The Sensitivity We Need

Parshat Emor

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The holiday Torah reading from Parshat Emor is familiar to us, and is often referred to by the opening phrase as the “Torah reading of שור או כשב.” That complete verse translates to “When a bull, sheep or goat is born, it must remain with its mother for seven days. Then, after the eighth day, it shall be acceptable as sacrifice for a fire offering to God.” The verse which follows is וְשׁ֖וֹר אוֹ־שֶׂ֑ה אֹת֣וֹ וְאֶת־בְּנ֔וֹ לֹ֥א תִשְׁחֲט֖וּ בְּי֥וֹם אֶחָֽד, which translates to mean “Whether it is a bull, a sheep or a goat, do not slaughter [a female animal] and its child on the same day.” The translation brought here is from Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan’s “Living Torah,” and his insertion of the bracketed phrase “a female animal” reflects the input of many commentators, including Rashi, following the Talmud, which note that we definitely know who the animal’s mother is, and the prohibition does not apply to a father-animal and its child, who may be slaughtered on the same day. 

B’chor Shor, as one example, suggests this mitzvah is meant to ingrain in us a sensitivity to avoid cruelty, as he compares it to the mitzvah of sending away the mother bird of Devarim 22:6. Targum Yonatan adds a proclamation to the beginning of his “translation” of the verse, which sounds like this: “My nation, the children of Israel! Just as our Father in Heaven is, so should you be merciful in the land – a heifer and its offspring should not be slaughtered on the same day.” 

The tragic example of how a misunderstanding can lead to cruelty is the tale of Do’eg Ha’Adomi who advised King Shaul not to finish the job of wiping out Amalek and to spare King Agag, on account of the exhortation in the verse “אותו ואת בנו,” which he applied to Agag’s case to avoid cruelty through killing the king after you had just wiped out his nation. (Midrash Shochar Tov) 

Of course, King Shaul had not wiped out Amalek to be cruel – he was following a Divine commandment as certified through the most noted prophet of his era! In fact, an argument can be made that showing mercy to Agag turned the entire commandment – which should have been an emotionless endeavor of just fulfilling God’s will – into an act of cruelty. If you spare one, the implication is that those not spared were killed in an act of hatred. 

The problem with Do’eg’s calculation is that it was perverse and irrelevant to that situation. The Torah’s commandment regarding animals has no bearing on the Torah’s commandment regarding Amalek. In fact, however we want to make the calculation, Do’eg himself emerged from this tale quite capable of killing parents and children on the same day as he demonstrated through his single handed executions of many of the Kohanim of the city of Nov! (Shmuel I 22:18-19) What happened to the command not to kill parent and child on the same day, Do’eg? Now you have to right all the “wrongs” committed in the battle with Amalek through killing every living creature – human and animal – in “Nov, the city of Kohanim?” 

Amalek, pardon the pun, is a different animal. In many ways we are grateful that the nation Amalek doesn’t exist – that the mitzvah was either achieved, or Sancheriv caused them to disappear – so we have no responsibility to seek out and destroy. 

Even if the mitzvah with the animal is specific to the mother and its child, Ramban suggests an added sensitivity is in order – even as he acknowledges that the halakha does not follow this view – to not kill the father-animal on the same day as its child (and vice-versa). 

We are painfully reminded of the futility of life as the events of Thursday night in Meron are laid before us in our newsfeeds. With at least 45 dead, at least a handful of them under 16, we do not yet know whether any of these people are from the same family. 

My friend and colleague Rabbi Yehuda Oppenheimer shared a message he received shortly after the Meron tragedy, signed by a woman named BatSheva Sadan. Here is an excerpt of it. 

A moment after I breathed a sigh of relief when I found out that all my children were fine – I started crying.

• I cried for my brief feeling of happiness and relief that this was the disaster of others; not my disaster. 
• I cried for the sigh of relief that I was not one of the terrified mothers desperate to know the fate of their loved ones.
• I cried realizing how I had differentiated myself from dozens of families whose lives have changed, who will now carry a never-ending pain.
• I cried as I realized how far I was from actualizing the mitzvah “Love your fellow as yourself”. I still see the world as separate and divided (i.e. us and them), that I cannot emotionally or physically feel within me the pain of someone else, pain that is not my pain. 

On this special day – when we supposedly have completed internalizing the message of the plague decimating the disciples of Rabbi Akiva for not practicing this teaching of their great Rebbi – I realized that we still do not understand anything. 

