Musings of Avi Billet

A Truly Humble Leader

2012-02-10T09:36:00.000-05:00

Parshat Yitro

by Rabbi Avi Billet

As an introduction to the events that will unfold on the mountain, God tells Moshe to tell the people that they will soon become a kingdom of priests and a holy nation to God. (19:5-6)

The Torah then tells us that "Moshe came [back] and summoned the elders of the people, conveying to them all that God had said. All the people answered as one and said, ''All that God has spoken, we will do." Moshe brought the people's reply back to God. God said to Moshe, 'I will come to you in a thick cloud, so that all the people will hear when I speak to you. They will then believe in you forever.' Moshe told God the people's response." (19:7-9)

Rashi addresses the fact that Moshe conveyed the people's response the first time, saying it is a sign of respect to God to deliver the message, even though the Almighty and All-knowing knows what they said.

But the precedent is set that the people are told the message from God, they respond to Moshe, and then we are told that Moshe brought their reply to God. So how is that when God describes the thick cloud, Moshe does not convey the message to the people, they do not seem to respond, and yet Moshe tells God of their response? To what did they respond? What did they say? Why does Moshe seem to avoid sharing the second message of God with the people? And how did he then know what their response was if he didn't speak to them a second time?

Rashi explains that Moshe already knew the will of the people, namely "that they want to hear from You directly. After all, there is no comparison between hearing the king's message from his messenger versus hearing it directly from the king. 'We want to see our King.'"

Through trying to understand Rashi's exposition, the Kli Yakar has a novel approach to reading the text. Rashi does not address what the second response of the people is – only that Moshe was able to convey what they wanted. But the Kli Yakar posits that Moshe was in fact quoting the people, based on his understanding their will from their initial response, when he said the words "El Hashem – to God" in 19:9.

If the words "El Hashem" are not a quote, they are superfluous! The Torah should have said, "Moshe told their response אליו - to Him!" – obviously referring to God, with Whom Moshe is conversing. What was previously translated as "Moshe told God the people's response" should therefore be read, "Moshe [responded to God and] told Him the words of the people: 'To God.'"

This was a response to what God told him, "So that the people will hear when I speak to you and will also believe in you forever." Moshe knew from what the people had told him before that they were only interested in hearing from God. They had said, "We will listen to God" but said nothing about listening to Moshe!

The Kli Yakar is intellectually honest and boldly states that as nice as this interpretation is, the text does not really imply this. How then can we justify making the claim that Moshe felt he was not believed?

Because when God initially gave the message to Moshe, He told him to tell the people directly. But Moshe first went to the Elders instead, prompting the people to say 'We will do [only] all that God said' even though the Elders had not yet addressed them. Witnessing Moshe address the Elders indicated to them that everything would be through middlemen. They, on the other hand, did not want to have the middlemen - they wanted to hear directly from The Source.

This is the difference between "Vayashav" (and he brought their response) and "Vayaged" (and he told God). The first time Moshe returned to God he said "We will do all of God's instructions." He did not say, "Only if it comes from God directly" because he assumed God would convey His message according to the desire of the people.

But when God said, "I will be coming to you in a cloud, and they'll believe in you (Moshe)," Moshe realized God was planning to speak through middlemen. His response at that point reflected the notion that "The people don't want to hear from me. They are looking "el Hashem [to God]" because they only want to hear from You."

Only at that point were the people told, "If that's what they want, they need to prepare to greet the king… wash up, separate from spouses etc." (19:10)

Both the Alshikh and the Seforno begin their explanations of these verses with the notion that Moshe recognized that the people had not believed in his prophesy, and that God was looking to manufacture this experience so the people would believe him [Moshe, that is], and believe in his role as prophet forever.

In this light, I believe Moshe is demonstrating two tremendous leadership skills. On the one hand, he understands the subtleties of the desires of the people. The spoken and even the underspoken, or unspoken words are not lost on him.

On the other hand, he understands his role as leader, but not as ruler. It's never about Moshe. God tells Moshe, "Through this the people will believe in you," but this is the last thing Moshe wants to hear. He certainly does not want to convey to the people a message that says, "What you are about to see will prove that I am the leader chosen by God." He is happy being a shepherd who takes care of the people, and who presents their needs and desires to the Almighty, even if it comes as part of a rejection of who he is and the role he is meant to play.

Getting Angry, Speaking Calmly

2012-02-03T09:28:00.000-05:00

Parshat B'Shalach
by Rabbi Avi Billet

After the splitting of the sea, the people begin to settle into their wilderness existence, and become the recipients of a daily dose of manna from heaven.

The instructions as to what this food is, how it is to be rationed, and how it is to be cooked and eaten are given piecemeal. In 16:19, Moshe tells the people not to leave any leftovers until the next day. Perhaps this was the precursor to every successful Passover program: no need to take leftovers to your room because there will always be a new helping of food the following morning.

For the second and last time, we find the people not listening to Moshe (the first was in 6:9, during the heart of slavery, before the plagues began). People leave food for the next day – and it spoils. Moshe's reaction is to get angry at them.

It is quite understandable why they did not listen to him in Egypt. His efforts to that point had only yielded more work and more suffering. The people, exhausted from their exertions, had not the wherewithal to listen to Moshe's promises of redemption.

In our story, however, why wouldn't they listen? After all, if the manna from heaven is so clearly a miraculous gift, and if since the last "not listening experience" you have witnessed this man bring about ten plagues, split the sea and drown your oppressors, why wouldn't you think there's something to what he's doing and saying? How could you come to ignore him completely?

Perhaps they ignored him because they were still living in a slave mentality reality. Perhaps a slave counts every morsel of food that comes his way, not believing he'll see something good again for a long time. So even though they were told not to leave anything over, either they couldn't help it because they were used to hoarding or they couldn't believe that such fresh food would literally spoil in the morning.

So why did Moshe get angry? Shouldn't he understand the mind games the people play with themselves?

A closer look at other times when Moshe gets angry with the word "Vayiktzof" may help us understand Moshe's impetus for bringing out his anger card. The commentary of the Baalei Hatosafot summarizes the three times this word is used to describe Moshe's getting angry. The other two incidents are: when Moshe's nephews do not partake of the goat sacrifice at the dedication of the Mishkan, shortly after their older brothers die; and when the soldiers return from the all-out Midianite war having spared the women of the nation they had been ordered to wipe out completely. [He also "got angry" at the Golden Calf incident, and when dealing with the Korach group – except that there the Torah uses the word "Vayee-char"]

In each case, the Baalei Hatosafot explain, Moshe forgot a law as a result of his anger: in the manna story - he forgot to tell the people not to collect manna on the seventh day; with his nephews - he forgot that after losing a close relative a mourner does not eat meat ; after the Midianite war - he forgot the laws concerning how to kosherize vessels they had seized in battle.

There are a number of common denominators in the three stories. I will focus on two of them. Firstly, the people deliberately ignored a direct command from God that had been channeled through Moshe. Secondly, Moshe was very aware that a precedent was being set as each circumstance was a first time episode.

It's a difficult balance. Sometimes anger is warranted, and sometimes anger only serves to bring a person down. In Moshe's case, the setback he suffered was that he forgot a law – God, Aharon and Elazar taught him the three laws, respectively.

But what was at stake? God's honor.

The difference between Moshe getting angry "for God's sake" and those who think "they know what God wants" is that he was the direct line, and knew exactly and explicitly what needed to be done. And, in every case, he was trying to set a precedent that people could one day turn to for guidance - namely through reading the Torah's account of precedent-setting moments.

But not everything works out "the way you want" and his personal outcome was forgetfulness. God did not get upset or punish people for violating the shabbos, for example. He just asked Moshe to give them a little rebuke. And when Moshe delivered the message as he was told, the people changed.

Sometimes an option that serves a more productive purpose than anger is saying in a clear and firm tone, "I stand for this exact thing that God said." If communicated properly and respectfully, there is a much better chance that people will listen.

A Sign For YOU

2012-01-26T01:33:00.001-05:00

Parshat Bo

by Rabbi Avi Billet

When one reads through Shmot Chapter 12, it becomes quite clear that blood will play a significant role in bringing about the salvation of the Hebrew slaves at the midnight hour when Egypt will be struck its most devastating blow.

Verses 7, 13, 22 and 23, when run together, read something like this.
"They must take the blood and place it on the two doorposts and on the beam above the door of the houses in which they will eat [the sacrifice]. The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are staying. I will see the blood and pass you by (pasach). There will not be any deadly plague among you when I strike Egypt. {Instructions to the elders are to tell the people to] 'Take a bunch of hyssop and dip it into the blood that [will be placed] in a basin. Touch the beam over the door and the two doorposts with some of the blood in the basin. Not a single one of you may go out the door of his house until morning. God will then pass through to strike Egypt. When he sees the blood over the door and on the two doorposts, God will pass over that door, and not let the force of destruction enter your houses to strike.'"

The Ktav V'Hakabalah asks a seemingly obvious question. Does God really need the blood as a sign? If He wants to distinguish between the Egyptians who suffer in the plague and the Israelites who are spared, could He not just say "My wonders will be proven by the fact that Egyptians will die and Israelites will not"?

Ibn Ezra rejects the notion that the blood was a derivative of a public process aimed at showing the Egyptians who is boss. Were it so, he argues, the blood would have been put on courtyard gates instead of on the doorway of homes recessed from the street, and the slaughtering of the lamb would have taken place in the daytime, instead of closer to nighttime when people are already in their homes. Ibn Ezra even derives from "The blood will be a sign for you" that you, who cannot go outside all night, will be able to see the blood because it will be on the inside of your home.

But the Ktav V'Hakabalah has an entirely different perspective, which introduces much deeper symbolism than a mere "sticking-it" to the Egyptians. The Israelites had many obstacles to their own redemption. They were idolators! They needed to achieve a spiritual purity (taharah) that had eluded them for a very long time.

The Korban Pesach (Paschal offering) was meant to serve as a first step in their stepping away from and rejection of Egyptian idolatry of the sheep. The second element of their return to God was a complete rejection of their former fears of their Egyptian masters. And the last element of their return to God was the public nature of their actions.

He brings four examples of the how they publicized the deed: First, the animals were led through the street, before the slaughtering was done publicly (#2), while the gathering of families providing the third ingredient in drawing attention. The nail in the coffin, so to speak, was placing the blood on the doorpost for all to see.

Didn't the Ibn Ezra say the blood was placed inside the home, as a sign for the Israelites alone? He did. But the Ktav V'Hakabalah is one step ahead when he quotes the Mechilta who says the blood was placed on the outside. This public display of the blood of the lamb was another step in the rejection of the sheep-as-god mentality.

All this is very nice insofar as the process through which the people go. But it does not answer whether God needed a sign! The answer is that of course God did not need a sign. If God could distinguish between which animals were Egyptian-owned and which animals were Israelite-owned, He could surely distinguish between Egyptians and Israelites.

The reason for the blood, then, is that it is through blood that covenants are forged. A blood oath involves the mixing of bloods, "The process usually provides a participant with a heightened symbolic sense of attachment with another participant." (Wikipedia, "Blood Brother")

The Shakh claims that as males who are not circumcised may not participate in the eating of the korban pesach, a major circumcision festival needed to take place (based on 12:50). As such there were ample samples of blood available to be mixed together – blood from the lamb, from the circumcisions, and from the removal of the mucosal membrane (not from metzitzah!)

The blood, therefore, becomes highly symbolic. Putting it on the door is an indicator that those in the home fulfill the will of God. But the placement of this particular mixture of blood, stands to serve as a "reminder," so to speak, to God, of the mark of the covenant that connects this people to Him for eternity. This reminder is what prevents the death force from making its way into the homes of the Israelites.

In this respect, the sign-on-the-door for humans is significant for them because their own blood is in it. But it really is for God, who reminds the people over and over that each plague was meant to make His name well known in the land. This goal is further represented by the blood on the door, a mark which is fresh, which will last long beyond when the Israelite's leave town, and will be seen by those who explore the ghost town of Goshen.

It is the symbol of God's dominance over the Egyptian deity, combined with the covenant He forged with Abraham, that brought about the creation of the nation that left Egypt with a strong hand.

Nominated for Best Supporting Role

2012-01-20T10:45:00.000-05:00

Parshat Va'era

by Rabbi Avi Billet

I have a hard time understanding the role of Aharon, Moshe's brother, in the exodus story.

When he is first appointed to be the leader/redeemer of Israel, Moshe presents a number of arguments as to why he is not the best man for the job. He may even hint to the idea that Aharon would be a more worthy choice.

God's response in 4:14 is a display of anger, followed by "Is not Aharon the Levite your brother? I know that he knows how to speak! He is setting out to meet you, and when he sees you, his heart will be glad."

In other words, if you Moshe are nervous about speaking to Pharaoh, Aharon will take care of this for you. In fact, the first time we see Aharon speaking on Moshe's behalf is in 4:30, when he addresses the nation of Israel, convincing them that Moshe was sent by God: "Aaron related all the words that God had told Moses, and he demonstrated the miraculous proofs before the people."

