more youtube video… the game was on… I can’t help myself when it’s the West Wing… needed to comment on a Facebook post, etc.” are just avoiding facing the problems head on. We need to prioritize where we want to be and what we need to accomplish. When we do that, we can proudly look to Moshe and say that our 40 years of no bread and wine were ones of great accomplishment, because we were mimicking what you did in establishing your connection with God, when you were at the top of Mt. Sinai.
Monday, September 12, 2016
Take Your Judaism Seriously? Then it's time to OPT IN
Parshat Ki Tetze
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When I was in high school, one of my teachers was fond of asking us, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The answer he was always looking for was, “I want to be an eved Hashem – a servant of God.”
The truth is, for the Jew who takes Judaism seriously, this is the only answer we should be able to give with certainty. People change careers all the time. Some professions are not for everybody. I know of lawyers who have left their field to go into rabbinics, rabbis who have made the opposite move, and trained doctors who have dropped everything to pursue careers in business and entrepreneurship.
I’ve heard a fair dose of “inspirational speakers” in my life. And one question they often present is “Do you keep all 613 mitzvos?” For a person looking to be an "eved Hashem" it's a good question to consider. However, doing so is actually impossible for a number of reasons. Firstly, without a Temple in Jerusalem, more than half the commandments of the Torah cannot be fulfilled. Secondly, some mitzvoth of the Torah are only for men, some only for women, some only for a king, some only for kohanim (priests), etc. Thirdly, some of the mitzvoth of the Torah can be fit into a category of what I call “optional.”
For example, in last week’s Torah portion, one can argue that the way the appointment of a king is presented, it is optional to have a king (17:14-15). (I know most mitzvah-list codifiers present it as obligatory.) Two weeks ago, we were informed that “when you decide you want to eat meat, here is how you prepare it.” There is no mitzvah to slaughter an animal “just because” – only if you intend to eat it (or for a sacrifice…)
This week we read of the case of the “y’fat to’ar” – the woman from an enemy nation who is captured during a war and brought home to possibly become the paramour of the soldier who takes her. There is no mitzvah to take her home. But should the soldier succumb to his desires and passions, the Torah tell us he has the option to take her home if he follows the instructions outlined in the text.
Towards the end of our parsha we find another mitzvah which is “optional” as it is only for those who end their marriages through divorce – the writing of a “get.” (24:1) Of course, when a marriage ends, the “get” is not optional, but one need not purposely get divorced just to fulfill this mitzvah. I would argue that most people would prefer to not make this mitzvah obligatory, as divorce is usually a last resort after all options have been exhausted.
So what are we left with? I have a list of over 50 mitzvot that can be couched this way including, from this week’s portion, putting tzitzit on clothes – you have the option to never wear a four cornered garment (22:19), and from last week’s portion, the mitzvah for the blood redeemer (a relative) to kill a murderer – he is not obligated to avenge the blood of his relative (19:6,12). He may choose to let the murderer live.
Particularly in our world where “free choice” and individualism is so heavily emphasized, anyone can choose to fulfill any mitzvah or neglect it. Some choose to never keep kosher or readily violate the rules. Some ignore Shabbos. Some never wear tefillin. I see many men who ignore the rules of shaving the corner of the head (leaving payot), and I know there are men who shave with a razor.
But what is most disturbing is the manner in which people are content with where they are in their Jewish experience, thinking they know what they need to know, thinking their level of observance is sufficient, thinking they’ve reached the height of their spiritual journey.
I see this in kids who are uninitiated. Whether they are uninspired by their teachers, or their parents have dropped the ball. Or, perhaps in some cases, the kids are difficult. But with all the preparation that goes into bar and bat mitzvah celebrations, not to mention the expense in many cases, how could there be a young man over age 13 who doesn’t go to minyan 3 times a day? In all honesty, until she becomes a mother, how could there be a young woman over 12 – in our women’s lib world – who doesn’t go to minyan 3 times a day? What are we celebrating and dancing for if it’s all about the party and not about the Jewish life that is to be lived continuing immediately from training that has brought the child to this moment?
How is it that children don’t feel a minimal sense of responsibility to learn more about their heritage, to put time into their growth as a Jew, to not plateau at bar or bat mitzvah but to grow way above and beyond whatever was done “in preparation” for the big day?
How do committed Jewish adults attend no classes, have no chavrutot (study sessions), sleep through or walk out of sermons, and show up to prayers – late yet – only on Shabbos morning, and not even Shabbos afternoon? Where else does one need to be on Shabbos?