Through the pain of her words we are reminded that to truly be Ohavei Yisrael, those who love our fellow Jews unconditionally, we must be able to feel the other’s pain. And we also must remember that when it comes to our fellow Jews, there are no “others.” 

I readily admit it is hard to feel the pain of people we do not know. But many of us do cry when we hear of a terrorist attack in Israel or elsewhere in the world. Many of us do cry over the loss of life and the loss of potential, especially when young peoples’ lives are cut so very short. I recall being inconsolable during the invasion that followed the kidnapping of the 3 boys in the summer of 2014, when 13 IDF soldiers were ambushed and killed in a single mission. Sometimes the pain is combined with pride and triumph, such as what followed the Six Day War and Yom Kippur War, when the losses of so many soldiers was countered by the scope of the victory and the salvation. 

Informationally, the world is very small and connected. We are exposed to so much, so our sensitivities are often jaded, as we are overwhelmed by too many stories and tragedies. 

Perhaps the message of אותו ואת בנו is to be able to see the tragedy in even the fate of animals, animals who may be slated to die on different days! But the loss of both parent and child on the same day is a different level of magnitude. 

The Mishnah in the last chapter of Brachos (9:3) gives an example of a wasted, senseless prayer: “If someone is coming home from a journey and he hears a cry in the city, and says ‘May it be Your Will that they [those screaming] not be from my house,’ this is a worthless prayer.” After all, whatever caused the scream has already taken place, those crying out are who they are – no prayer will change that. In his Melechet Shlomo, Rabbi Shlomo Adani suggested an alternative prayer. “If that comes from my home, save the members of my household so they not fall victim to the fire (or whatever the current danger is).” Or the person should at the very least put trust in the Almighty that it isn’t in his home. 

And even so, there are no guarantees in life. We can’t undo what has been done, nor what has happened. What we can do is pray for ourselves, our loved ones, and for our fellow Jewish brothers and sisters, even when we don’t know them. In the best case scenario, we feel their pain, even when their pain doesn’t seem to impact us directly. Their pain is our pain, no matter how far apart we are or seem to be. 

What the verse in our parsha is teaching us is sensitivity, and it is sensitivity that helps us elevate our souls to be more kind and thoughtful people, neighbors, friends, family members. 

May our enhanced sensitivity, as trained upon us through this mitzvah, help increase our empathy, and our ability to identify with the concept of עמכם אנכי בצרה – of being with others in their moments of crisis. When we recall that God first appeared to Moshe in a burning bush, we see that the idea of being sensitive to someone else’s pain is indeed a divine quality, and it should certainly serve as a reminder that being empathetic and sensitive are ways in which we imitate God Himself.

Haircuts and Shaving When Lag Ba'Omer falls on Friday

Lag B'Omer on Friday

by Rabbi Avi Billet 

The customs of mourning during Sefirat Ha'Omer stem primarily from the deaths of the students of Rabbi Akiva and over the tragedies which unfolded during this time of year during the First Crusade (1096), when large Jewish communities were wiped out. 

One of the main practices that have carried through today is to avoid getting haircuts for a 33 day period - usually observed by both men and women - and for men to be shaving less frequently if at all, though there are varying customs and practices that allow for either weekly shaving (such as on Friday) or even daily shaving, depending on extenuating circumstances and personal minhag. 

This year, Lag Ba'Omer falls on a Friday, which leads to the following interesting discussion, as noted in the Shulchan Arukh and its commentaries. 

There is a debate between the Mechaber and Rama in the Shulchan Arukh as to when a person may cut one’s hair in relation to Lag Ba’Omer. The Mechaber (Sefardic position) normally says to wait until the 34th day of the Omer, while the Rama (Ashkenazic position) is of the view that on the 33rd day of the Omer, ל"ג (Lag) Baomer, one may cut the hair in the morning (after sunrise – s”k 10), but not in the evening (based on Maharil). 