When they came to Pharaoh in chapter 5, we were told "Moshe and Aharon then went to Pharaoh and said, 'This is what Hashem, God of the Hebrews, declares: 'Let My people leave, so they can sacrifice to Me in the desert.''" In this instance, the indications point to Aharon and Moshe sharing the limelight.

But after this, the narrative presents a different story.

In our parsha, "Moshe related this to the Israelites, but because of their disappointment and hard work, they would no longer listen to him." (6:9) Note how Moshe is the speaker.

A little while later, after twice claiming his unease with the prospect of speaking to Pharaoh after having being denied by his own people, we see "God said to Moses, 'Observe! I will be making you like a god to Pharaoh, and your brother Aharon will be your prophet. You must announce all that I order you to, and your brother Aharon will relate it to Pharaoh. He will then let the Israelites leave his land."

As clear as it seems that Aharon is going to be Moshe's mouthpiece, we don't really see that coming to fruition. Certainly not in the times they relate to Pharaoh.

So why all the hype about Aharon? Moshe is very clearly the leader, and while Aharon does speak once or twice in Moshe's place, Moshe seems very capable of holding his own – with the people and with Pharaoh. Why are they, in many respects, viewed as equals?

Because Moshe needed to grow into his role. That he was chosen by God on account of the character and qualities he possessed is clear. But, like any human leader, the fact of being chosen (or elected) does not mean the person is completely ready for the job. A President or Prime Minister might be a great leader, but it does not mean the person is prepared for all the intricacies of the job, or is even a great public speaker. This is why people like a press secretary and a public relations representative have jobs. Obviously a public speaking ability is a tremendous asset. But sometimes a person needs to grow into that comfort zone.

Moshe cared for the underdogs in every fight he ever encountered. And Egyptian bondage, in that sense, was perfect for him to battle head-on. No one is as needy for an advocate as are slaves.

But it's a little different when one does his own private vigilantism versus when one has to play political hardball, and stand up against a despot in an arena that is not only very real, but carries the safety and future of an entire nation on its shoulders.

Having lived in Egypt his whole life, and having been in the trenches with the people, Aharon was a great supporting character to wean Moshe into his new role.

But Moshe adapted quickly (there are plenty of commentaries who explain that he did not have a speech impediment, but was very nervous about his assignment) and was quickly able to say, "Thanks for offering Aharon as my support staff. He will be a tremendous help in other ways. But I no longer need him to be my mouthpiece."

May we all be blessed to have such loyal mentors in our lives. Moshe was able to fill his roll with such ease and so quickly because he had his brother Aharon guiding him, with class, dignity, and with a sense of support which said, "I'm there if you need me, but I look forward to cutting the strings and removing the training wheels so you will be able to fly on your own."

Doing Egypt a Favor

2012-01-14T22:39:00.001-05:00

Parshat Shmot

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Every time the United States considers a political or military confrontation with a foreign hostile nation, the liberal caveat is often emphasized that "we have no beef with the people of ___ - all we want to do is see this rogue regime ousted."

And so I wonder how much the people of Egypt really bought into Pharaoh's greater plans. Even most of Pharaoh's decrees seem to be focused on making life difficult for people – but genocide is never an option. The infanticide discussion lasted more verses than it seems to have been carried out.

Don't misunderstand and think I am defending Egyptian slavery. But after over a hundred years of the serf-state that Egypt had become one has to wonder if in their day-to-day interactions Everyman Egyptian and Everyman Israelite saw their status quo as a mere reality, the former being the upper class and the latter being the stranger-turned-serf-turned-slave, while the human side of their relationships were deeper.

To point, when the Israelites leave Egypt, there is much discussion as to how they received the wealth they took with them from Egypt. Was it borrowed, taken, or received as a gift or payment for the years of servitude? All of these approaches are discussed by the commentaries.

In her article on this subject, Nechama Leibowitz records a unique approach suggested by Josephus, who says "The Egyptians honored them with these gifts, [some] in order to hasten their departure, and others out of the good neighborliness and the friendship they bore them. When they went forth the Egyptians wept and suffered remorse for the way they had treated them ill."

This approach hints to a society in which more than mere awareness of "the other" there was a familiarity between the natives and the visiting-slaves.

What, therefore, is the meaning of the message God gives Moshe at the burning bush, as to what "the Israelites will do to or for the Egyptians when they leave with silver vessels, gold vessels, and clothing?"
The Torah says "V'nitzaltem et Mitzrayim." (Shmot 3:22) Artscroll translates it "You shall empty out Egypt." The Living Torah (Aryeh Kaplan) suggests "You will thus drain Egypt [of its wealth]." Rabbi S.R. Hirsch (as translated to English by David Haberman) has it as "You will cause Egypt to deplete themselves." The Soncino Chumash: "ye shall spoil the Egyptians" – meaning, you'll take all their possessions as spoils.
Benno Jacob's commentary on this verse is most insightful and instructive. He suggested that owing to the root of "v'nitzaltem" (to save), and the fact that the word, when it appears elsewhere in the Bible, never has the direct object (in this case "Egypt") as being the one from whom the saving takes place (the direct object is always the one being saved), it must mean "You will save the Egyptians," – you will clear their name, and vindicate the humanity of the Egyptians.

To avoid bitter feelings, and to restore a sense of humanity to the term "Egyptians," a friendly parting and generous gifts would smooth the transaction. As Rabbi J.H. Hertz quotes B. Jacob, "the Israelites would come to see that the oppressors were Pharaoh and his courtiers, not the Egyptian people."

He concludes with the suggestion that this view would help them carry out the mitzvah in Devarim 23:8 "not to abhor an Egyptian." "It is for this reason that the Israelites are bidden to ask their neighbors for these gifts, to ensure such a parting in friendship and goodwill, with its consequent clearing of the name and vindication of the honor of the Egyptian people."

Many would like to argue that it is the loudmouth leadership in rogue regimes that become the mouthpiece for an unfortunate silent majority who would not agree if they had a voice and a chance to express an opinion without fearing for their lives. Was Egypt the same way?

The approach suggested by Benno Jacob lends itself to the possibility that like the rows and rows of trees at Yad Vashem dedicated to righteous gentiles who saved Jews during the Holocaust, not everyone in ancient Egypt was a cruel taskmaster.

If we believe in the possibility that humans are capable of being, want to be, or are good, we need to create opportunities for others to demonstrate this. We must open our minds to the possibility that those who seem to be the bitterest of our enemies may be stuck behind a façade they cannot break through on account of fear.

Let us hope and pray that those itching to befriend our people can do so in safety, peace, with no fear for their lives, and can have the redeeming experience they so desperately need so they can live out their lives as free men and women.

I Love Being Surprised In This Way (A Nice Story)

2012-01-11T11:17:00.002-05:00

This experience might belong in my bris milah blog because it only happened to me because of my being a mohel. Since it is more in line with the "rabbi without a cause" mantra (as opposed to being about a bris), I am sharing it here.

I am in Puerto Rico for a bris.

My host, the baby's father, picked me up this morning and brought me to Chabad for Shacharis. Including us there were about 15 people there - mostly Americans and Israelis.

Back at the hotel elevator, two men came out as I was about to go up. As the door was closing, one of them stuck his hand back in to prevent it from closing. [I thought it was someone else trying to catch the elevator at first...]

He said something in Spanish which I did not understand, then he said to me "Spanish?"
No. I don't speak Spanish.

Then he said, "Minyan? Yesh minyan?" (is there a minyan here?)
Yes. There was one at Chabad - I just came from there.

"Eifoh Chabad?" (where is Chabad?)
I don't know. Someone brought me there.

Then he lifted his arm, which was uncovered because he was wearing shortsleeves, and I saw he had the tefillin markings that stay on the arm for a little while after wearing tefillin.

He said, with an only-slightly exasperated tinge which suggested I-wish-I-had-known, "Hitpalalti b'yachid" (meaning, I davened by myself in my hotel room).

That the man is Jewish is no surprise. Jews are everywhere. That he had worn tefillin and might have otherwise been at the minyan had he known about it was quite unexpected. Seeing tefillin markings on others' arms is normal where I live. But seeing them on someone's arm in a hotel in Puerto Rico somehow seemed out of place. Maybe it comes from my living in a certain kind of homogeneous environment, that I don't expect someone who does not wear a kippah to have worn tefillin. I know there are Sefardim and Israelis (and some Ashkenazi Jews as well) who will wear tefillin and will wear the kippah when davening, learning, and eating. But in a different context, such as a fairly vibrant Jewish community, it is normal and expected.

But here in San Juan?

I was smiling all the way up in the elevator.

The Sword and the Bow

2012-01-05T22:13:00.001-05:00

Parshat Vaychi

by Rabbi Avi Billet

In the last verse in Chapter 48, Yaakov promises Yosef the city of Shechem "which I took from the Emorites with my sword and bow."

Up until now the only thing we know about any "taking of the city of Shechem" is that Shimon and Levi took up arms and massacred the males of the city in retaliation for the treatment accorded to their sister Dinah. Yaakov's reaction to their armed encounter was anything but positive and supportive. Some say this is what Yaakov is referring to. But this seems hardly likely.

What could Yaakov be referring to?

The Yalkut Shimoni (towards the end of 133) quotes "our rabbis" who described a tremendous battle which took place – not in the immediate aftermath of the Shechem massacre, but seven years later when the Emorites all gathered against Yaakov's family to avenge the fall of their brethren in Shechem. The passage is quite long, and the details are fascinating. Targum Yonatan also makes reference to this military encounter, as does Rashi in the first opinion he records.

Whether the events as described took place is surely debatable, but from one perspective, Yaakov could be referring to his conquerings in this war with the Emorites. Ramban, however, looks at a model forged by Elisha in the book of Kings II 13, in which he instructed King Yoash to shoot arrows in the direction of Aram to symbolize the victory that was to come over their land. Ramban suggests that Yaakov similarly asserted his power through the same symbolic action.

Some suggest the "taking" refers to the purchase he made in 33:19 "He bought the piece of open land upon which he set up his tent for 100 kesitahs from the sons of Chamor…" But how do we then explain the "sword and bow?" The Targum Yerushalmi introduces an idea others expand upon – that the "sword and bow" are not meant to be taken literally, but refer instead to merits that allowed Yaakov to "take" the land. Rashi, for example, explains the metaphor as his "wisdom and prayers." Rabbi Chaim Paltiel even backs up this assertion explaining Onkelos' interpretation of the phrase "b'charbi u'vkashti" (with my sword and my bow) as to be read [with a 'heh' in place of the 'chet'] "b'harbi u[b]vakashati" – meaning with my prayers and my requests.

Another similar interpretation is offered by the Seforno who says "my sword and bow" refers to "my knowledge and understanding" which are the weapons of the righteous (based on Tehillim 45:4) (see also Shabbat 63a).

Rashbam and Radak surmise that Yaakov is making reference to a future war that Yehoshua will wage when they conquer the land, a fact Chizkuni claims refers to all the battles that will be waged in the conquering of the land. The Emorites are given the credit of ownership, Ibn Ezra explains, simply because they were considered the strongest of the nations. And Radak clarifies that since Yehoshua 24:12 says "sword and bow" were not yielded in order to win, they refer to "the help of God" which act as a sword and bow.

Even if the "sword and bow" refer to the wars of the future in their totality, this does not explain why Yaakov, who is about to die and will certainly not be present for those future wars, attributes the weapons to himself! Rabbenu Bachaye suggests he does so because it will be his merits which will be leading the battles and bringing about success on the battlefield (see Tehillim 44:4 which alludes to the merits of the fathers which deliver military success).

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch sees this verse as the paradigm of Yaakov's proudest moments which he is bequeathing to his children. "That my children, though they were living among the Emorites, did not become Emorites themselves – such that they gather around me and I call them all 'Israel' – these represent my conquests, my victories, which I wrested from the Emorites."

While I don't think any of these are foolproof interpretations, I do believe that Yaakov's comment contains much depth. Whether referring to actual battles of the past or future, or of the battlefield of the mind or spirit in which Yaakov and his family overcame great odds and obstacles to take a stand for what they believed in and to maintain their identities and their way of life, Yaakov does express pride in the journey he and his family have taken to get to where they are.

We too ought to know what we stand for and make great strides to achieve our goals. It is the truly blessed who can confidently bless one's children at one's death bed saying, "I look back on my life and bequeath to you my greatest successes and proudest moments, which have defined my life, and the lives you continue to live in fulfillment of the legacy I set out to create when I began both my life as an adult and the family that I leave behind."

What Yaakov Feared

2011-12-28T05:31:00.001-05:00

Last year I addressed the difference between the names Yisrael and Yaakov and their usage in the Torah. I don't know if there is a fool-proof difference between them. In this article, they are used interchangeably simply because the Torah uses them in this fashion in the verses discussed.