Rosh Hashana is fast approaching. It is time to distinguish between the optional mitzvoth that we need not pursue versus those that define our lives as Jews day in and day out. And which are very definitely not "optional."
If each of us is to live up to our mandate of being an “eved Hashem” – a servant of God – we ought to take the steps necessary to become the best servants we can possible be.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When I was in high school, one of my teachers was fond of asking us, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The answer he was always looking for was, “I want to be an eved Hashem – a servant of God.”
The truth is, for the Jew who takes Judaism seriously, this is the only answer we should be able to give with certainty. People change careers all the time. Some professions are not for everybody. I know of lawyers who have left their field to go into rabbinics, rabbis who have made the opposite move, and trained doctors who have dropped everything to pursue careers in business and entrepreneurship.
I’ve heard a fair dose of “inspirational speakers” in my life. And one question they often present is “Do you keep all 613 mitzvos?” For a person looking to be an "eved Hashem" it's a good question to consider. However, doing so is actually impossible for a number of reasons. Firstly, without a Temple in Jerusalem, more than half the commandments of the Torah cannot be fulfilled. Secondly, some mitzvoth of the Torah are only for men, some only for women, some only for a king, some only for kohanim (priests), etc. Thirdly, some of the mitzvoth of the Torah can be fit into a category of what I call “optional.”
For example, in last week’s Torah portion, one can argue that the way the appointment of a king is presented, it is optional to have a king (17:14-15). (I know most mitzvah-list codifiers present it as obligatory.) Two weeks ago, we were informed that “when you decide you want to eat meat, here is how you prepare it.” There is no mitzvah to slaughter an animal “just because” – only if you intend to eat it (or for a sacrifice…)
This week we read of the case of the “y’fat to’ar” – the woman from an enemy nation who is captured during a war and brought home to possibly become the paramour of the soldier who takes her. There is no mitzvah to take her home. But should the soldier succumb to his desires and passions, the Torah tell us he has the option to take her home if he follows the instructions outlined in the text.
Towards the end of our parsha we find another mitzvah which is “optional” as it is only for those who end their marriages through divorce – the writing of a “get.” (24:1) Of course, when a marriage ends, the “get” is not optional, but one need not purposely get divorced just to fulfill this mitzvah. I would argue that most people would prefer to not make this mitzvah obligatory, as divorce is usually a last resort after all options have been exhausted.
So what are we left with? I have a list of over 50 mitzvot that can be couched this way including, from this week’s portion, putting tzitzit on clothes – you have the option to never wear a four cornered garment (22:19), and from last week’s portion, the mitzvah for the blood redeemer (a relative) to kill a murderer – he is not obligated to avenge the blood of his relative (19:6,12). He may choose to let the murderer live.
Particularly in our world where “free choice” and individualism is so heavily emphasized, anyone can choose to fulfill any mitzvah or neglect it. Some choose to never keep kosher or readily violate the rules. Some ignore Shabbos. Some never wear tefillin. I see many men who ignore the rules of shaving the corner of the head (leaving payot), and I know there are men who shave with a razor.
But what is most disturbing is the manner in which people are content with where they are in their Jewish experience, thinking they know what they need to know, thinking their level of observance is sufficient, thinking they’ve reached the height of their spiritual journey.
I see this in kids who are uninitiated. Whether they are uninspired by their teachers, or their parents have dropped the ball. Or, perhaps in some cases, the kids are difficult. But with all the preparation that goes into bar and bat mitzvah celebrations, not to mention the expense in many cases, how could there be a young man over age 13 who doesn’t go to minyan 3 times a day? In all honesty, until she becomes a mother, how could there be a young woman over 12 – in our women’s lib world – who doesn’t go to minyan 3 times a day? What are we celebrating and dancing for if it’s all about the party and not about the Jewish life that is to be lived continuing immediately from training that has brought the child to this moment?
How is it that children don’t feel a minimal sense of responsibility to learn more about their heritage, to put time into their growth as a Jew, to not plateau at bar or bat mitzvah but to grow way above and beyond whatever was done “in preparation” for the big day?
How do committed Jewish adults attend no classes, have no chavrutot (study sessions), sleep through or walk out of sermons, and show up to prayers – late yet – only on Shabbos morning, and not even Shabbos afternoon? Where else does one need to be on Shabbos?
Rosh Hashana is fast approaching. It is time to distinguish between the optional mitzvoth that we need not pursue versus those that define our lives as Jews day in and day out. And which are very definitely not "optional."