When Lag Ba’Omer is on Friday, as it is this year, the Mechaber allows for haircuts on Friday in honor of Shabbos (493:2). Rama doesn’t mention an allowance to do it any earlier, but the Mishneh Brurah (s”k 11) there says

 ולא מבערב - ויש מאחרונים שמקילין להסתפר מבערב [מי"ט וא"ר] וסיים א"ר דמ"מ לענין נשואין לא ראיתי מקילין כ"א ביום ל"ג בעומר בעצמו ולא בלילה שלפניו אכן כשחל ל"ג בעומר בע"ש והוא לו שעת הדחק לעשות ביום אפשר שיש להקל לו לעשות בלילה שלפניו: 

“Some Acharonim were lenient to cut the hair in the evening. However, even for marriages they were not lenient except to cut the hair in the daytime of Lag Ba’omer and not the evening before. However, when Lag Ba’Omer falls on Erev Shabbos, and it might be too difficult to take care of the hair cut in the day time, it is possible that one could be lenient to cut one’s hair in the night beforehand.” 

This would translate to having one's hair cut as early as Thursday evening after one has counted the 33rd count of the Omer. Since everyone is capable of self-shaving, that can take place Thursday night. Those who take care of haircuts at home may do so Thursday night. If one can go to the barber or hairstylist at night, that option is available as well. 

If that is not possible, certainly Ashkenazim, and even Sefardim this year, may get one's hair cut and shave anytime on Friday in advance of Shabbos.

The Mandate of Being Holy Comes From Learning About Judaism

Parshat Acharei-Kedoshim

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The story is told of a rabbi, in the first week of his new position, getting up on Shabbos to speak about the importance of Shabbos observance. The people, not particularly observant, gave him feedback afterwards. “Don’t speak to us about Shabbos.” 

Shabbos off the table, the following week he decided to remind the people of the importance of eating only Kosher. Feedback came, “Don’t talk to us about Kosher.” 

The next week, he spoke to them about family purity. Predictably, “Don’t tell us about family purity.” 

Exasperated, he turned to them and asked, “What would you have me talk about?” “Rabbi, we want you to speak to us about Yiddishkeit (Judaism)!” 

Obviously, for the Jews in this tale, truths about Judaism are inconvenient. Shabbos, Kosher, and family purity make them uncomfortable. That is what makes this “joke” tragic. 

Over the past year, I have read several biographies of great rabbis of our generation. These great rabbis certainly spoke of the topics which were taboo for our tragic hero above. However, the common denominator that these rabbis carried was their love for EVERY JEW, without preconditions. A precondition means if there is ANY THING about the Jew that makes you hesitate in accepting the person as a Jew with a Neshama that craves a spiritual existence, then Ahavas Yisrael (the mitzvah to love your fellow Jew, in our parsha Vayikra 19:18) is not being practiced. 

Some of these rabbis were involved in Chinuch (education) and took in every troubled kid who would not be accepted anywhere else. Some of these rabbis visited (or still visit!) prisons in Israel, to talk to the Jewish inmates, and even to learn Torah with them. Some would have an open door policy, as they welcome(d) anyone who needs guidance, who has questions, who needs a little love, into their homes. 

In some cases these rabbis have become victims of thieves, of assault, or of other ways that people take advantage of their kindness. But they didn’t or don’t stop because of the few who took advantage. Their lives were/are dedicated to helping people, and so they are the ones about whom the biographies are written. 

I marvel over how Rabbi Aryeh Levin took a young man with tuberculosis into his home, and slept in the same bedroom so he could care for the young man. 

When we read the opening verse of parshat Kedoshim (second of our double portion this weekend), we read of the exhortation to “be Kedoshim (holy people), for I, your God, am Kadosh.” (Vayikra 19:2) 

The idea of “being Kadosh” is the message of Yiddishkeit that our rabbi was trying to impart to his new congregation. Ramban famously warns us not to be נבל ברשות התורה – a degenerate with the Torah’s permission – using examples of excess that the Torah doesn’t forbid, but which speak poorly of an individual were one to choose such a route: having marital relations at the rate of a rooster, consuming too much alcohol, eating in a gluttonous fashion, overengaging in idle chatter. 

Our job is to pursue holy endeavors, raising the caliber of our character, our behavior, and of course our spiritual pursuits. This is not just a task for holy tzaddikim. Every Jew has a mitzvah to pursue holiness. If we simply delegate pursuits of holiness to people we see as holy, if we are not pushing our own limits of our holiness aims, we are failing in this most important mitzvah – to be holy, and to imitate God Who is holy. 

And what Jew would knowingly avoid or ignore fulfilling a mitzvah? 