Parshat Vayigash

Were one to examine Yisrael's attitude towards going to Egypt, it would be hard to convince us that he was apprehensive about the trip. When he heard Yosef was alive and was convinced by the sight of the wagons that he would be reunited with his favorite son, "His spirit became alive. He said, '... I will go and see him before I die.'" (45:27-28)

And yet, three verses later, after a stopover in Beer Shava to bring offerings to God, Yisrael has a vision in which God tells him, "I am the God of your father. Don't be afraid to go to

Egypt

, for it is there that I will make you into a great nation. I will go to

Egypt

with you, and I will also bring you back again..." (46:3-4)

There is no indication that he is afraid of

Egypt

! What is God talking about?

There are different kinds of fear: fear of the unknown, fear of possible outcomes – especially for one's children, fear of an undesired destination or destiny. One can fear other people, or what the other people might be capable of doing.

Many of the commentators raise the idea that Yaakov was aware that with this journey to

Egypt

the years of bondage that Avraham had been promised in Bereishit 15 would commence. The Chizkuni, for example, says that God's words after "Don't be afraid" are to assure Yaakov that just as the bondage element of the promise to Avraham would be fulfilled, so would the exodus and the becoming a great nation promises be fulfilled.

Others focus on the fears Yaakov harbored over his and his family's spiritual future. In addition to the fear that he was beginning the exile that had been promised to Avraham, Or HaChaim also mentions Yaakov's fear that he'd be buried in the impure land. God's immediate response is the promise that he personally would not be enslaved, nor buried there. "Perhaps Yaakov had designs on going back to Canaan when the famine was over and the trouble passed… this is why he is told not to fear 'for even the relatively short amount of time you think you're going to be there,' because your family will become a great nation in that place."

Along similar lines, the Beis HaLevi puts Yaakov's fear in terms of his children not being able to be in Egypt and maintain their "kedushah" (holiness). Maybe they'll become so entrenched in the tumah (impurity) of Egypt, they would not be worthy of being redeemed. God therefore told him not to fear, because He would not let them become completely lost, and if need be He would take them out before their time was up.

It is the Seforno, however, who writes what I find to be the most compelling concern. "Don't be afraid to go down to Egypt. Were your children to stay here in Canaan, they would end up marrying the Canaanites and assimilating with them. But in Egypt this will never take place because the Egyptians have their own rules against intermingling with you."

Right after this exchange with God, the Torah lists for us the names of the descendants of Yaakov. The Torah does not tell us much about the wives of the sons of Yaakov. One midrashic thought suggests each of the tribes was born with a twin sister who became a wife to one of the tribes. A different line of thinking posits the wives were Canaanite women who embraced the ways of the family of Yaakov – and listing his children here (46:5-27) would alleviate the fear of a family breakdown as it would serve as a strong indicator that this family unit will remain intact.

If the latter approach is correct, moving the family to Egypt, away from Canaanite grandparents and relatives might actually be the best thing to happen to Yaakov and his family. Creating their own homogeneous environment that will not be influenced by "distance relatives" or Egypt's "live and let live, but we will not mingle with you" attitude could, in the end, become the strongest bond in the effort to stem a tide of assimilation and have everyone in the family remain close-by-design in the Goshen area they will soon occupy.

Consider this statistic: by 1927 (14 years into the Weimar Republic), more than 44% of Jews in Germany married non-Jews (Martin Gilbert, "Final Journey" p.11). (The Nazis counted them all as Jews anyway, but nonetheless, it is a staggering number for early 20^th century stats, versus current US figures where the number wavers in the 50-plus percent range.)

Being in a place like Egypt, therefore, where Egyptian law allowed for engaging in commerce and neighborliness but prohibited assimilating with the Hebrews – wining, dining, and marrying – was a reminder Yaakov desperately needed, and an answer that assuaged his number one fear.

The fear of the silent destruction brought on by the loving environment of assimilation is one Yaakov did not need to express. It is constantly in the mind of every parent, and was Avraham's first concern when he was promised the land (see Seforno, Bereishit 15:8).

At First Sight

2011-12-23T08:17:00.001-05:00

Parshat Miketz

by Rabbi Avi Billet

There are a number of mitzvoth which appear in the Torah multiple times: Shabbat, holidays, kosher animals, Shmittah (Sabbatical year), Eved Ivri (Hebrew servant), not to "cook a kid in its mother's milk." Even bris milah, tzitzis and tefillin each appear at least twice. Sometimes there are differences in the repetition, and the repetition usually serves a purpose.

When it comes to narrative, however, the Torah rarely repeats a story. Last week we read the story of Yosef and Potiphar's wife, and when she told her husband the tale, we are told "She said, 'This is what he did to me,'" (39:19) and as the text does not elaborate, we can assume she embellished the details. We need not know what she said, as all we need to know is that Yosef ended up in prision.

After Moshe is given the signs of the snake, the whitened hand, and to pour water from the river to turn it to blood before the people, he does so – the Torah does not repeat the details (Shmot 4:30)

But the two most blatant examples of repeated narrative are the story of Eliezer finding Rivkah (Chapter 24) and Pharaoh's dream here in Chapter 41.

In Eliezer's retelling of his own story, he changes some details to make the story and the setup more palatable to Rivkah's family. He achieves his goal: he convinces them of the divine hand in his trip, they agree to let Rivkah go with him, and Rivkah the wife for Yitzchak whom Eliezer was appointed to find.

But in our narrative, Pharaoh's dream is told to us, and then he repeats it to Yosef for interpretation with a few changes as well.

In his dream Pharaoh was standing "on the river," the first cows were "y'fot mareh," the second cows are "raot mareh v'dakot basar" and they stand next to the first cows. The cows who were "raot mareh v'dakot basar" ate the cows that were "y'fot hamareh."

In his retell Pharaoh stands "on the edge of the river," the first cows are "y'fot toar," the second cows are "dalot, v'raot toar m'od, v'rakot basar," and Pharaoh adds "I have never seen such bad looking cows in Egypt". The cows who were "rakot and raot" ate the first cows. The cows were completely swallowed, but it was not detectable because they looked as they had before [this last sentence is entirely new and was unapparent from the dream itself.]

In the second dream, the stalks are "briyot v'tovot" (healthy and good). The second stalks are described as thin and scorched by the east wind. They consumed the "healthy and full" stalks.

In the retell they are "m'layot v'tovot" (full and good). The second stalks are described as thin and scorched by the east wind, but are also "tz'numot" (shriveled). They consumed the "good" stalks.

Why the differences? Unlike Eliezer, Pharaoh isn't trying to convince Yosef of anything.

Or is he?

The Midrash Sechel Tov suggests Pharaoh dreamt the interpretation to the dream along with the dream, but forgot it. How else could he know that Yosef's interpretation was the correct one? Surely others tried interpreting it for him. Once he heard Yosef's interpretations, however, it triggered the memory, and he knew it was correct.

This line of thinking makes a lot of sense when we consider that Yosef's interpretation should have ended with verse 41:32 when he said "The reason that Pharaoh had the same dream twice is because the process has already been set in motion by God, and God is rushing to do it." But Yosef continued and said, "Now Pharaoh must seek out a man with insight and wisdom, and place him in charge of Egypt."

How did he get away with this bold statement?

Because when Pharaoh first laid eyes on Yosef, a memory was triggered that told him "This is the man who will interpret, this is the man I must keep close to me."

In other words, Pharaoh wanted Yosef to interpret correctly and to suggest a man be appointed, and Pharaoh presented the dreams with his own commentary in order to help Yosef produce the interpretation Pharaoh could not pull out of his subconscious mind.

First impressions are very powerful. Sometimes you meet someone for the first time and feel kinship, or feel this person is a person you'd like to get to know better. And sometimes there's a feeling you can't put your finger on that tells you this person will be a lifelong friend. There are many married couples who will tell you "they knew" when they first met, even if they did not hear bells and whistles or experience what Hollywood calls "love at first sight" (a concept I don't believe in).

Because Pharaoh wanted this encounter to work out (as he immediately set in motion in 41:38-35), he took the steps he needed to in order to give Yosef the chance to "earn" being close to him, the reward he carried for the rest of their days.

Another Reason For 8 Days of Chanukah?

2011-12-20T17:15:00.001-05:00

One of the questions that comes up each year is "If there was enough oil to last 1 day, and it lasted 8 days, the miracle was really for 7 days. The first day was not a miracle. So why do we have EIGHT DAYS of Chanukah?"
There are many answers to this question. Most of the answers aim to answer the related question of "How do we view the first day as a miracle as well?" Answers to a different related question would also suffice: "Is there a significance to the number eight that fits into this story?"

Two of the more known answers to the latter question are:
1. The rededication of the Temple was meant to emulate the original dedication of the Tabernacle in the wilderness, which was an Eight-Day-Celebration.
2. On account of the war, the Maccabees were unable to adequately celebrate the holiday of Sukkot. As such, upon the rededication of the Temple, they created a make-up for the holiday they missed. Since Biblically speaking the holiday of Sukkot + Shmini Atzeret is an eight-day period, this served as the model for the Chanukah time span.

Here I offer another possibility. I do not base this in any historical document or anything I found. But a unique connection came to me as I reviewed the decrees that traditionally accepted view of history offers as the background to the rebellion of the few against the many.

The Greeks aimed to destroy three fundamental tenets of Jewish life:
1. Shabbos
2. Rosh Chodesh
3. Bris Milah

Being a mohel, this simple (yet, I feel, profound) connection was staring me straight in the face.

There are all kinds of reasons suggested for why a bris takes place on the eighth day of life. One of them focuses on the idea that the baby will certainly experience a shabbos before he has his bris.

Chanukah goes for eight days, therefore, to remind us the eight-day period that leads up to a bris.
An Eight-day holiday will certainly contain a shabbos.
The fact that Chanukah begins towards the end of Kislev, on the 25th of the month, assures that Rosh Chodesh Tevet will always be observed during Chanukah.

Military celebrations alone are typically celebrated for one day. Think V-E Day (May 8) V-J Day (Sept 2), Purim (14 Adar). By all rights, Chanukah should have been a 1-day holiday.

But Chanukah is meant to be more than just a tribute to a specific date. It is a highly symbolic holiday that represents a victory over assimilation, a commitment to Jewish tradition, mitzvot, and heritage, a reemergence of a "fighting Jew," and the return of Jewish autonomy to our ancient homeland.

And if, in the background, the dates and length of the celebration can serve as a reminder to what we overcame from the perspective of those who made decrees threatening our way of life - what could be wrong with it? It gives us a constant reminder of the test that challenged our people, and the lifestyle the victorious Maccabess sought to preserve.

Right, Wrong, and Moral Justifications

2011-12-15T16:00:00.000-05:00

Parshat Vayeshev

by Rabbi Avi Billet

A poignant Midrash in Ruth Rabba (5:6) argues that had Reuven, Aharon and Boaz known that certain minor kindnesses they performed would be recorded in the Bible for posterity, they might have done things differently. Instead of "planning" to save Yosef, Reuven would have carried Yosef home on his shoulders. Instead of coming alone to greet Moshe on his return from Midian, Aharon would have greeted him with a band. Instead of feeding Ruth enough [grain] until she was satisfied, Boaz would have fed her fattened calves.

Perhaps we can argue that had Yehuda (Bereishit Chapter 38) and King David (Shmuel II 11-12) been aware that their bedroom faux-pas would be recorded for posterity, they would have been more discreet and might not have even succumbed to the evil temptation that caused them to sin.

Yehuda's (unbeknownst) rendezvous with his daughter-in-law Tamar is such a scandal on so many levels, yet there is nonetheless a significant attempt by Chazal (the Rabbis of yesteryear) to whitewash it. The Artscroll Chumash commentary, for example, begins this section with the title, "The moral basis for the story of the union of Tamar and Yehuda."

Suffice it to say, objectively the only moral basis for the events "at the moment they transpired" can be found in Kabbalistic works. In many respects, Tamar's role, unseemly as it looks, is given a lot more credit than Yehuda's role. Yehuda only emerges positively at the end, when he admits Tamar's righteousness, and his own error which caused her to pursue her desperate measures.

Long term, the Tanakh (Bible) vindicates the downsides of the story. Yehuda achieves kingship for his tribe, as the older child born of his union with Tamar, Peretz, continues the line to King David, the eternal father of the royal family, and of the Messiah.

Why does the Torah tell us this story, then, if it takes hundreds of years for us, the readers, to see that everything, in the long term, is really OK?

Because there is a difference between destiny and the here and now. Because there is a difference between right and wrong. And because the Torah does not hide from the truth – sometimes the truth teaches us a model lesson, and sometimes the truth teaches us what not to do.

The story of the deaths of Yehuda's sons, while tragic, informs us that the patriarchs knew of the concept of yibum (the levirate marriage). That Yehuda withheld his third son, Shelah, from wedding Tamar, may reflect negatively or positively on Yehuda, depending on one's perspective. That Tamar felt the need to have Yehuda perform the yibum may also reflect negatively or positively on her, depending on one's perspective.