If each of us is to live up to our mandate of being an “eved Hashem” – a servant of God – we ought to take the steps necessary to become the best servants we can possible be.
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Can't Go To War Without Reaching the Beginning
Parshat Shoftim
by Rabbi Avi Billet
A man who builds a new house, plants a vineyard or who betrothed himself to a woman, in each case without enjoying the next stage – living in the house, redeeming the first crop, or actually marrying the woman – is exempt from battle in a “milchemet r’shut,” a non-defensive war, a war that is not commanded, such as against Amalek. (20:5-8)
These three categories are rounded out with the ultimate person who does not belong on the battlefield, the person who is afraid.
While we can understand why the fearful person should go home, his attitude could potentially be infectious thus debilitating to his squadron, the other three require more attention.
One might assume the builder, planter and nearly married are exempt because their mind is elsewhere. They are thinking about their house, vineyard, fiancé and can’t do justice to the battlefield. Ibn Ezra suggests that in the heat of the battle, this person may run from the battlefield because his interests are back home and not in facing the enemy before him. This attitude would be more understandable, however, in a person who knows what he is missing because he is living in the house, knows how good his vineyard is, and truly loves his wife, and children, if he has children.
One might argue that the person who understands what he has on the line, what he stands to lose if the battle goes the wrong way may be better equipped to fight intelligently. The novice in homemaking, vineyard tending or marriage will have less of an idea of what is at stake, as each new life-project is merely a dream he hopes to live out, and thus he might be a little more foolish, and possibly dangerous to himself and others on the battlefield.
The Talmud claims the merits of the builder, planter, and betrothed are less than those of others, and in a war controlled by divine providence (overseeing natural events), they may be more prone to being killed. (Sotah 43a-b)
The odd thing is, though, that the only thing the three people have in common is their beginning a new project in life. The builder could be moving his family from a smaller house to a bigger house. The planter may have many fields, but this is a new vineyard to add to his multitudes. And the betrothed could be on the precipice of a second marriage, or perhaps even taking a second wife (in Biblical times polygamy was permissible – see Abraham, Jacob, Elkanah, many kings).
The Torah says the reason each one should not go out to war is not because of fear, nor because of a lack of merits, nor because of inexperience in battle. The person may very well have a family he is looking to protect, wealth he is otherwise looking to enjoy or make good use of, or he has been married (or currently is married to another woman). The reason is because “perhaps he will die and another man will [take his house, vineyard or fiancé for himself.]”
As any person who goes out to war may die, it seems that the number one concern is that another man may take his property, not death. Midrashic literature refers to this man as a “nokhri” – a stranger. Whether this stranger is a Jew he does not know or a non-Jew is unclear, but since the law is raised in the context of Jews living in the land of Israel, we can assume it refers to a Jew he does not know.
So what is so terrible? We know war is horrible, and the consequences in the human realm – death, maiming, permanent physical or emotional damage – are most undesirable. But it is a reality those who engage in warfare know they must face. Try as we might not to think about it, it happens. The outcome of death in battle is that a person is no longer around to protect his assets and interests. What makes this fear, losing one’s assets to a stranger, the cause for turning soldiers into workmen who repair roads and bring food to the fighters in lieu of fighting? (Mishnah Sotah 8:2)
The Talmud (Sotah 44a) suggests the order of people involved in new life endeavors who are exempt from war as presented is meant to teach a way of life. Build a home, then begin working and maintaining an income, then marry – in that order. For practical reasons, of course. This is an important lesson, but it does not answer our question.
For a person starting out, not being able to even embark on an adventure, losing one’s assets to a stranger, combine to give a person a tremendous sense of loss and depression. Of course if a person dies in battle, the person will not have such feelings. But if a goal of ours is to leave our mark on this earth so our life seems meaningful beyond our own mortal existence, humans need to feel, at the very least, “I started a project and brought it to its point of beginning. Not only did I build the house, I started to live in it. Not only did I plant the vine, I was able to benefit from its fruit. Not only did I meet the right person, I married and began to build a Jewish home.” Until we can feel that completion of the beginning of a new task, we can not comfortably go out to war.
We need to feel we have taken something beyond the base level to make the accomplishment our own. This is not something we want others to do.
“I introduced the couple and helped them talk to each other.” “I helped raise money for a cause, and personally delivered the check and watched the money be put to good use.” “I came up with the idea, got the ball rolling and set things in motion for the next person to take over.”
With this attitude prevailing, “My mission can be taken over by someone else for I have done my part and left it open for such change,” anyone can be comfortable going out to war.