I can guarantee that if we actually paid attention to the meanings of the words we utter in davening, we’d be very different people. If we meant the things we say in the blessings before and after the Shema in Shacharis and Maariv, we would learn a whole lot more Torah, and we would understand what our mission in this world is. The idea of living to sanctify God’s name, and living a dedicated and committed life in the footsteps of those who saw God’s closeness when they left Egypt would be more clear to us. 

 

For those blessed to have descendants, life may be about nachas. But the common denominator for every Jew is that meaning in life comes from the pursuit of holiness. And, yes, learning about Judaism. 

Ramban writes on Vayikra 26:11 of what health looks like when we are actually in a state of spiritual perfection – a state I can only deduce comes from having achieved the Holiness our parsha tells us to pursue. His advice might not come from the 21st century, but it is nevertheless timeless. 

The rule is that when the Jewish People are in a state of spiritual perfection, neither their physical bodies nor their country, nor any of their other affairs are governed by nature at all. This applies to the nation as a whole and to each individual Jew. For God `will bless their bread and their water, and remove illness from their midst' (Exodus 23:25). They will have no need of doctors, nor will they have to follow medical procedures even as precautionary measures, `For I, God, am your healer' (Exodus 15:26). In the era of prophecy, the tzaddikim acted accordingly. Even if they happened to sin and became sick, they consulted not doctors but prophets, as did King Hezekiah when he was sick (Kings II, 20, 2-3). It is said of King Asa that `even in his sickness he did not seek out God, but he turned to the doctors' (Chronicles II, 16:13). If it was common for them to go to doctors, why should the verse mention doctors at all? Asa's only guilt would have lain in the fact that he did not seek out God. But this phrasing is similar to saying, `He did not eat matzah on Pesach but chametz.' Someone who seeks out God through the priest will not consult doctors. 

What place do doctors have in the house of those who carry out the will of God, after He promised that `He will bless their bread and their water, and remove illness from their midst'? The only function of the medical profession should be to give nutritional advice - what to eat and drink and what to avoid. Thus the Rabbis said, `For the entire twenty-two years of Rabbah's leadership, Rav Yosef did not even call a bloodletter to his house' (Berakhot 64a). They went by the principle that `a door that does not open to charity will open to the doctor' (Bemidbar Rabbah 9:3). It is true that the Rabbis said, `because it is not the way of human beings to bring about a cure, but this is the practice' (Berakhot 60a,). But this merely means that, had they not been in the habit of resorting to medicine, a person who became sick because of his sin could have been healed through the will of God alone. However, since they resorted to medicines, God abandoned them to the vicissitudes of nature. 

The Talmud (Brachos 60a – from the middle of the page and downward) says the following (Translation from the Soncino Talmud): 

Our Rabbis taught: It once happened with Hillel the elder that he was coming from a journey, and he heard a great cry in the city, and he said: I am confident that this does not come from my house. Of him Scripture says: He shall not be afraid of evil tidings; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord. 

Rava said: Whenever you expound this verse you may make the second clause explain the first, or the first clause explain the second. ‘You may make the second clause explain the first’, thus: ‘He will not fear evil tidings’. Why? Because ‘his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord’. ‘You may explain the second clause by the first’, thus: ‘His heart is steadfast trusting in the Lord’; therefore, ‘he shall not be afraid of evil tidings’. 

A certain disciple was once following R. Ishmael son of R. Jose in the market place of Zion. The latter noticed that he looked afraid, and said to him: You are a sinner (for being afraid), because it is written: The sinners in Zion are afraid. He replied: But it is written: Happy is the man that feareth always— He replied: That verse refers to words of Torah. (e.g. if a person is fearful that he’ll forget his Torah) 

R. Judah b. Nathan used to follow R. Hamnuna. Once he sighed, and the other said to him: This man wants to bring suffering on himself, since it is written; For the thing which I did fear is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of hath overtaken me. But [he replied] it is written: ‘Happy is the man who feareth always? — He replied: That is written in connection with words of Torah. 