Last week, one of the publications of students of Yeshiva University posted a short story online that caused quite a stir. As the plot of the story did not jive with the values of the institution, many found it offensive, and wrong to appear under the name of Yeshiva University. Some argued that "freedom of expression" should allow for objectionable content to appear. I am of the opinion that students can write what they want, but should find different venues to print particular pieces that might reflect poorly on the institution – we are, after all, referring to a Yeshiva, and an institution that represents Torah and a commitment to halakhic Judaism.

One comment on the online posting of the story in question said, "I don't understand why people are so upset. I can find much more graphic sexual activity in the tanach and that may I remind you was written by God."

This is the problem. Because "God wrote about it" means everyone has a free pass to write about these kinds of outside-of-marriage encounters? "God writing about it," so to speak, is an example of the Divine using unique judgment to share what we need to know about, and to avoid sharing the stories we need not know about.

The difference between the Torah's tales and creative writing is that the human heroes of the Bible recognized their errors, felt shame even before they were caught, and even admitted their mistakes in a public forum.

People today who engage in the sins of this variety may or may not recognize their errors, or feel shame before being caught, and rarely admit publicly that they made a mistake (the author of the story in question is "Anonymous"). Even if they personally feel they've made a mistake, they might keep it between themselves and God for the rest of their lives.

Yehuda didn't excuse his behavior either, neither blaming it on his society, culture, or even the fact that he felt lonely after the death of his wife.

Without going through moral justifications, some of the lessons that come out of the story include: the need to be truthful, to follow up on a promise, not to embarrass someone (Bava Metzia 59a), to look out for yourself, to create your own destiny, to admit your mistakes. You hope God will justify your choices in good time, but in the here and now, we must make every effort to do what's right the first time.

But the Children...

2011-12-08T21:55:00.003-05:00

Parshat Vayishlach

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Towards the end of the conversation Yaakov has with Eisav about their future, Yaakov's final insistence that he cannot accompany Eisav to Seir puts the blame where most of us might put it.

'My lord,' replied Jacob, 'you know that the children are weak, and I have responsibility for the nursing sheep and cattle. If they are driven hard for even one day, all the sheep will die. Please go ahead of me, my lord. I will lead my group slowly, following the pace of the work that I have ahead of me, and the pace of the children. I will eventually come to [you], my lord, in Seir.'

When he describes the "regel ha'yladim" (the feet (pace) of the children) as the culprit for his having to move much slower, Ibn Ezra, Seforno and Ramban believe he is referring to his own children, "the oldest of whom is 12 and a few days" (Ibn Ezra). This could be supported by the verse that opens the chapter, in which Yaakov's children are referred to as "y'ladim" twice.

Others, however, believe Yaakov is referring to the children of his adult sheep who are weak and unable to be pushed hard to travel. Chizkuni (33:13), for example, points out that Yaakov placed his wives and children on camels (referring to 31:17), implying that their (the children's) inability to walk would be a non-factor.

A number of Midrashim take the reference to the weak children as a metaphor for a different time and place. It either refers to Moshe and Aharon, with the sheep being the Israelite nation who might have died in the days of Andaryanus were it not for the mercy of God, or to David and Shlomo, with the sheep again referring to the Israelite nation who might have died in the days of Haman were it not for God's mercy (Bereshit Raba Vayishlach 78).

The Medrash Agada puts a different spin on what it is the children can't handle: the burden of Gehinnom. If you push them too hard one day, they'll have no hope.

Yalkut Shimoni has two accounts which include the children metaphor referring to Chananya, Mishael and Azarya on the one hand, and the Messiah on the other hand.

The Chizkuni's interpretation is most sensible to me. One has to imagine that wealthy Yaakov's children were riding on camels, and that there is no way he would force them to walk to the point that they would not be able to continue. Sheep, on the other hand, would be afforded no such luxury.

And, as compelling as the midrashic interpretations are, I can't imagine Yaakov really had such images in mind when addressing his brother Eisav.

If Yaakov's children were riding on camels, why then did Yaakov blame his intent not to join Eisav on his small children? It may be true, as the Midrash Sechel Tov points out, that their age demanded much attention. But why couldn't Yaakov just be up front with Eisav? Why couldn't he say, "I don't think your place is the right environment for me"? His kids might not have cared where they ended up! Why blame them, when it is Yaakov who wants no part of it?

Because, as many of us well know, the most important decisions we make in our lives are heavily influenced by our children and their needs.

I know one family who chose to raise their children in a small town close to where the specific Orthodox day school they admired was located. I know of families that have specifically sought jobs in larger Jewish communities - even though they preferred a smaller or "out of town" environment - where the special education needs of one of their children could be met.

I am sure you can think of countless examples when you or your parents made important life choices that were heavily influenced by the effect and impact it would have on children.

On the flip side, there are sacrifices we make on account of our children. Sometimes we come late to or miss events we would have liked to attend because "something came up." It may be a medical emergency, or a meltdown, or a tough night at the negotiating table (ie "you are going to bed right now, or else...").

In our society, when the "detained on account of child" excuse is real, we always hope those who were offended could be forgiving and understanding.

On the other hand, there may be times when people overuse the "child" excuse to the point they are no longer believed.

Was Yaakov being truthful in his blaming his inability to continue the journey on his children? Maybe yes, maybe no. But Yaakov knew that with the right person, and presented in the right way, it is hard to refute a fallback excuse that includes the words "My kids are small and incapable of making the journey."

This is one of the shared elements of the human condition – once we have children, our lives become inexorably linked to their immediate needs when duty calls.

When to Name a Jewish Child

2011-11-29T22:07:00.001-05:00

I dedicate this week's dvar torah to the memory of a friend, Jason Botnick, (they have not been updated, but see efforts on his behalf here and here), who tragically passed away this past weekend after losing his battle with Leukemia. To the Botnick, Pinsky, Jacobs families - your loss is great. I don't think any words can bring any comfort. But the feelings of love for your families, and the gravity of your loss, extends to us in South Florida and (I am sure) to people around the world who were praying and pulling for Jason in any way we could. May Hashem comfort you in this difficult time.

Parshat Vayetze

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The Torah never addresses when a newborn is to be named; just about every Biblical figure who is introduced at birth is named right away. This would not come as much of a shock in a pre-Avraham and pre-Bris era. But the fact that Yitzchak, Yaakov, Eisav, and all of Yaakov's sons (chapters 29-30) (perhaps with the exception of Binyamin's second name in 35:18) are named the moment they are born (or so it seems) stands to leave open the idea that in Biblical times, boys were named before the bris.

In a pre-Sinai world, certainly girls were not named when the new father received an aliyah to the Torah – Dinah, for example, seems to be named at her birth.

Why do we name our children when we do: the boy at the bris, and the girl at a Torah reading? Is there significance to the public display of naming a baby?

Avram received his new name after his bris, yet Yitzchak received his name the minute he was born, if not before he was born. Yitzchak's circumstance can be taken off the table, however, because his name was given to him by God, before he was even conceived. But Yitzchak's sons and Yaakov's sons are still an argument pro pre-bris naming.

Yossele Weisberg z"l, one of the most prominent mohels in Jerusalem until his passing around 10 years ago, dedicated a chapter of his magnum opus on the laws and practices of the Bris Milah experience, "Otzar Habris," to the customs surrounding when we name both boys and girls.

He records 4 reasons for why a boy is named at his bris:

At the time we are involved in blessing the child (ie. we say a "mi sheberach" after the bris), it is appropriate to refer to him by name. This would imply that the bris is the latest we can name a boy.
Until his bris, he carries the name of an "arel" ערל (uncircumcised), which must be changed to a proper Jewish name as soon as possible after his circumcision.
When we give the name with the formula of "Kayem" קיים את הילד הזה לאביו ולאמו ויקרא שמו בישראל... (establish this baby to his mother and father with the following Jewish name…), we are asking for the name to carry with it "God's approval," which would surely be most forthcoming once the child is circumcised.
Once he is circumcised, and has arrived at his personal physical "completion" (shlemut), it is the right time for him to be given his name.

The book Matamim, which explains the reasons for many customs, includes an explanation that focuses on the verse in Bereshit 2:19 – וכל אשר יקרא לו האדם נפש חיה הוא שמו - "Whatever the man called each living thing [would] remain its name." He quotes a thought from the book Toras Emes who points out that an acronym of the first five words of this phrase are the letters of the name Eliyahu/Elijah - אליהו. The first letters of the next three words, Nun, Chet and Heh have a numerical value of 63 (50+8+5), which is the same value as the word Navi – נביא – prophet. The last word is "Sh'mo" (it's name), Thus, when Elijah the Prophet is present, that is when "his name" [the child's, that is] is proclaimed. The only problem with this teaching is that the verse pre-dates any practice of including Elijah at the bris. As nice as it is, it can not be used in practical terms to explain why the baby is named at his bris, and not before his bris.

When it comes to naming girls, Yossele Weisberg records 6 different customs as to when it could be done: 1. the day she is born, 2. on the first Torah-reading day closest to her birth, 3. the Shabbos immediately after her birth, 4. to wait at least five days from her birth (unless her 3^rd or 4^th day is Shabbos), 5. on the 2^nd Shabbos of her life, 6. 30 days after her birth.

Rabbi Shabtai Lipschitz of Orsziwa (

Galicia

) wrote a book called Bris Avos, in which he explains this last custom (waiting a month) based on a known connection women have to the moon and Rosh Chodesh. Just as the moon has a monthly cycle, women have a monthly cycle. The Rosh Chodesh connection is deeper, but no one suggests she be named specifically on Rosh Chodesh.

Rabbi Lipschitz's final point is that just as the father provides the name of his son to the one who announces it at the bris, he should verbally say his daughter's name to whomever (Rabbi, gabbai, chazzan, etc) will be announcing it along with a "Mi Sheberach."

There might be room to suggest Yaakov's sons were named after they were circumcised, but in the end, it does not matter whether they were or were not. Giving a name to a child is a significant event in and of itself. So significant, in fact, that Rabbi Jacob Emden declared "it is a mitzvah to rejoice and have a celebratory meal at the time one names his newborn daughter."

It would seem, therefore, that the naming of a boy at his bris, and a girl on a Torah reading day, particularly on Shabbos, would become a matter of convenience. The significance of the naming itself is a cause for celebration – so our tacking it onto a party we're making in honor of a bris, or in honor of Shabbos (or even any Torah-reading day) makes sense from a practical point of view – have one major expense at a time we'd be celebrating anyway.

May our children grow to fulfill our dreams and wishes for them, no matter when they are named. And may we merit to help them realize their potential in the best possible way.

ps. In the event that a baby's bris is delayed for a significant period of time on account of health concerns, most authorities recommend naming the child (some say to name him even before his eighth day - when his bris might have otherwise taken place) so prayers can be offered on his behalf in the proper fashion: utilizing his Jewish name.

Beer ShEva or Beer ShAva? Symbolic or Irrelevant?

2011-11-24T01:48:00.002-05:00

Parshat Toldot

by Rabbi Avi Billet

This may seem trivial. And to be honest, I may be completely wrong. But I can't help thinking there's something deeper behind the names Avraham and Yitzchak seem to give to the city where they each forge a treaty with Avimelekh.

Before we proceed with the evidence, we begin with a disclaimer: I am aware that there are words whose vowels change when they land on the cantillation marks of "Etnachta" and "Sof Pasuk." The change usually involves a segol (the "eh" sound) or a patach (the "ah" sound) becoming a kamatz (more like an "uh" sound). Names, such as "Yefet/Yafet" and "Peleg/Paleg" are prime examples of the former, while Canaan and Mitzrayim (

Egypt

) are classics in the latter category.

In Chapter 21:28-31, Avraham gave 7 sheep to Avimelekh in exchange for peace (don't we wish it were that easy today?), then he called the name of the place "Beer ShAva, because they both swore (nish'b'oo) to one another." Note, of course, that the word "Shava" has an "Etnachta" mark under it. But was the city named for the seven sheep, or for the swear? If the former, it should be Beer Sheva (7). But if it's for the swear, it should be Beer Shava (on account of the swear).

It seems the jury is out on this one. Targum Yonatan thinks the city was named for the seven sheep. The Malbim and Alshikh say it was named for the swear (Alshikh even raises this discussion!). And Radak thinks both events were included in the city's name calculation.

In Yitzchak's case, Avimelekh similarly makes an agreement with Yitzchak, which they swear to maintain (26:31). After Yitzchak sends Avimelekh and Fichol on their merry way, Yitzchak's servants inform him that they've found a well – from all indications, it is the seventh well in Yitzchak's arsenal.

They call the well "Shivah..." (26:33) Rashi claims the well is thus named because of the swear. Seforno claims the well is thus named because it is the seventh well. Chizkuni argues that the well was named for the city they were in – the one that had been named by Avraham.

The verse continues, "Therefore the name of the city is Beer Sheva until this day." (26:33) Is it named for the name of the well, or the fact that there are seven wells? Or is it named for the swear? Whether it is called Beer Sheva for the name of the well or in honor of seven wells seems to be irrelevant. The city is given a name which includes the number seven: "Beer Sheva."