Of course, we are left with a question - one for which I don't have a good answer. And sadly, it has been a reality too often in Israel's most recent wars. If the man who hasn't yet lived with his betrothed must go home, it stands to reason that if he has lived with her, he may go out to war. And if he should fall in battle - what then? He may have achieved his goal of getting his beginnings to move along, but what of his young widow? What becomes of her and her dreams, which have now been shattered to millions of pieces? I don't know...
by Rabbi Avi Billet
A man who builds a new house, plants a vineyard or who betrothed himself to a woman, in each case without enjoying the next stage – living in the house, redeeming the first crop, or actually marrying the woman – is exempt from battle in a “milchemet r’shut,” a non-defensive war, a war that is not commanded, such as against Amalek. (20:5-8)
These three categories are rounded out with the ultimate person who does not belong on the battlefield, the person who is afraid.
While we can understand why the fearful person should go home, his attitude could potentially be infectious thus debilitating to his squadron, the other three require more attention.
One might assume the builder, planter and nearly married are exempt because their mind is elsewhere. They are thinking about their house, vineyard, fiancé and can’t do justice to the battlefield. Ibn Ezra suggests that in the heat of the battle, this person may run from the battlefield because his interests are back home and not in facing the enemy before him. This attitude would be more understandable, however, in a person who knows what he is missing because he is living in the house, knows how good his vineyard is, and truly loves his wife, and children, if he has children.
One might argue that the person who understands what he has on the line, what he stands to lose if the battle goes the wrong way may be better equipped to fight intelligently. The novice in homemaking, vineyard tending or marriage will have less of an idea of what is at stake, as each new life-project is merely a dream he hopes to live out, and thus he might be a little more foolish, and possibly dangerous to himself and others on the battlefield.
The Talmud claims the merits of the builder, planter, and betrothed are less than those of others, and in a war controlled by divine providence (overseeing natural events), they may be more prone to being killed. (Sotah 43a-b)
The odd thing is, though, that the only thing the three people have in common is their beginning a new project in life. The builder could be moving his family from a smaller house to a bigger house. The planter may have many fields, but this is a new vineyard to add to his multitudes. And the betrothed could be on the precipice of a second marriage, or perhaps even taking a second wife (in Biblical times polygamy was permissible – see Abraham, Jacob, Elkanah, many kings).
The Torah says the reason each one should not go out to war is not because of fear, nor because of a lack of merits, nor because of inexperience in battle. The person may very well have a family he is looking to protect, wealth he is otherwise looking to enjoy or make good use of, or he has been married (or currently is married to another woman). The reason is because “perhaps he will die and another man will [take his house, vineyard or fiancé for himself.]”
As any person who goes out to war may die, it seems that the number one concern is that another man may take his property, not death. Midrashic literature refers to this man as a “nokhri” – a stranger. Whether this stranger is a Jew he does not know or a non-Jew is unclear, but since the law is raised in the context of Jews living in the land of Israel, we can assume it refers to a Jew he does not know.
So what is so terrible? We know war is horrible, and the consequences in the human realm – death, maiming, permanent physical or emotional damage – are most undesirable. But it is a reality those who engage in warfare know they must face. Try as we might not to think about it, it happens. The outcome of death in battle is that a person is no longer around to protect his assets and interests. What makes this fear, losing one’s assets to a stranger, the cause for turning soldiers into workmen who repair roads and bring food to the fighters in lieu of fighting? (Mishnah Sotah 8:2)
The Talmud (Sotah 44a) suggests the order of people involved in new life endeavors who are exempt from war as presented is meant to teach a way of life. Build a home, then begin working and maintaining an income, then marry – in that order. For practical reasons, of course. This is an important lesson, but it does not answer our question.
For a person starting out, not being able to even embark on an adventure, losing one’s assets to a stranger, combine to give a person a tremendous sense of loss and depression. Of course if a person dies in battle, the person will not have such feelings. But if a goal of ours is to leave our mark on this earth so our life seems meaningful beyond our own mortal existence, humans need to feel, at the very least, “I started a project and brought it to its point of beginning. Not only did I build the house, I started to live in it. Not only did I plant the vine, I was able to benefit from its fruit. Not only did I meet the right person, I married and began to build a Jewish home.” Until we can feel that completion of the beginning of a new task, we can not comfortably go out to war.
We need to feel we have taken something beyond the base level to make the accomplishment our own. This is not something we want others to do.