Ramban was a great scholar, a Kabbalist, and also a physician. His comments certainly carry much weight in the “speak about Judaism” discussion, and remind us of what goal we need to aim for. (Rav Dessler noted that the perfection he aims for is impossible to reach, which is why it is important to seek help from physicians when necessary.) The Artscroll Talmud (Brachos 60a) has a footnote on the above passage (footnote #31) which begins noting that the passage Rabbi Yishmael said to the student is from Yeshayahu 33:14. And it continues: 

 “Worry is a generally evil characteristic. Whatever benefits derive from a general mindset of joy, the corresponding detriments arrive from worry (Orchos Tzaddikim, Shaar HaDaagah – reproduced in the comments below). The Torah directs a Jewish soldier, “Whoever is fearful and fainthearted let him go and return to his house, and let him not melt the heart of his fellows, like his heart.” Rabbi Chaim Shmuelevitz opines that this directive applies outside of war as well: If a person who does not tread on the paths of faith and belief in God, and is therefore anxious, is liable to infect others with his anxieties, then “let him go and return to his house” and “not melt the heart of his fellow, like his heart” (Sichos Musser, 5731 #29). Alternatively, Rabbi Yishmael meant that a person who appears to be anxious regarding some threat of this world is actually anxious about his own sins. Thus, a fearful person reveals himself to be a sinner (Michtav Me’Eliyahu IV pp. 233-234).\

In last week’s chapter of Avos, we learned the teaching of Hillel, “Don’t judge your friend until you’ve reached his place” – which is equivalent to the English expression of “you never know what someone is going through until you’ve stood in his shoes.” 

Two weeks ago we learned from Rabbi Yehoshua ben Perachya to “judge everyone favorably.” 

No one wants to be accused of being judgmental, yet we are judgmental all the time. Few people want to look at themselves and take personal introspection to ask probing questions such as, “Am I perfect? Do I do everything right? Am I where I should/could be in my relationship with God? Do I live a life of kedusha/holiness?” 

How many people look at another person’s life and say “I surely don’t know the whole story so I will love the person despite how I see things”? 

Each of us has our own hishtadlus (effort) to put into our life choices and our pursuits. Beyond that, fear should not guide us. Worry should be reserved for concerns that I’ll forget my Torah knowledge (which should drive more Torah study) and that I am too much of a sinner, making my relationship with God less sturdy than it should be (which should drive Teshuva and making different choices). 

Most importantly, we should never lose sight of what the fabled congregation in the opening tale clearly forgot. Judaism has a lot more to teach us than feel-good stories. And some of the greatest scholars and teachers had a lot to teach us. With one Jewish life to live in these lives we have been gifted and this particular life we have chosen, we owe it to ourselves to tap into the brilliance that Judaism offers – both in enhancing our human relationships, ala not being judgmental, and in enhancing our relationship with God through the pursuit of holiness in its many forms.

How the Metzora Emerged From Exile More Humbled

 Parshat Tazria Metzora 

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Our double parsha contains in it all the rules surrounding identifying who is a Metzora (one afflicted with tzara’as), how the person goes through being a Metzora, and how the person emerges from being a Metzora and rids oneself of the tumah (spiritual impurity) associated with being a Metzora. 

With tzara’as not being part of our experience in contemporary times, much of what is read over this Torah portion seems largely irrelevant. After all, what can we learn from the details of how to identify a disease, work through the disease, and purge oneself of the aftereffects of same disease, if a. it doesn’t exist today, and b. it’s not a medical condition? 

Tzara’as is not, as commonly translated, leprosy. Leprosy is a contagious disease (though the degree of its contagion is disputed) that is medically diagnosed and treated (https://www.webmd.com/skin-problems-and-treatments/guide/leprosy-symptoms-treatments-history), while tzara’as is a spiritual disease that has a physical manifestation, which is diagnosed by a Kohen and treated by a Kohen’s instruction and through the afflicted’s teshuvah process. 

Quoting the Talmud, Rabbi Elie Munk noted that “tzara’as afflictions are seen to be a possible consequence of 7 sins: slander, murder, perjury, debauchery, pride, theft, and jealousy… [therefore] Rambam concludes that the specific afflictions dealt with are not natural phenomena brought about by the laws of nature but are caused by Divine Intervention.” (13:2) 

א״ר שמואל בר נחמני א״ר יוחנן על שבעה דברים נגעים באין על לשון הרע ועל שפיכות דמים ועל שבועת שוא ועל גילוי עריות ועל גסות הרוח ועל הגזל ועל צרות העין. 

Tzara’as on clothing or property, or even on a newborn, was assumed by most commentaries to be a warning sign to the owner of the garment, property, or parent of the child, one to which they’d hopefully take heed and improve their ways. There is another view that the tzara’as on houses was sometimes meant to reveal hidden treasures buried beneath the afflicted stones. 