Meshekh Hokhmah argues most sensibly that Avimelekh broke his treaty with Avraham when he threw Yitzchak out of Gerar. Therefore, one of the reasons posited for why Yitzchak has to name the city Beer Sheva is to follow his father's footsteps, on account of the new treaty. The difference is that Avraham never named the city Beer Sheva – only Beer Shava.

It could be that the names Avraham and Yitzchak gave to the city (or cities) were the same, and that coincidence has Avraham's city always having an Etnachta or Sof Pasuk under it when it appears in the Torah, so it appears as Beer Shava.

On the other hand, it is interesting to note that after Yitzchak names the city, the only other person in the Torah connected with Beer Shava is Yaakov – the only person in the Torah that bears two identifying names at the same time.

Is there significance to this connection?

Chizkuni in 21:31 says it wasn't called "Beer Sheva" until Yitzchak's days, while Rashbam (26:33) argues that there are two separate cities with the same name. [In the Neviim books, the phrase "From Dan to Beer Sheva/Shava," identifying the Northern and Southern borders of tribal

Israel

, seems to interchange Sheva and Shava freely.]

The Chizkuni's notion is very compelling in light of the comparison to the notion of Yaakov's name change. Yaakov had his name changed to Israel later in life, and yet he never lost his original identity.

Whatever Yitzchak's reason for calling the city Beer Sheva, the fact is that his experience mimicked his father's but was not exactly the same. That a city's name could be inspired by two different promises (one broken), and different variations on the number seven (a significant number in the Torah), stands to reason that the city itself will stand for different things to different people.

The subtlety might otherwise only be noticed by the postal service (though in Israel, they don't usually vowelize their words, so it's a non issue). Like Yaakov, however, two names represent a local and national identity. One was for the times and reasons our forefathers lived there, and the other is as a symbol of the eternal borders of the homeland of our people – a symbol of the everlasting connection of our people to the heartland of

Israel

Shidduch Resumes

2011-11-17T19:59:00.001-05:00

Parshat Chayei Sarah

by Rabbi Avi Billet

I've heard it said a number of times that were Yitzchak and Rivkah alive today, there is no way they'd get married.

One can only imagine the report Avraham, "the gadol hador," would receive from his servant, the shadchan (matchmaker), after he interviewed Rivkah for the first time. "Family: Unrepentant idolators (father tried to kill me during our meeting), incorrigible brother; Girl: Very confident, thinks for herself, knows what she wants, a little on the young side."

For Yitzchak, it might read something like this: "Family: Mother dead, Father very old. Very God-fearing. Boy: 40 years old, still lives at home (possibly lives in the Negev), not very talkative, no real-world experience except for the time his father almost offered him as a sacrifice."

Rivkah resembled the very confident women I sometimes read about, who are so intimidating in their self-awareness that they never marry. Some women like this were married before they became what they are – following the advice of my grandmother who believes people should get married younger, before they become too smart for themselves.

To be fair, I know of a few successful, professional, "frum" women who were unable to find spouses (not that they didn't try), who opted to have a child through IVF in their mid to late 30s. This decision comes about after a thought process that includes, "I am not going to give up my chance of having a baby, just because I was unable to find a husband."

I will not pass judgment on either type. All kinds of permutations play into the lives people live and the choices they make (and this applies to men too – except they don't have the opportunity to give birth).

But I think Rivkah's choice to go with Avraham's servant was a coda to a wonderful first impression she gave him. And, in a sense, the timing was perfect for her to go to marry Yitzchak, because as confident and self-aware as she was, she was young enough to recognize that marriage was something she wanted, and that the opportunity she had before her may have been a once-in-a-lifetime chance to leave her surroundings and join what would undoubtedly become a great nation. In 24:49, the servant said if she wouldn't come, he would look elsewhere.

In Rivkah's case, the situation played out poetically. Avraham's servant felt that after her father and brother said "This is from God" (24:50) it was a done deal. All he needed to do was go. And so he was a bit surprised at the hesitation on the part of her family when he begged permission to leave with Rivkah.

Her brother and mother replied, '[At least] let the girl remain with us for another year or ten [months]. Then she can go.' (24:55)

He persisted that he must be on his way.

They replied "Let's call the girl and ask her personally." They summoned Rivkah and said to her, 'Do you want to go with this man?' 'I will go,' she replied. (24:57-58)

The implications of these comments are compelling.

The Alshikh claims they only agreed to let her go because they assumed they would be rewarded handsomely. As soon as they were merely given "migdanot" (mere gifts, or fruits), they tried their delay tactics. They didn't say "You can take her." They said "She'll go" (24:51) – implying "When she's ready, but not with you." They tried to demean him by asking Rivkah "Will you go with this man" as if he's a man undeserving of respect.

The Ta"Z adds that they were asking in a pejorative manner "Do you really want to go with this guy?" to suggest a wonder over how she might even entertain the notion. Had they been asking her opinion, they would have added the words "Im lo" (or not) as if presenting both sides of the question. Her answering "I will go" implies that she was going of her own accord, even if they did not want her to go – as Rashi suggsted.

Rashbam says they tried to suggest to her to wait a while in case a different man may come along to capture her attention. Radak posits they were even trying to be on the up-and-up when they offered to ask her in front of the servant, "…Lest you think we convinced her to stay without allowing her to share her own feelings," because they thought she wouldn't go.

Rivkah proved that one's actions and feelings and personal accomplishments are more important than any question of pedigree and "yichus."

Every couple has the right to choose how they want to live their Jewish lives, and personal journeys can play as much of a role in determining what that will look like as does their upbringing. Rivkah's qualities and personality were a good counter to the more passive Yitzchak, and served her son Yaakov well for his own dealings with Eisav and Lavan.

If my grandmother is right about young people, then I am glad Rivkah met Yitzchak at the young age she did, because had she waited… who knows if Yitzchak would have been good enough for her?

Prayer's Purpose

2011-11-11T09:05:00.002-05:00

Parshat Vayera

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The prophet Malachi presents a scenario when God-fearing people present their goodness to God, in contrast to the wicked who felt it was worthless to serve God. "At that time, the God-fearing people spoke to one another. God listened and heard, and a scroll of remembrance was written at His command concerning those who fear God and those who meditate on His Name." (Malachi 3:16)

Oddly enough, though the prophet records that a conversation took place, he does not record the conversation.

The Talmud (Brachot 6a) uses this passage as a foundation for the idea that two people who sit and share words of Torah merit to have the Divine Shechinah in their midst. The Gemara asks the question, "Why does the verse add the seemingly superfluous phrase regarding those who 'meditate on His name'? Is it not enough to speak of those who fear God?" The answer is offered by Rav Ashi who declares the teaching that "If a person thought to do a mitzvah and was prevented from doing so, he is given credit for having done the mitzvah."

In his "Darash Moshe", Rabbi Moshe Feinstein uses the background of these texts to ask why God found the need to tell Avraham about S'dom. Even if He knew Avraham would pray, He also knew that Avraham's prayer would have no effect. S'dom was doomed, and not even Avraham could save it. True, his nephew Lot could be saved in Avraham's merit, but this was apparently going to happen even without Avraham's intervention.

Rav Moshe answers that God wanted Avraham's prayers anyway. Avraham's prayers were powerful and needed to be brought to the earth for a purpose – a purpose and design other than to save the doomed city. In other words, Avraham thought to do a good deed, and even though it didn't work out, he received credit anyway.

To bring a similar example from the Talmud (Sanhedrin 44b), we are told that when Avraham prayed near the city of Ai (Bereshit 12:8), his prayers did nothing at the time, but prevented Yehoshua's army from being routed in the Battle of Ai (Yehoshua 7:5) around 465 years later.

This is one element of prayer that is beyond all of us. We simply do not know what our prayers do, what merit they serve to advocate for in our world.

When Nachshon Wachsman z"l, the Israeli soldier kidnapped and killed in 1994 (his yarzeit was this past Monday, 11/7, 10 Cheshvan), his family taught a very powerful lesson regarding prayer. "God always listens, but sometimes His answer is 'No.'" In essence, prayers are needed, but we don't always merit to see what purpose our prayers serve.

A few years ago, I was informed of a project taken on by a shul in New Jersey. Different members of the community wrote essays about what prayer means to them, and shared them with the membership. Though seemingly obvious, it turns out that every person brings their own personal experiences into how they view, understand, and relate to the act of "tefillah" – prayer.

A colleague shared one of the essays with me, in which the mother of a child-diagnosed-with-cancer had some very poignant insights. She said, "You don't know what prayer is until you find out your child will not outlive you." Most helpful, she said, was when a person who had gone through a similar trial confided in her saying, "There are times when you will be angry at God. You will not be able to pray. Don't worry. The rest of us will be praying for you."

These are powerful thoughts. It's not just that every individual has the ability to move mountains. It's that we are all in this together, looking out for one another, making a prayer-contribution because somewhere, somehow, it helps all of us. Perhaps in ways we could not even consider or imagine.

Let us make a commitment to consider that as much as the specific words we say may or may not be important, it is the fact that we prayed that is highly significant. Let us remember that not every day is the best of days – we don't always feel right, and we don't always feel it – but others are praying for us. And, of course, sometimes God's answer is "No."

Most of all, let us remind ourselves regularly that we're all in this together. If Avraham could pray, even though in the back of his mind he may have known that S'dom was doomed, how much moreso can we pray when we merely think things are grim and hopeless? Those we pray for are millions of times better than the people of S'dom. And we never have any right to think things are hopeless.

And in the event that our prayers seem to go unanswered, if we can only imagine that our prayers helped (or will help) someone, somewhere, in a way unbeknownst to us, our tefillah experiences will be exponentially more powerful and carry meaning beyond our wildest imagination!

Washing Before or After Kiddush?

2011-11-06T01:35:00.004-04:00

After I published this to the web, I found a more elaborate (and scholarly) discussion of the topic on hirhurim.blogspot.com - similar conclusions, though the directions bringing us there are very different.

Having eaten at the homes of a number of "Yekkes" on shabbos, my wife and I have always admired the German custom to wash before the Kiddush, to allow for Kiddush to flow straight into the Hamotzi and the eating of bread. "Typical yekkes, find a way to be efficient in these meals by cutting corners." It's true. How many people finally figure out where everyone is going to sit, only to have everyone get up again to wash for the bread? A little bit of frustration is easily removed through there being only one "general seating."

I hadn't looked up the law in a while, so I opened up the Shulchan Arukh to find this [I left the notes that link to the comments I record below in bold, underlined]:

שולחן ערוך אורח חיים הלכות שבת סימן רעא

סעיף יב

(נח) אחר שקידש על כוס, נוטל ידיו ומברך ענט"י ואם נטל ידיו קודם קידוש גלי דעתיה דריפתא חביבא ליה, לא יקדש על היין אלא על הפת.
הגה: (סא) כז וי"א דלכתחלה יש ליטול ידיו קודם הקידוש ולקדש על היין (הרא"ש ומרדכי פרק ע"פ (ורשב"א) והגה"מ פכ"ט, והטור). וכן המנהג פשוט במדינות אלו (סב) ואין לשנות רק בליל פסח, כמו שיתבאר סי' תע"ג.
The Mechaber (Rabbi Yosef Karo) writes: (58) After one has said the Kiddush over [the wine], one washes the hands and recites the blessing over the washing of the hands. If he washes his hands before the Kiddush, he is giving a clear indication that he prefers bread over wine, and he should make the Kiddush over the bread instead of over the wine
Rama: (61) 27 There are those that say that in the first place (l'khatchila) one should wash the hands before Kiddush, then make the Kiddush on the wine [presumably followed by the blessing on the bread]. And this is the obvious custom in these lands, (62) and one should not change except on the eve of Passover [at the seder, when we say the Kiddush first and wash for the matzah considerably later].
מגן אברהם סימן רעא ס"ק כז

כז וי"א דלכתחל' וכו' – דס"ל דאין הקידוש מקרי הפסק כיון דצורך סעודה היא ולכ"ע אסור למזוג הכוס בחמין כמ"ש סי' קס"ו ולמ"ד שם דאסור להפסי' אפי' לשפוך מהקנקן לכוס אסור אחר נטילה:
Magen Avraham 27 According to the Rama, the Kiddush is not considered an interruption (in one's concentration connecting the washing of hands to eating bread) because it is all part of the meal. The wine should be poured before people wash.

משנה ברורה סימן רעא ס"ק נח

(נח) אחר שקידש וכו' - ולא קודם [נח] כדי שלא יפסיק בהקידוש בין נט"י להמוציא [נט] אבל בני ביתו שאינם מקדשין בעצמן אלא יוצאין בשמיעתן מבעה"ב יוכלו ליטול ידיהם קודם:
Mishneh Brurah 58 Should wash after Kiddush – and not before [Kiddush] in order for the Kiddush not to be an interruption between the washing and the hamotzi blessing. But the members of his household, who do not recite Kiddush by themselves and fulfill their obligation through his recitation, they can wash their hands before the Kiddush.