“I introduced the couple and helped them talk to each other.” “I helped raise money for a cause, and personally delivered the check and watched the money be put to good use.” “I came up with the idea, got the ball rolling and set things in motion for the next person to take over.”
With this attitude prevailing, “My mission can be taken over by someone else for I have done my part and left it open for such change,” anyone can be comfortable going out to war.
Of course, we are left with a question - one for which I don't have a good answer. And sadly, it has been a reality too often in Israel's most recent wars. If the man who hasn't yet lived with his betrothed must go home, it stands to reason that if he has lived with her, he may go out to war. And if he should fall in battle - what then? He may have achieved his goal of getting his beginnings to move along, but what of his young widow? What becomes of her and her dreams, which have now been shattered to millions of pieces? I don't know...
Friday, September 2, 2016
From Zero to One to Double Joy on Holidays
Parshat Re'eh
by Rabbi Avi Billet
The end of Parshat Re’eh is one of the few times in the Torah that the holidays are presented. Quite noticeable is the instruction to be joyous on the holiday, a point noted once for Shavuot (16:11), and twice for Sukkot (16:14-15). Chagiga 1:2 (Jerusalem Talmud) says that this reference to rejoicing refers to the joy over peace offerings – a related note to how the Talmud elsewhere defines joy as the consumption of meat. Shlamim (peace offerings) are not brought on Pesach (Passover) because they include an offering of bread.
Which is all fine and good. But the fact of the matter is that even those who do not eat or who do not prefer meat are instructed to rejoice! So the command to be joyous on the festival should extend to Pesach as well!
I once heard an explanation that all of the preparation for Pesach is a burden, so there is nothing to be joyous about. But this explanation is silly for many reasons. Firstly it is not objectively true. Second, there are many people who love the preparation for Pesach. Third, there is a heavy emphasis on joy in other areas of our Pesach experience.
Certainly God did not take us out of Egypt and smite the biblical Egyptians so that we can spend $50,000 on a Pesach program. But if that’s what makes people happy, no absence of the word “simcha” in the Torah is going to get in anyone’s way of doing just that.
There is an approach to the concept of Simcha on the holidays which is outlined by some of the commentaries. Using the ideas of R’Yosef B’Chor Shor, the Hadar Zekenim and Baal HaTurim, we’ll create a full picture of how to define Simcha relative to the holidays.
The holiday of Pesach is largely focused on remembering the exodus from Egypt and all the miracles associated with that event. However, at Pesach time we do not yet have the joy that comes from bringing in the wheat. Even though there may have been contributions to the poor from the barley crop – a point of joy – the joy remains incomplete.
When Shavuot comes, and the wheat has been harvested, there is an automatic joy which is not present at the incomplete circumstance of Pesach’s work. So God says “now you can rejoice because the winter crop is complete.”
However, the wine is still in the grapes – the completion of one’s crop pre-winter is not yet done. There is still what to look forward to. But once Sukkot is upon us, and the fruits of the trees are ready and already gathered into the home, and one’s work is truly done for the season, then a person can sit back and truly enjoy – doubly enjoy the fruits of one’s labors.
It seems therefore that it isn’t a matter of an inherent simcha associated with one holiday over the other. There is a progression which follows the seasons of the year, the agricultural cycle, and the completion of work, which contribute to a person’s joy.
This experience is lost on we who do not live in an agrarian society. But maybe as the holidays come upon us at their appointed times in our calendar, we can find a way to feel “my work is done. I can enjoy the holiday.” Joy should not be a feeling we reach or achieve only because we have a commandment. Though, perhaps for some, the only way they can come to joy on a holiday, through all the stress of life, is because there is a commandment.
Remember that in 28:47, in the big rebuke of Parshat Ki Tavo, we are told that one of the main reasons for the curses to come upon us is “on account of your not having served God with joy.”
Whether we are bringing in harvests, big cash payouts, or simply a steady and adequate paycheck, we should be able to find joy at every holiday because “my work is done” and I can enjoy the holiday with my family, and with those in my life that help make every day meaningful and special.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
The end of Parshat Re’eh is one of the few times in the Torah that the holidays are presented. Quite noticeable is the instruction to be joyous on the holiday, a point noted once for Shavuot (16:11), and twice for Sukkot (16:14-15). Chagiga 1:2 (Jerusalem Talmud) says that this reference to rejoicing refers to the joy over peace offerings – a related note to how the Talmud elsewhere defines joy as the consumption of meat. Shlamim (peace offerings) are not brought on Pesach (Passover) because they include an offering of bread.