After the afflicted person has followed the necessary recourse of quarantine, full Kohen-diagnosis, and exile from the Israelite camp, the only way to rejoin society was through the Kohen’s revisiting the tzara’as markings and declaring everything kosher. 

Suffice it to say, the Kohen’s exit to the afflicted indicated something to the individual regarding the dire nature of the consequences of certain behaviors. Rabbi Munk writes, “It appears that antisocial behavior is a common characteristic of all the seven sins that are possible causes for the tzara’as afflictions. Therefore the guilty party must be removed from society according to the principle of מדה כנגד מדה, measure for measure [a punishment that fits the crime]. Hopefully his isolation will induce him to repent and return to a better way of life. Because of these special circumstances, the mitzvah of bikur cholim, visiting the sick, does not apply in the case of the metzora.” 

It’s a curious social situation. The Metzora is considered anti-social, and is therefore removed from the community for a limited amount of time. Of course, some of the sins the Metzora can be guilty of are not just anti-social – they are immoral! So why not just have tzara’as afflict the immoral? With a few relatively universal exceptions, immorality is defined differently across different societies (if one does an Internet search for “what Americans view as immoral” results from Gallup polls will pop up that are clearly influenced by Catholic thinking and have no bearing on our definition of immorality), so the tzara’as is limited in scope to specific behaviors, perhaps גילוי עריות being the one most loosely and expansively defined because there are so many possibilities in how to violate its rules. Our modern society might even look at many of the sins of גילוי עריות (as outlined in Parshas Acharei Mos and Kedoshim) as not being “anti-social” because they are often enough violated by two consenting adults! 

And yet the Kohen goes out to the Metzora, and not vice versa. Wouldn’t it make more sense for the Metzora to be further humiliated through having to trudge through town to get to the Kohen’s house, to knock on the door and say “I’m ready for reexamination”? Doesn’t it take away from the lesson to the Metzora if the Kohen makes housecalls to the exiled? 

Both arguments have merits, though I think the lesson that comes from the Kohen coming out to the person is more powerful than were the person to go to the Kohen. Rabbi Munk referred to the actions mentioned in the Talmud as anti-social because the person who engages in them does not realize the effect these behaviors have on society. The Metzora may be unaware that being boastful or jealous turns people off, that making unnecessary oaths cheapens language and therefore human communication, that stealing undermines the labor and efforts of the victims of thievery, that every life is precious, that even consenting adults (and certainly when consent is absent) break down a certain moral and social order if their union isn’t in the context what the Torah allows, and most famously, that you can’t simply say whatever you want when it comes to talking about people.

The Kohen comes on his schedule, not at the whim of the Metzora, because the Metzora needs to be put in place to understand “Your thinking is skewed. You didn’t learn properly. The information you have about the definitions of right and wrong is misinformed.” The Metzora needs to learn this at a time when the Metzora is completely dependent on a spiritual guide, in this case the Kohen, who will teach the proper way. Were the Metzora given the right to forge his own destiny in the aftermath of a repercussion that was meant to teach him an extremely important lesson, he might try to emerge before he is actually ready to take heed. 

 The Kohen coming to him on the Kohen’s time is humbling. Perhaps the Kohen comes with a book about Lashon Hora, or to review the rules of גילוי עריות or haughtiness, or with a goal of teaching the lessons the person missed or didn’t pick up along the way. Perhaps the lesson to the Metzora was “Examine your deeds, worry about you making yourself into the best you, not at the expense of others, and you’ll be welcomed back.” 

The beauty was that the Kohen was never the one who called out the bad behavior! The tzara’as came from God, and that is what put the whole story into motion so the Metzora could be made aware of the problem and hopefully put stops in place that these behaviors would never be repeated again. 

The truth sometimes hurts. But it’s only when we pursue, find, and know the truth that we can emerge with a more clear conscience and path forward. The Metzora had a skewed vision of truth, a clear misunderstanding of what kinds of actions and behaviors are welcome in society, and which contribute to the breakdown of society. 

The hope was that after isolation and the interaction with the Kohen, the metzora emerged as if a new person, more kind, gracious, loving, and humbled when interacting with one’s fellow man.