(סא) וי"א דלכתחלה וכו' - דס"ל דאין הקידוש מקרי הפסק כיון שהוא צורך סעודה ולכך יקדש על היין וישתה הכוס ואח"כ יברך המוציא ויבצע הפת וכיון דאינו הפסק ס"ל לרמ"א דטוב לנהוג כן לכתחלה משום דכשאין לו יין ומקדש על הפת בע"כ צריך ליטול ידיו קודם הקידוש [סא] וע"כ טוב לנהוג כן תמיד באופן אחד. ולמזוג את הכוס בחמין אחר הנטילה קודם המוציא ודאי אין לעשות כן לכו"ע כיון דצריך לדקדק יפה שימזוג כדרכו שלא יחסר ושלא יותיר הוי היסח הדעת:
Mishneh Brurah 61 There are those that say that in the first place (l'khatchila) one should wash the hands before Kiddush – because in their opinion, Kiddush is not considered an "interruption" because it is part of the meal. Therefore [one will have washed, then] make Kiddush over the wine, then say the blessing on the bread, and break the bread. And since this is not considered an interruption, it is the opinion of the Rama that this a good practice l'khatchila. For when he does not have wine and he is saying Kiddush on bread, he also has to wash before saying the Kiddush. And it is therefore good to be consistent in one's practice [– ie to always wash before saying the Kiddush]. But pouring hot drinks before Hamotzi should not be done, because checking if you've done it properly and poured the right amount is definitely an interruption.

(סב) ואין לשנות - [סב] וכמה אחרונים כתבו דטפי עדיף לכתחלה לקדש על היין קודם נט"י וכדעת המחבר דבזה יוצא מדינא לכל הדעות ובכמה מקומות נהגו כדבריהם [סג] מיהו אם כבר נטל ידיו קודם קידוש בזה יש לעשות כהרמ"א דאעפ"כ יקדש על יין:
Mishneh Brurah 62 One should not change from this custom [of washing before the Kiddush] – Many Acharonim have written that it is preferred to say Kiddush on the wine before the washing of the hands, following the M'chaber's opinion, because through this one fulfills one's obligation according to all opinions. In some places they followed such an approach. However, if one washed the hands before Kiddush, one should certainly follow the Rama and make the Kiddush over wine [followed by the blessing on the bread].

Summary
Following the snippets as provided, there are 2 ways to go about having the recitation of Kiddush flow straight into Hamotzi.
1. Everyone except the person reciting Kiddush and Hamotzi washes and sits down. Then, after he says Kiddush, he quickly washes – waiting for one person is not considered a 'hefsek'/interruption.
2. Everyone washes first (including the one saying the blessings), and the Kiddush is not considered a hefsek because it is part of the meal.

I like the argument that since Kiddush over bread would also require a washing before Kiddush (in the uncommon circumstance that a person has no wine or grape juice, this is standard procedure), one ought to be consistent and always wash first.

At the same time, there is certainly much to say for the argument that "Kiddush gets its own time" and that "washing and Hamotzi get their own time." In other words, say the Kiddush, then wash – as is the practice in most homes that I have visited – followed by Hamotzi.

Can we change our minhag? Without insulting our parents? I think the answer is YES, as long as we become consistent about it.

Beating the Vultures

2011-11-03T23:08:00.001-04:00

Parshat Lekh Lekha

The first of the two significant covenants that were forged between Avraham and God was the Brit Bein Habtarim (Covenant Between the Pieces). In exchange for a promise that he'll have children, that they'll be enslaved for 400 years, but that they'll ultimately inherit the land of Canaan, God asks of Avraham (still Avram at that time) to "Bring for Me a prime heifer, a prime goat, a prime ram, a dove and a young pigeon." (15:9)

The Torah describes what Avram did: "He brought all these for Him. He split them in half, and placed one half opposite the other. The birds, however, he did not split."

Once he set up the halved animals and the whole birds, he was faced with a real problem: "Vultures descended on the carcasses, but Avram drove them away." (15:11)

Between the vision of the stars in which this encounter began, and concluding with the trance that came upon Avram as the sun set (15:12) , it seems that the Brit Bein Habtarim was minimally a 20-hour experience.

What took so long?

Perhaps the verse describing Avram's encounter with the vultures may have taken a lot more time than its press coverage might indicate.

The rabbinic interpretation of the vultures' descent paints a metaphor of Avraham's descendants fighting against those who want to break apart our Covenant with God. But perhaps there is room to interpret the events more literally.

In an interpretation that is difficult to understand literally, the Midrash Hagadol posits that when the vultures came, Avram put the split carcasses next to each other and they returned to life to frighten away their would-be attackers. More in line with the actual wording of the verse, Radak suggests that the vultures only descended on the dead birds (complete carcasses) and not on the animals that were split in half.

Getting into the trenches with Avram, Chizkuni suggests that Avram was literally running back and forth to cover the animals with a sheet – protecting them from the hungry vultures – as he lay in wait for the divine presence to pass between the pieces so the covenant could be set in motion.

There is no question that the vultures coming down were meant to serve as symbolism to Avram for the struggles his descendants would have to go through. The Artscroll Chumash includes a summary of three approaches of what the birds represent: King David, who will be driven away by God before Messiah comes, nations trying to destroy Israel, and nations trying to prevent Israel from serving God.

But I think that the literal interpretation, for a change, perhaps, carries the most profound lesson of all.

When God gives you instructions which are easy enough to carry out, when you do your part it stands to reason that everything else will flow and fall into place. But you can't just expect everything to be perfect. If the task is to cut animals in half, vultures will want to eat the animals before the Covenant is complete.

If the task is to show our children how to daven in shul, someone will talk to you in shul, or the davening won't be conducive to the education you want to provide.

If the task is to learn Torah with our children or to set time to learn with a study partner, all kinds of obstacles and distractions will stand in the way of our doing that which we know we need to do.

If the task is to dedicate time to a worthy cause, every excuse in the world will stand in the way of allowing us to participate in the way we might like.

If the task is to bring guests into our homes, maybe the plumbing will go and the heating or air conditioning will stop working, or they'll overstay their welcome.

No matter the task, everything comes with its own challenges. The lesson we learn from our forefather is one of patience. With perseverance and with the attitude that "If I could just see myself past this obstacle everything will be OK," we can attain the goals we set for ourselves.

Avraham needed to chase away hungry birds. And it may have taken him the better part of the day to get them to give up their attempts at the dead animals. But he stuck with it, received the covenantal promise, and his children did leave, to inherit the Torah and the Land of Israel.

And we're still here today.

Was it worth the annoyance of vultures for a few hours? I am sure our forefather Avraham would respond with a resounding "Yes!"

Are Women Not Part of the Covenant of the Bris?

2011-10-31T11:01:00.001-04:00

I wrote this for my mohel blog, but thought it was worthy to be repeated here.

I am a "Florence Melton Adult Mini School" instructor, and this week my assignment was to teach the class in "Rhythms" entitled "Birth and Berit." Sounds easy enough – doesn't seem like I need to prepare all that much.

[The Melton curriculum is officially "pluralistic." While I will engage all Jews where they are in their Jewish journey, I don't consider myself pluralistic in my approach to Judaism. With this in mind, let us continue…]

The class as formatted explains what the Covenant (Bris) of Circumcision (Milah) is, offers some rabbinic suggestions as to its purpose and why the mark of the covenant is placed on the particular part of the anatomy where it is.

It even asks important sociological questions that pertain to a society in which Jews and non-Jews are routinely circumcised, which would negate the "only Jews" element of circumcision, as well as a concern that non-traditional Jews continue to go through with the procedure on account of a connection based on conformity, as opposed to a religious or traditional conviction. Compelling conversation starters.

All this is fine with me.

But the part that bothers me is when the question is raised as to why there is no parallel ritual for girls, and why it seems women are not part of the covenant.

I will now proceed to address the different approaches Reform and Reconstructionist Judaism have created in order to rectify this problem. I will conclude with my own explanation for why I believe all of this is a result of ignorance and a focus on a particular agenda in place of educating ourselves and our constituents as to what the real significance of Judaism's practices are all about.

I. A Big Party is Made for a Boy's Birth, But not for a Girl's Birth. Therefore we will now make a big party to celebrate the girl's birth.

Let us make one thing quite clear. All normal parents are equally joyous over the birth of their baby – regardless of gender. Some may have wanted (in their heart or mind) the other gender. But that feeling is usually wiped away one second after the baby is born. Nowadays, with many people knowing the child's gender before birth, it is a non-issue by the time the baby's mother goes into labor.

The Bris Party is not a celebration of the birth of a boy. It is a celebration of the fulfillment of this great and important mitzvah that parents (hmmm – a male and a female, and in cases of a single mother - only a female) perform on their son, to mark our commitment to the Covenant, and our connection to God through the promulgation of our continued adherence to the commitment He forged with our Forefather Abraham through circumcision.

People who wanted to celebrate their daughter's birth would often have a celebration in the synagogue on the Sabbath when their daughter was named – which was traditionally done when the Torah was being read. That this fell out of practice in less-traditional communities is a flaw in education and ritual practice -- not in the celebration of the arrival of a baby girl.

Which leads us to the next issue.

II. A Boy has a bris, but Judaism has no parallel ritual for girls. So, we will now make a parallel ritual

It is entirely appropriate to make a big deal over the birth of a baby girl. By all means, people should be invited to the synagogue when she is given her name. But, as mentioned before, the bris is not meant to be a fuss over the baby boy's arrival. We are celebrating the forging of the mark of the covenant on the baby.

Since girls obviously do not have the same anatomy as boys (they are, after all, girls), there is no need for a so-called parallel-ritual. Making a big baby-naming ceremony, complete with rituals that look more like a baptism than anything Jewish, have a connotation of a misplaced priority. I have read of rituals which include: the immersion of the child in a mikveh, the washing of her feet, a drawing of blood from her toe, assigning her first menstrual blood as her "blood of the covenant."

We must understand what we are celebrating, and put every kind of celebration in its proper context. Most mothers I have met would happily not have me do the bris on their sons were it not for the mitzvah. Who wants to have a newborn go through with such a procedure? Whenever I tell people (latter half in jest as you'll see) "Call me when your baby is born, but only if it's a boy. I don't work with girls." I always conclude the line with a hearty "THANK GOD."

We don't WANT to circumcise girls, and we certainly don't need to "compensate" for the lack of a parallel ritual by fabricating ceremonies that have no Jewish flavor.

III. We seek to change the premise that girls and women are not considered full members of the Jewish people

I have addressed here that a person is Jewish if born from a Jewish mother. This applies to male and female babies alike, and is completely unrelated to circumcision. In fact, a boy born of a Jewish mother who is, for whatever reason, uncircumcised, is still a Jew. [Depending on why he was not circumcised he may be responsible to take care of his circumcision once he reaches the age of majority, but he is never considered out of the fold, until he dies uncircumcised, in which case, we might take care of it for him anyway.]

Jewish females are not enjoined to partake in a circumcision (oy gevalt) or any parallel ritual simply because the first instruction given to Abraham was to "Walk before Me and become complete." (Genesis 17:1) In other words, with a foreskin, he is considered incomplete, requiring human intervention to perfect and complete his body. Once he no longer has a foreskin, his body is complete, and his spirit is opened (in a way it wasn't before) to become complete. The foreskin is therefore the barrier to his completeness.

Now let's look at the female. Hmmm... No foreskin… It should be obvious that the woman is created physically complete!

Logic would follow that insinuating a so-called "parallel ritual" for females would now be an insult to women. Why would you want to "imitate" the males if such a move would first have to bring you downfrom the level you're at, only to then go up? If you've already "arrived" why would you want to take steps back?

IV. We will now have a ceremony on the eighth day of the girl's life.

Many mothers have told me how much they enjoy the relative ease that follows the birth of a girl. "You don't have the rush and bustle of preparing for a bris. You don't have to worry about entertaining guests. You don't have to try to fit into a dress, or worry about the fact that despite baby now being on the outside, it sometimes takes a couple of weeks for the uterus to go back down to normal 'empty' size. You don't have to subject your baby to a surgical procedure a week after she was born. You don't have to shlep her out of the house for a bris and celebration. She does not have to be present when she is given her name. I don't have to be present. And we can take our leisurely time in celebrating her arrival in the way we want, at the time we want."

The Torah even describes such a difference in a woman's status after giving birth to a girl versus after giving birth to a boy (Leviticus chapter 12).

Why would you want to rush yourself to have such a celebration (beautiful as it is, but completely not mandated), when you can wait for baby's mommy to get back to herself leisurely and have her "go public" when she is ready?

Just to imitate boys?

This reminds me of the notion I have heard of having girls become "bnot mitzvah" at age 13. Traditionally, girls reach the age of Jewish majority at age 12. This is a tribute to their maturity, in mind and body, a complete year before their male counterparts. Celebrating their reaching majority at age 13, like the boys, is an insult to girls. Not a compliment.