Which is all fine and good. But the fact of the matter is that even those who do not eat or who do not prefer meat are instructed to rejoice! So the command to be joyous on the festival should extend to Pesach as well!
I once heard an explanation that all of the preparation for Pesach is a burden, so there is nothing to be joyous about. But this explanation is silly for many reasons. Firstly it is not objectively true. Second, there are many people who love the preparation for Pesach. Third, there is a heavy emphasis on joy in other areas of our Pesach experience.
Certainly God did not take us out of Egypt and smite the biblical Egyptians so that we can spend $50,000 on a Pesach program. But if that’s what makes people happy, no absence of the word “simcha” in the Torah is going to get in anyone’s way of doing just that.
There is an approach to the concept of Simcha on the holidays which is outlined by some of the commentaries. Using the ideas of R’Yosef B’Chor Shor, the Hadar Zekenim and Baal HaTurim, we’ll create a full picture of how to define Simcha relative to the holidays.
The holiday of Pesach is largely focused on remembering the exodus from Egypt and all the miracles associated with that event. However, at Pesach time we do not yet have the joy that comes from bringing in the wheat. Even though there may have been contributions to the poor from the barley crop – a point of joy – the joy remains incomplete.
When Shavuot comes, and the wheat has been harvested, there is an automatic joy which is not present at the incomplete circumstance of Pesach’s work. So God says “now you can rejoice because the winter crop is complete.”
However, the wine is still in the grapes – the completion of one’s crop pre-winter is not yet done. There is still what to look forward to. But once Sukkot is upon us, and the fruits of the trees are ready and already gathered into the home, and one’s work is truly done for the season, then a person can sit back and truly enjoy – doubly enjoy the fruits of one’s labors.
It seems therefore that it isn’t a matter of an inherent simcha associated with one holiday over the other. There is a progression which follows the seasons of the year, the agricultural cycle, and the completion of work, which contribute to a person’s joy.
This experience is lost on we who do not live in an agrarian society. But maybe as the holidays come upon us at their appointed times in our calendar, we can find a way to feel “my work is done. I can enjoy the holiday.” Joy should not be a feeling we reach or achieve only because we have a commandment. Though, perhaps for some, the only way they can come to joy on a holiday, through all the stress of life, is because there is a commandment.
Remember that in 28:47, in the big rebuke of Parshat Ki Tavo, we are told that one of the main reasons for the curses to come upon us is “on account of your not having served God with joy.”
Whether we are bringing in harvests, big cash payouts, or simply a steady and adequate paycheck, we should be able to find joy at every holiday because “my work is done” and I can enjoy the holiday with my family, and with those in my life that help make every day meaningful and special.
Monday, August 29, 2016
Listening to God, the Shema, and Cellphones in Shul
Eikev Sermon: "If it's all about hearing, are we listening to the right things?"
Rabbi Avi Billet
It’s an incredible study in psychology, sociology, culture, history, theology, as well as a considerable number of “ism”s that I couldn’t even name as I’m not much of a sociologist or a philosopher.
Nechama Leibowitz would often tell her students to look for the “milah mancha” – the root word that appears several times within a section of text – to bring out a focus of that particular text, and to perhaps come up with a theme for a group of verses.
While I chose to utilize the entire parsha for this particular experiment, a little more broad than Morah Nechama’s typically-sized text, I found that over the course of the parsha, the root word שמע appears 9 times.
The first two appearances are in the opening of the parsha and at the closing verse of Chapter 8 – when Moshe begins saying “והיה עקב תשמעון” – if you listen to God, good things will happen; this thought is brought to its rational conclusion at the end of chapter 8 when, after describing some bad things which may happen, Moshe blames this reality on עֵ֚קֶב לֹ֣א תִשמעוּן בְּק֖וֹל יְקֹוָ֥ק אֱלֹהֵיכֶֽם.
Chapter 9 begins with a call out to Israel to listen – which of course sounds exactly like שמע ישראל (same words are used, in fact) and for Bnei Yisrael to realize that their participation in the conquest of the land is highly dependent on their heeding this instruction – what to listen to, what to listen for, as we are developing ourselves as a people, as a nation, and as individuals under God.
You have HEARD, for example, about the huge nations in the land – do remember that your God will plow out a path before you.
Moshe describes how after the Golden Calf he was forced to return up the mountain for 40 days, during which time God “Heard me” and agreed not to destroy the nation. In contrast, a few verses later, in a slight tangent, Moshe notes how you – the Bnei Yisrael – did NOT listen to Hashem through some of the trials they faced in the wilderness.