Moshe’s Frustration – The Souls of His Nephews

 Parshat Shemini

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Two things happen in our parsha that are part of a short list of similar events in the Torah: Moshe Rabbenu gets angry at people for seemingly breaking an important Torah law (10:16), and he forgets a law (10:19-20). 

The Sifrei Bamidbar 157 quotes Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah who says, ‘Moshe got angry three times and made a mistake each time because of it.” The Maharsha in Pesachim (66b) similarly notes “And the Midrash also mentions that when he got angry he forgot laws on account of his anger.” 

Neither of these events – Moshe’s anger and forgetting a law – are commonplace. But there is a subtle connection that is an undercurrent of a number of cases where both coincide – Moshe’s anger is often most apparent when he sees people doing something that will cause either their own death, the deaths of others, or both, a concern which is more common than his forgetting the law. 

Moshe gets angry at Pharaoh who refuses to let Israel go before the death of the firstborn (Shemot 11:8). He gets angry at the people who are looking for Mon on Shabbos (Shemot 16:20). He gets angry over the Golden Calf (Shemot 32:19). He gets angry at those challenging God along with Korach (Bamidbar 16:15). He gets angry when the people do not follow the instructions for Midian annihilation (Bamidbar 31:14). 

All of these incidents have Moshe getting frustrated that people are choosing not to follow God’s word even though death is patiently waiting to step in and take over. With Pharaoh, the final plague immediately follows. With respect to the Mon, we find out later that Shabbos violation can bring a death sentence. The Golden Calf is followed by the deaths of 3,000 people. Death and devastation follows the rebellions of Korach and Datan V’Aviram. Much death preceded the Midian battle, and it was an improper vengeance which Moshe feared would lead to more deaths. 

Which brings us to his nephews and their non-eating of the sin offering. Is Moshe’s anger misplaced? 

When the Torah describes Moshe addressing his nephews as to which offerings of the Eighth Day dedication services they must eat, the words the Torah uses to describe them are Aharon’s בניו הנותרים – which can literally be translated as “remaining sons,” though some translations use the phrase “surviving sons.” Targum Yonatan calls them “his sons who were saved from the ‘sreifah,’” that last word referencing the fire that consumed the souls of their older brothers. 

It seems that Moshe may have looked upon them as survivors, based on a view that suggests Nadav and Avihu died as punishment to Aharon for his role in the Golden Calf, and that all of Aharon’s sons were actually supposed to die had Moshe not intervened, praying on behalf of Elazar and Itamar that they should survive this decree (Rashi 10:12). 

Malbim takes this a step further, quoting the Talmud in Yoma (87a) and Mechilta D’Miluim (35) which suggest Elazar and Itamar were either deserving of dying in the sereifah or were close to it because they were right next to Nadav and Avihu at their moment of death. Along this line of thinking, Ramban raises the possibility that Nadav and Avihu did not die in the place where the fire entered them, but managed, before expiring, to get to a place where their father’s Levite cousins, Mishael and Eltzafan, could comfortably go to retrieve them. (Non-kohanim are typically not allowed to enter some areas of the Mishkan. And no, Nadav and Avihu weren’t thinking of their deaths and their need to get to a place where non-kohanim could reach them.) 

We can argue whether Moshe was right to get angry. We can look at the Sifrei and the Maharsha quoted above and suggest that his anger actually triggered his forgetting the halakha. All of the instances of his anger are associated with people who are clearly sinning and therefore running the risk of their own demise, or that of those following them. 

However, it is painfully clear to me in this instance that whether Moshe actually felt his nephews were sinning in not eating from the requisite Korban, or whether he thought their inaction was misguided, he was concerned for their Neshamas. 

After all, while the verse says the fire consumed Nadav and Avihu, it is clear from the fact that their bodies needed to be retrieved that the fire didn’t consume them completely. Their souls were consumed, rendering their bodies lifeless! 

 For over a year now, we have been playing the pikuach nefesh card. “Follow the science” has become a canard. Science, after all, changes all the time. It is mostly theory. Much of science today is data driven, but sometimes it is agenda driven. Which means it is often enough bad science. At the very least, it is ALWAYS disputed. The government science agencies keep changing their rules and keep coming out with new studies that contradict things they’ve been saying for months or even close to a year. Sometimes for the betterment of society, and sometimes to make things worse. 