Life is not about "trying to be like the Joneses" or "like the boys." Life is about embracing who we are, living to our potential, and filling the natural roles we are meant to fill. Saying a woman should be a father is not only ridiculous. It is nonsensical. (Just as saying a man should be a mother is ludicrous)

Saying a girl should have a celebration on the eighth day is similarly silly. If anything, following the chapter in Leviticus mentioned above, there may be room for a celebration of some kind on her 15^th day. But that is pure conjecture – I have never seen any source that made such a suggestion.

V. But when we say the Grace After Meals, the text refers to our thanking God for, among other things, the "Covenant that You sealed in our flesh." It is clearly a text written by males, for males, which is meant to exclude women who do not bear such a mark in their flesh. We will change the text so it additionally thanks God "for the covenant You sealed in our hearts"

Nebich. I feel for people who can take a line like this and find offense in it. We, collectively, are thanking God for all the gifts he has given our people as a whole. We all thank God for the Covenant which happens to be marked on our (males') flesh. Just because the males bear the mark of the covenant does not mean women are not included in the covenant. I am unaware of any other reference to a "Covenant sealed in our hearts," and I believe this is a fabrication of such a notion.

Of course women are included in the covenant marked in our flesh. And here is why.

Firstly, the covenant was made with Abraham's descendants - ALL of them. Male and female.

Secondly, if you read through Genesis 17, when Avraham is given the commandment to circumcise himself and the males in his household, taken careful note of what triggers the possibility of his being able to create this mark in the flesh.

7 I will sustain My covenant between Me and between you and your descendants after you throughout their generations, an eternal covenant; I will be a God to you and to your offspring after you. 8 To you and your offspring I will give the land where you are now living as a foreigner. The whole land of Canaan shall be [your] eternal heritage, and I will be a God to [your descendants].' 9 God [then] said to Abraham, 'As far as you are concerned, you must keep My covenant - you and your offspring throughout their generations. 10 This is My covenant between Me, and between you and your offspring that you must keep: You must circumcise every male.

AND OF COURSE, HOW DO THESE OFFSPRING COME ABOUT, SO HE CAN DO THE CIRCUMCISION?

15 God said to Abraham, 'Sarai your wife - do not call her by the name Sarai, for Sarah is her name. 16 I will bless her, and make her bear you a son. I will bless her so that she will be [the mother] of entire nations - kings will be her descendants.'

19 God said, 'Still, your wife Sarah will give birth to a son. You must name him Isaac. I will keep My covenant with him as an eternal treaty, for his descendants after him.

21 But I will keep My covenant with Isaac, whom Sarah will bear to you this time next year.'

The reason why we can fulfill this covenant is because our wonderful women bear the Jewish children who will bear the mark of the Covenant. Without getting into intricacies of the birds and bees, obviously these children were created when the women "bore the mark of the covenant in their flesh." (sounds weird, but it is obviously true.) Without our women, born complete in body, we are helpless, hopeless, and there is no Covenant.

CONCLUSION

I am not here to deny that in some elements of Jewish history women were not accorded opportunities they are accorded today. While there may have been an element of chauvinism involved, I do think it was no different than in any other society and culture in the world. At the same time, I believe Judaism has always been far ahead of the general society when it came to the positive treatment of women, inclusion of women, and appreciation of the role of the woman and mother in the family and community.

Before educational and employment opportunities were availed to women in the way they are now (our society in general has come a long way), women were very busy in their family lives and responsibilities – many of which have been made easier by modern technology. And these changes are welcome, wonderful, and an enhancement of our society.

But saying women were excluded from the bris comes from an ignorance of Torah, an ignorance of what the Covenant is, what women are, and what it means to have male anatomy. It is very easy to say that Judaism discriminates against any person or animal who is not included in certain practices. [It discriminates against men, women, Jews, non-Jews, Kohens (who cannot participate directly in funerals), Levites, homosexuals, heterosexuals, kosher animals, non-kosher animals. The list is not exhaustive and could theoretically be endless.] I will never be a Kohen, a Levi, a woman, a mother. I will admire their roles in Judaism as an observer, and I will do my best not to be jealous of their responsibilities because I know that I fit into the tapestry that is the Jewish life in my own way.

Most women I know are very happy that they never had a "bris," don't feel slighted in any which way, and never put a second thought to any notion of "inequality" in this regard.

May we all live to appreciate our gifts from God, who we are, how He created us, and find a way to live our lives filling our God-given roles as best as we possibly can.

Looking Out For Myself

2011-10-27T16:34:00.000-04:00

Parshat Noach

The Tower of Babel story teaches many lessons. Arguably the most blatant problem in the story is that the goal of the people involved was to "make for ourselves a name." (Bereishit 11:4)

Unified they were, but to what end? Hillel said, "If I am not for myself, who will be for me?" (Avot 1:14) Avot D'Rabi Natan explains this to mean that "I am my own best advocate." For a person to be successful, the initiative to make a good name must come from within and must be followed with precise actions which will help achieve such a goal. How could this be a problematic aim for the builders of the tower?

The answer lies in the focus of the name they were trying to make, and its purported intent.

It is one thing to stand up for oneself and to make a personal growth chart guided by distinct benchmarks of "what I need to achieve to be the best I can be." It is an entirely different matter to put the vital interests of our community above those of other individuals and the world as a whole.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch writes, "The community complements the individual, but only if the community assumes the same attitude toward God as the individual should; that is, if it subordinates its will to God.

"If the community declares, 'We want to demonstrate the powers inherent in the community' without calling in God's name; if the individual is called upon to be a servant of the community, but not to serve God; if the community presents itself as an end instead of as a means to an end – then mankind's whole moral fixture is lost."

While Rabbi Hirsch may have been addressing the dangers of Communism (he lived at the same time as Karl Marx and they overlapped living in Germany at different times), I think we can springboard off his division between the community and the individual to create a new paradigm for what individual growth can look like.

Over the course of many travels and shabboses spent in different cities and towns, I have found many people quite dedicated to their communities. Many talk about how "everyone here is so nice." They'll talk about the distinguishing character of their shul, or the "chevra" they have, or how people look out for one another, in good times and especially in bad times.

They'll talk about how the community is very supportive of Jewish causes, how the community is a "makom Torah," and how the community is a model of chesed. Many people will say "I wouldn't want to live anywhere else." Some might even express the name of the "somewhere else" where'd they'd never want to live because "We don't want to be like those people."

But the story of the Tower of Babel is meant to tell us that it's not about what your community can accomplish. Many communities, in fact, do a lot of good. Each one supports their causes (and thank God there are plenty to go around), and each community looks out for their own.

The downside of the Tower of Babel group is emphasized particularly in contrast to an individual named Abraham, who chose to make a name for God, instead of making a name for his community. He worked on himself in order to sanctify God's name, rather than focus his attention on the trimmings of his neighborhood.

Now that the holiday season is behind us, let us ask ourselves in what ways we are working to sanctify God's name – both as communities, and even moreso as individuals. It's nice that we have shalom zachars. But why are rabbis the only ones who prepare the divrei torah to share?

It's nice that we have long shabbos meals, but why do we spend the entire time chatting, perhaps remembering to say a "quick dvar" right before bentching, in place of filling our shabbos tables with songs and a vibrant discussion of the parsha?

It's nice that our children speak at their bar and bat mitzvahs. But why does half the speech need to contain a gratuitous "roast" of siblings instead of a sophisticated thought that parent and child worked on together that shares a powerful message for speaker and participants? Let us aim to bring our children into adulthood, rather than encourage them to demonstrate how childish they can be.

It's nice that the communities we live in support causes, Torah, chesed. But wouldn't it be even greater if every individual participated in these support efforts, not just by saying "I'm a fan" but by showing up, rolling up sleeves, and getting involved?

Our communities can have whatever reputations they've developed or will develop. But our goals as individuals should always be, as Hillel said, "To look out for myself." If I don't make the effort to break away from the coattails of others to create my own good name, to sanctify God's name myself, and to continue to grow in a spiritual way, "Who will be for me?"

Making The Most Out of Life

2011-10-19T04:17:00.003-04:00

With the return of Gilad Shalit to Israel, alive and in one piece (at least in body - who knows what his mind has been through?), an image many had doubts we would ever see, there is cause for celebration for the positive end to his personal ordeal. Many question the math of a 1,027 person exchange, many of whom are convicted murderers who literally have blood on their hands, as being a fair price to pay to get Gilad back. I will not render an opinion in this forum on that question. It was surely a difficult decision, and I do not envy the Israeli leaders who brokered this deal, for the aftermath of this exchange which rests on their shoulders.

It did get me thinking, however, about a famous film that raised a similar question. It's hard to compare the storylines, and perhaps I am stretching things, but the quotes I present here from the movie "Saving Private Ryan" are provocative conversation starters, and certainly fit in line with my parsha piece this week. I present the quotes first (lifted from imdb.com), unedited, followed by the dvar torah on the first parsha of the Torah. The spaces between lines indicate that the quotes are from different parts of the film and are not presented as straight dialogue.

Private Reiben: You wanna explain the math of this to me? I mean, where's the sense of riskin' the lives of the eight of us to save one guy?

Sergeant Horvath: I don't know. Part of me thinks the kid's right. He asks what he's done to deserve this. He wants to stay here, fine. Let's leave him and go home. But then another part of me thinks, what if by some miracle we stay, then actually make it out of here. Someday we might look back on this and decide that saving Private Ryan was the one decent thing we were able to pull out of this whole godawful, shitty mess. Like you said, Captain, maybe we do that, we all earn the right to go home.

Captain Miller: He better be worth it. He better go home and cure a disease, or invent a longer-lasting light bulb.

Captain Miller: You see, when... when you end up killing one your men, you see, you tell yourself it happened so you could save the lives of two or three or ten others. Maybe a hundred others. Do you know how many men I've lost under my command?
Sergeant Horvath: How many?
Captain Miller: Ninety-four. But that means I've saved the lives of ten times that many, doesn't it? Maybe even 20, right? Twenty times as many? And that's how simple it is. That's how you... that's how you rationalize making the choice between the mission and the man.

Captain Miller: [weakly mutters something]
Private Ryan: [leans in closer] What, sir?
Captain Miller: James, earn this... earn it. [Captain Miller dies shortly after he says this]

Old James Ryan: [addressing Capt. Miller's grave] My family is with me today. They wanted to come with me. To be honest with you, I wasn't sure how I'd feel coming back here. Every day I think about what you said to me that day on the bridge. I tried to live my life the best that I could. I hope that was enough. I hope that, at least in your eyes, I've earned what all of you have done for me.
Ryan's Wife: James?...
[looking at headstone]
Ryan's Wife: Captain John H Miller.
Old James Ryan: Tell me I have led a good life.
Ryan's Wife: What?
Old James Ryan: Tell me I'm a good man.
Ryan's Wife: You are.

Parshat Bereishit

After she finished reading Dara Horn's recent novel "The World to Come" my wife said to me, "The last chapter is amazing." I have not yet read the book, but I did read the last chapter. It's filled with Dara Horn's style of weaving Jewish titles, terms, and quotes in her narrative, and is a joy to read. Especially if you "get" all the references.

In the chapter, two souls who already lived spend some time with a "not-yet," a soul who is soon to be born, on a journey to the Tree of Life that is guarded by the sword described in Bereishit 3:24.

The male character wants the not-yet to eat from the tree, while the female character does not. She says, "You actually, genuinely want him to be born and never die." When the male character (the not-yet's deceased grandfather) proceeds to scream at her saying, "WHY NOT? Why can't he have what we didn't have? Why should his children have to watch him die?" her response is, "Because that's what makes it matter."

It's a chilling image, one imagines taking place in a heavy rainstorm, at a tottering bridge, before the world is about to end. The scene is very powerful and dramatic.

The Torah lists the concern that a person might eat from the Tree of Life and live forever as one of the reasons for the expulsion from the garden (3:22-23), but it does not say why living forever would be a problem.

In fact, Radak points out that original command of 2:16-17 included instructions that allowed people to partake of the Tree of Life: "You may eat from every tree except the Tree of Knowledge." Once they partook of the Tree of Knowledge, mortality was introduced – they were condemned to die one day. On account of this, they were expelled from the garden, lest they eat from the Tree of Life and extend their lives beyond their now-allotted years.

Radak feels God could not command them "Do not eat from the Tree of Life" because it had already been permitted to them. Furthermore, experience shows they don't do well with one commandment not to eat from a specific tree. Therefore they were taken out of the garden to avoid the problem altogether.

Ramban speaks in less cryptic terms when he says, "God wanted His punishment decree to be fulfilled with the death of man. Were he to eat from the Tree of Life, God's decree would have been thwarted, delayed, or he might even live forever." The problem with the Tree of Life, therefore, was that it would take away the punishment the humans were meant to get for eating of the Tree of Knowledge. (Chizkuni)

In the most spiritual of the answers I found, the Alshich looks at the practical side of living forever, and though he does not mention the cathartic stage we go through in death directly, he says "Were he to eat of the Tree of Life and live forever, he would never achieve a tikkun" or a correction for his mistake. Rashi even describes how a person who lives forever will steer people after him, making himself into a god-like figure.