He continues going back to the moments when he brought down the second tablets, how it came at the culmination of another 40 day period on the mountain. And how God “listened to me” and withdrew from His wrath he had intended to unleash upon the people at that time. This is the lead-in to the people hearing the most important instructions we find in our Parsha - (יב) וְעַתָּה֙ יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל מָ֚ה יְקֹוָ֣ק אֱלֹהֶ֔יךָ שֹׁאֵ֖ל מֵעִמָּ֑ךְ כִּ֣י אִם־לְ֠יִרְאָה אֶת־יְקֹוָ֨ק אֱלֹהֶ֜יךָ לָלֶ֤כֶת בְּכָל־דְּרָכָיו֙ וּלְאַהֲבָ֣ה אֹת֔וֹ וְלַֽעֲבֹד֙ אֶת־יְקֹוָ֣ק אֱלֹהֶ֔יךָ בְּכָל־לְבָבְךָ֖ וּבְכָל־נַפְשֶֽׁךָ: (יג) לִשְׁמֹ֞ר אֶת־מִצְוֹ֤ת יְקֹוָק֙ וְאֶת־חֻקֹּתָ֔יו אֲשֶׁ֛ר אָנֹכִ֥י מְצַוְּךָ֖ הַיּ֑וֹם לְט֖וֹב לָֽךְ:
The last time we find the words שמע is very familiar to all of us. It is in the second paragraph of Shema, which appears in our parsha, which begins with the words והיה אם שמוע תשמעו, the double language excoriating the people to listen to God, heed His word, and be blessed to have rain and blessings in their proper place and time in and upon the Land.
Listening. It’s one of the first things we are taught to do as children. And one of the first things we are trained to remind ourselves of as Jews. Hear o Israel. How many Jews who know nothing or next-to-nothing about Judaism have nevertheless heard about the Shema? MANY.
When I worked at the National Jewish Outreach Program, I was put on the assignment of working with a fellow whose goal was to create a daily email which could be read in 30 seconds, which included a reminder just to say the first verse of Shema. He’s one of those ‘can’t sit still’ kind of successful people. Very definite undiagnosed ADD. “I just want people to say the Shema. Every day. At work, wherever. I don’t care. They should say Shema. We need that. The Jewish people need that. The world needs that.” This led to the establishment of Jewish Treats, the free daily email sent out by NJOP.
I saw a video this week, of the conclusion of the process of conversion of Yevgeniya Batael Loroviya in Israel. She was born in Uzbekistan to a Jewish father, but her mother was not Jewish. Three years ago at the age of 19, she decided to move to Israel and start studying Judaism. She learned about her roots and her background, and little by little she progressed. Shortly after she arrived in Israel, she joined the Israel Police.
You want to know how to feel as a Jew? WATCH THIS VIDEO! See how emotionally a person can care about accepting עול מלכות שמים. Many of us take for granted what some incredible people dedicate years of blood, sweat and toil to achieve. So they can count themselves as part of the Jewish people.
The Dayan has her repeat after him, “I accept to observe all the mitzvoth of the Torah. And all the commandments of the Chachamim. And the important customs of Am Yisrael. I believe in Hashem Echad!”
She is already an emotional wreck (in a good way!) as he instructs her to close her eyes, put her hand over her eyes and recite the Shema. She needs no more prompting.
When was the last time anyone here cried when saying Shema? Maybe at the conclusion of Yom Kippur. Maybe. Every time we say it we are reaffirming our acceptance of our responsibility to perform mitzvos. Does anyone cry with emotion over how lucky we are?
את חטאי אני מזכיר היום. I have a confession. I don’t cry when I say Shema. But I cried when I watched her cry. Because she “gets” something that I don’t get.
On the one hand, all of us who have known this way our whole lives are the lucky ones. But on the other hand, as Shlomo Carlebach put it in his story about Shabbos Candles – which is too long to recount here – he challenges us to think if we can recall what it was like to pray for the first time. In many ways, those who came to Judaism or observance as adults, who made an intellectual and emotional DECISION and didn’t just grow up this way – have a leg up on the rest of us.
And so the question we all ought to think about is – what do we listen to? Moshe talks about listening to God. He talks about how God listened to his sincere prayer on behalf of the Jewish . And he contrasts this with how time and again the Jewish people did NOT listen to God. They failed many times through their wilderness travails.
We can’t afford to fail any more. We can’t afford to not listen, or, heaven forbid, to hear the wrong thing.