 I have spoken to many doctors in the last few months – and have found that they all have differing opinions about “the science.” Some of them are emergency room doctors and have told me about treatments they have used to prevent deaths in the bad cases, and about mistakes that were made at the beginning, and how there’s a learning curve. Some doctors think independently, speak to other doctors who think independently, and some doctors just do exactly what they’re told to do and think how they’re told to think. That’s what medicine always was – when you didn’t like one doctor’s opinion you sought a second opinion. And certainly when we seek opinions, those rendering them should share our values and should be guided by the Torah and a reverence for God. 

Pikuach nefesh always had a very clear definition prior to March 2020. Pikuach nefesh meant you do just about anything necessary to save a life that is currently in danger. You violate Shabbos, you allow eating non-kosher, you move mountains to save this one life because without the necessary intervention needed right now this person will die. Pikuach nefesh was not defined in the theoretical, because were it defined in the theoretical, we should allow Chillul Shabbos all the time to provide added protection “just in case,” we would allow eating the healthiest foods which are not certified kosher “just in case,” and violate just about any law under the sun – whether between man and God or between man and man – in the name of potentially saving a hypothetical life that might one day be in danger. 

 The verses which are used to argue that we must do whatever we can to save a life are, ironically, ונשמרתם מאד לנפשותיכם, השמר לך ושמר נפשך מאד (Devarim 4:9,16). Both of these verses speak of guarding our souls. And while some have taken a homiletical leap and extended this to doing whatever is possible to guard one’s body from harm, the fact is that it is a homiletical leap. All of the Rishonim on the Torah say, in one form or another, it refers to guarding one’s soul from destruction and impurity. It is only in the later period (Acharonim) where the commentaries branch out to have it refer to physical health. (Maimonides was, for a long time, a lone voice in saying it refers to physical health concerns.) 

Rav Elyashiv Z”L wrote (commentary on Brachos 32b) – "וכן מה שמורגל בפי העולם לומר שצריך ליזהר בפקוח נפש משום ונשמרתם מאד לנפשותיכם לכאורה הוא טעות." Translated: How people are accustomed to express - that one must be careful of life-threatening situations because of the verse 'you must carefully guard your souls' - that is surely an error. 

He goes on to say that people have taken the verse to mean to be careful for one’s physical self - though the Talmudic passage in Shavuot 36a which he uses to support that idea actually quotes the verse of ושמר נפשך מאד. 

People struggle with all kinds of physical challenges. Some have allergies, some have conditions in which a certain kind of diet is warranted. Certainly many take those seriously and are careful. But some are not. Are those who are not careful in violation of ונשמרתם מאד לנפשותיכם? Are people who drive over the speed limit in violation? What about people who drive under the speed limit – who simply go on the highway, which sometimes has car accidents? Are they in violation? What about people who smoke? Are they in violation? A person can live a very long life as a smoker – not everyone gets lung cancer. Who is to say? What about a person who has a very unhealthy diet or who is extremely overweight? Is this person in violation of this mitzvah? Eating is allowed! The Talmud even mentions in Bava Metzia that some of the great rabbis were very overweight. Were they in violation of ונשמרתם מאד לנפשותיכם? The only reference in all of the Talmud to this verse is a story in which a Roman officer uses it to explain to a Jew who did not show him deference (because the Jew was davening), arguing “Aren’t you supposed to take care of your life?” And the Jew replies, “That verse means I’m supposed to guard my soul – which I was, in not interrupting my prayer and supplication before the Almighty.” (Brachos 32b) 

Moshe was worried about the souls of his nephews. He knew from very fresh first-hand experience that their souls were the key – were they to have sinned, their souls could be taken by God, and they would be as dead as their brothers. 

So he got angry. Because he knew that we cannot understate the importance of the soul, especially the souls of children. “The science” indicates that children are not dangerous. “The science” indicates that children are not spreaders or silent-killers. “The science” indicates children should have their lives back. 

We are taught Moshiach will come in the merits of the learning of the youngsters. Their learning is only valuable if their souls are nourished as well. And that nourishing is often ingrained in them through the regular opportunity to be in shul, without restrictions, and with encouragement for them to participate in synagogue service as much and as often as possible. 

Moshe was frustrated. I very much relate to what he was going through in my concerns for the souls of children. And, for further reading, I highly suggest this opinion piece, which logically and rationally suggests how the extreme response to what has been going on is akin to religion, complete with a sacrifice of children in terms of destroying their mental health and preventing them from being able to live normal lives.