On Thursday, Daniel Lansky of Baltimore, a 40 year old husband, and father of 3 kids , lost his battle with cancer. We can surely all relate to the heartbreak his family is dealing with. One of my friends in Hollywood was friends with Daniel for close to 25 years.
He wrote on Facebook that after he learned of Daniel’s untimely and tragic passing he “spent a couple hours reading his blog and the many posts from his friends. I was amazed at what I read. Instead of being angry, he was upbeat and optimistic. Whether he was pleading for proper decorum in Shul (synagogue), practicing random acts of kindness, or reminding people to respect each other regardless of their differences, he did so humbly and courageously.”
From what Daniel wrote, my friend took the message that “Life is short. Too short for regrets, to hold grudges, to push off your dreams, to leave things unsaid. Tell your spouse, your kids, your family that you love them. Be kind. To everyone. Live life. Without regrets.”
Before I knew of his connection, I had already intended to print and put out Daniel’s last blog post, from June. It is on the table outside.
Daniel wrote how difficult it was to ask people to do things for him. Totally against his nature. And then he wrote this:
“but now is not the time for me to think of me. I have a wife, I have three little kids and I have cancer. We need your tefilos.There is an old adage – “if you come to shul to talk, where will you go when you need to daven?”
In a few days I will be having my first scans since I started treatment. Those scans will show what Hashem wants to be seen. No more – no less. So here I go – I am going to ask you for what I need from you.
SHUT YOUR PHONE OFF BEFORE ENTERING SHUL. PLEASE.
There is nothing – nothing – that can’t wait. Respect the Makom tefillah. Don’t put it on vibrate – don’t silence the ringer – simply turn it off.” (End quote)
And I think that now, NOW, is the time for us to challenge ourselves to HEAR THIS MESSAGE.
This is one of the real challenges of our generation. And those of us who have cellphones are all guilty in some form or another. I am absolutely talking to myself here. I probably don’t need to talk about the dangers of cell phone usage in the context of driving – I’m talking about when looking at the phone – not the same as talking on the phone using a headset or Bluetooth. So I’ll leave that alone for now – even though it needs attention.
But let’s just talk about it in the way Daniel Lansky put it, and in the way my friend from Hollywood put it. In just about every shul I’ve been to of late, a cell phone rings during davening. And in the event that the owner of the phone doesn’t know how to silence it quickly, it rings and rings. Or, perhaps worse, the person ANSWERS THE PHONE, or runs out of the shul to answer the phone.
I don’t completely agree with Daniel Lansky, במחילת כבודו, because there are sometimes life and death situations which come up – an expectant father, a child of an elderly or sickly parent, or others who must be available due to a medical situation. Perhaps in light of the EpiPen scandal going on, I’ll mention a parent of a child with severe allergies, who also is always on call. As are many doctors, of course.
And maybe spouses and children ought to know, “When so and so is in shul – don’t call.”
The distraction in shul is day in and day out. I’ll edit the adage, really because talking isn’t a big problem here in our shul, thank God: “If you’re coming to shul to check your phone, or only to let it disturb everyone when it rings, where will you go when you need to daven? Where will you go when you are looking for a distraction-free davening?”
What we need to hear in shul is the sound of the koach hatefillah. Heartfelt responses to kaddish, kedusha, chazaras hashatz, every bracha the chazzan says. And no distractions. As my friend put it, “life is too short” to lose focus in shul and to allow unimportant things distract us from what should be our most important moments of every day.
There is so much more that can be said about the cellphone, especially the smartphone. It is an amazing device. It has transformed the world. But it has also distanced people from one another. It has cut down the ability to communicate through talking and speech, and has created a generation of people who choose a tiny screen over spending time with their spouses, their children, their parents, their friends, or even with a book.
Moshe spoke about listening to God. He spoke about God listening to prayer. May we be successful in attuning our ears to heed God’s word. To not having to hear another ringer go off during davening – thank God for Shabbos – and to pay better attention to one another and not to a small machine.
Let us learn to value Shema Yisrael as Yevgeniya Batael Loroviya does. While our davening changes can sadly no longer help Daniel Lansky, may his legacy be that improved tefillah will help others who are in dire need of sincere tefillos. And may we be blessed to heed his last request, as a zechus for his neshama and as a merit to his grieving family, his young widow and his three children, orphaned of their incredible father.
And may we merit to truly hear and understand the significance of what we are saying every time we proudly declare Shema Yisrael Adonai Elohaynu Adonai Echad.
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