It does not seem that immortality in and of itself is a bad thing (assuming one doesn't fancy himself a god on account of it). But for Man who was punished for partaking of the Tree of Knowledge, living forever would remove the punishment, and the possibility it would bring for the soul to make amends. For Man who needs to achieve atonement or to receive forgiveness for an error, death brings about such atonement and forgiveness. For Man to bring a correction to the soul, such a correction could only come about when the body no longer stands as interference to the soul.

Death also brings closure to a life lived – sometimes well-lived, sometimes long, sometimes tragically short. Knowing of our own mortality, we set goals for the lives we live, and if we are lucky enough to apportion our time right and stay focused, we can spend a good portion of our lives working towards and achieving our goals. The knowledge that we have a finite amount of time makes our individual journeys on this earth matter, and makes our existence matter to those we touch in our lifetimes.

The mark of a life well-lived is being missed by those who survive us once we are gone. Were we to live forever, we would never be missed, and we would lose our relevance. We might even ask God to end our existence, as did many Biblical and Talmudical figures (Moshe, Eliyahu, Yonah, Choni Ha'Magel, to name a few, as well as the elders of Luz (Sotah 46b) )

May we merit to always live our lives noting the incredible gift of life we have been given. May we also find the resilience to make the most of our lives so that when our time on earth comes to an end, we need not look back with any regrets.

As the female character says to the not-yet born in "The World to Come," "The test comes later." And her male counterpart says, "Later. During every moment of every day of your life."

Greatest Gift of All

2011-10-18T12:46:00.001-04:00

Simchat Torah
What are we celebrating on Simchas Torah?

Some focus on our completing the cycle of the Torah reading for the year, others focus on beginning anew. Some prefer to take the whole picture into account and say it is a celebration of the Torah in general.

I like this latter approach simply because it seems more complete. The Torah does not need a specific event, moment, or anecdote to be celebrated. It just is. It is special, it is unique, and it is ours.

The Mas'as Hamelekh (Shimon Moshe Diskin) shares an insight on this subject that seems so obvious, yet is quite profound. He looks at the verse in Devarim 28:47, the explanation for the tokhacha (rebuke) which says "These things will come upon you on account of your not serving God with joy and a good heart." From this verse, he deduces that the service of God must include two ingredients: a joyous heart and a good heart. Having either one or neither of these ingredients is an incomplete form of serving God.

He goes on to describe our celebration of Simchas Torah:

"If we focus on the completing of the Torah, we lose sight of the joy of the holiday. Rejoicing with the Torah is a 'rejoicing of the heart,' but is not called 'tov' – goodness. We are therefore minimizing the joy of the holiday because we need "simcha v'tuv levav" (a joyous and good heart) and all we have is a joyous heart.

"There is therefore a simple solution to the problem. The joy of 'Pikudei Hashem' (Tehillim 19:9) – which refers to the study of Torah, is only joyous but is not called 'tov' – good. But the joy over the Torah, celebrating the fact that we have the Torah – this is an entirely different story, falling into the category of 'the joy of a good heart.'"

We certainly celebrate the completion and the new beginning of the Torah cycles. More importantly, we celebrate that we have the Torah, that it was given to us, and that it is ours.

In a world dominated by other monotheistic religions, we ought to be proud that our religion is the original, the Coke of religions ('the real thing').

In a country that prides itself on "Judeo-Christian values," we can be proud of the prominent role Judaism's values play in guiding our society (well, the part of it that is moral, anyway).

Mostly, we can take pride in the Torah because of the wonderful gift that it is. That our people were chosen to carry its responsibilities, and that our people made it available to the world to learn from. Though the "Targum ha-70 (Septuagint)" is considered in our tradition to have been a negative moment in our people's history, the fact remains that God-fearing people view the Aseret Hadibrot (aka "Ten Commandments") as essential religious dogma, and a clear guide to a certain moral code that unites a society.

For those of us who do not yet appreciate the amazing gift that the Torah is, who do not understood what it means to simply celebrate that we have it – that it was given to us and that it is ours – this now becomes the challenge which should define your Jewish experience. How can you come to appreciate the amazing nature of our being the ones who 'have' the Torah?

In a similar vein, I once heard Rabbi Moshe Tendler share an insight in the Haggadah's song Dayenu. We say "Ilu kervanu lifnei har Sinai v'lo nasan lanu es haTorah, Dayenu" – had you brought us close to Mt. Sinai and not given the Torah to us, it would have been enough.

What would have been the point if we hadn't received the Torah?

Rabbi Tendler explained that "bringing us close to Mt. Sinai" refers to the giving of the Torah. "Not giving us the Torah" refers to the ability to delve, discuss, analyze, and decide what the law should be. The Torah was not given as a sealed book, closed to interpretation and practical application. It is a living book, which lives, thrives, and finds a way to re-present itself in every generation - God gave it to us with this purpose and design in mind..

May we merit all the blessings in the world as we celebrate Simchas Torah for what it is: a day of joy (which comes from completing, beginning and generally learning Torah), and a day filled with a good heart, one that celebrates the greatest gift of all – our having the Torah, our being the spiritual and rightful heirs of its teachings, and our being the bearers of its banner and its tradition in the truest sense of all of its teachings.

Avoiding Hoshana Confusion - and Traffic Jams!

2011-10-17T00:01:00.000-04:00

While the issue and suggestions are real, the tone is somewhat tongue in cheek (by design!). Please excuse in advance if you find it a little "sharp."

There is a known quote which is attributed to Albert Einstein, though others argue that it is from a "get out of addiction" guide book. insanity is to do the same thing over and over and expect different results.

Every year during the Hoshanos I feel this is what we do. Everyone knows that carrying the Arba Minim around the room, following the chazzan, creates a traffic jam. Yet, somehow, the traffic jam is never resolved.

Sometimes I feel that the people in shul need a producer, or at least a choreographer in order to make things move seamlessly instead of aimlessly.

So, here are my "let's make Hoshanos move smoothly" suggestions:

Let us all remember that our goal is make a personal circuit around the Bimah where the Torah is being held.
Let us further remember that our circle begins and ends at our seats, NOT from the moment we get to where the chazzan began his circuit.

NOW it is quite simple. Instead of getting into the slow-mo shuffle that follows the chazzan around the room (and therefore backs up all the other participants), each of us is aiming to get our circuit done ASAP so we can get out of the line of traffic that is forming behind the chazzan.

With this in mind, we can proceed:

Instead of getting in the slow-mo line, work your way around the crowd and the Bimah in order to get back to your seat. Once back at your seat, you have completed your circuit, have therefore finished your hakafah, and can finish saying the words while the other ~~losers~~ participants make their way around the room.
Being at your seat makes for more room in the line. It also encourages others to be as smart as you. Once they see the slow-mo line is not for you, maybe they'll crack their noggins together and make a beeline for the sideline as did you.

May we all have enjoyable, non-traffic-jam-y Hoshana experiences.

Unified By the Sukkah

2011-10-11T18:05:00.001-04:00

Sukkot

In the context of a discussion about what materials could be used for building a sukkah, the Gemara Sukkah (11b) raises a debate between Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva regarding of what material the original sukkah God described in Vayikra 23:43 was made.

Rabbi Akiva says the sukkahs in question were actual booths. Rabbi Eliezer says the sukkah was not a physical structure – the protection of the sukkah was actually God's clouds of glory. [The Mechilta of Rabbi Yishmael (Bo 14) switches around who said what.]

On a simple level, the debate is over whether the physical sukkah we are meant to build reflects a literal or metaphysical sukkah that protected the Israelites in their journey. The sukkah of today mirrors the sukkah of yesteryear.

On a deeper level, the discussion revolves around the role of God in our lives. According to Rabbi Akiva, God provided the means for the people to be self-sufficient, giving them the temporary dwellings that they managed themselves. When we build our sukkah, we leave our permanent homes to these temporary dwellings to demonstrate our faith in God, on the one hand, that we are confident that our temporary home will sustain us. On the other hand, we are able to perceive a newfound appreciation (if we take notice) for the God-given gifts we enjoy regularly, such as a roof over our heads, air-conditioning and heating, and home amenities that make our lives easier (though no longer less complicated) than things were even one hundred years ago.

In Rabbi Eliezer's interpretation, the sukkah as a reflection of the clouds of glory carries much depth to it. When we sit in the sukkah, we are reminded not only of the physical God-given gifts we enjoy. We can contemplate the Divine hand that watches over us.

This idea is particularly poignant after Yom Kippur, after we all proclaimed that God determines who will have a peaceful or turbulent year, who will become poor and who will become wealthy, who will be denigrated and who will be elevated. The good times and the bad times are brought upon us by God. Our choices in the past and behavior in the present (and future perfect – for grammarians) contribute to what future outcomes will come about.

All this being said, I think the point added by the Midrash (Sifra 12) to the conversation of Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Eliezer, is the one we need to bear in mind. And, as obvious as it seems, it likely carries the greatest depth of any reason for why we build the sukkah, and what we are commemorating in using the sukkah.

After recording both opinions, the Midrash says "We learn that even the sukkah is a reminder of the exodus from Egypt.

It is obvious simply because our liturgy includes the phrase "zecher liyitziat mitzrayim," a reminder of the exodus, after each reference to the holiday in the holiday prayers.

The significance of the exodus cannot be overstated. It needs to be etched in our heads so we can understand what it means for a group of slaves with a common ancestor to leave Egypt in order to become a nation, under God.

The Mechilta of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai describes the image of the sukkah of clouds as a parable. The people left Egypt and entered the clouds right away, to rest in the area called Ramses, much as a groom might bring a palace to the door of his bride, so when she leaves her old home, she enters his domain right away.

Leaving Egypt to enter God's immediate protection symbolized the creation of a Holy nation. Just like Yom Kippur turns people of all walks of life, with different life experiences, into people with a shared experience who share the same clean slate, the Divine protection gave the people a new collective lease on life and lease on God as the took upon the selves the monikor of a "kingdom of priests and a holy nation." (Shmot 19:6)

Whether we're enjoying the sights of sukkahs around town, or basking in the feeling of collectiveness that we enjoy as the bride who just left her old home to enter her new home, we can always look to the symbol of the Exodus from Egypt for inspiration. For our purposes, imitating actual sukkahs or divine clouds can carry the same significance.

As we're reminded of the Exodus, may we merit to recognize and experience the unity that is embodied in the image of entering God's palace as one nation, under God, indivisible by petty grievances and unnecessary altercations.

A Big Fish Story?

2011-10-06T19:17:00.003-04:00

A Yom Kippur Message
In our tradition, the High Holidays are viewed as a time period when all of humanity, not just its Jews, are judged for the coming year.

In his introduction to the book of Yonah, the haftarah read at Mincha on Yom Kippur, Rabbi J.H. Hertz writes, "The essential teaching [of Yonah] is that the Gentiles should not be grudged God's love, care and forgiveness. It is this grudging which is so superbly rebuked throughout the Book, and most of all in the final chapter, which must rightly be considered the climax of the story."

Explaining how this book fits naturally into the theme of Yom Kippur, Rabbi Hertz continues to elucidate its important lessons: "It is impossible to run away from God's presence, God takes pity on all His creatures, He is ever willing to accept true repentance."

For us, one ironic aspect of the tale is that there are two significant groups of people who recognize God's role in their lives, and commit to a level of repentance that saves their lives – and neither group consists of any Jews. The former is the group of sailors on the ship that threw Yonah overboard, and the latter are the people of Nineveh.

The lone Jew in the story, the prophet himself, seems to make a mistake at every turn. Even though he eventually follows God's bidding, he still walks out of tale as the recipient of one final rebuke from God.

First he is told to go to Nineveh, but he runs to Tarshish. When everyone on his ship is working like mad to save themselves from the storm, Yonah is dreaming away in lala-land. After he is thrown overboard, he wallows for three days in the belly of a large fish until he realizes "I better do what God told me to do." He gives the message to the Ninevites, gets really depressed over their repentance, and asks God to kill him. God helps him forget his worries through the growth of a shade-giving-kikayon, but the quick demise of the kikayon puts Yonah into even further depression, when he again wants to die, until God points out Yonah's flaw in reasoning as to the merits of sparing Nineveh from destruction.

God's message is simple. Humans and animals are My creatures too – no matter where they come from and where they seem to be heading. There is always room for people to change their ways – they just need to want to change, and to recognize that changing is a long-term process that has to start somewhere.

The classic interpretation is that the fish really was summoned to swallow Yonah. On the other hand, the Daat Mikra commentary on Yonah records a possible interpretation, suggested by Rabbi Yosef Kaspi, that the big fish story was really just a big fish story – that the first two chapters of the book of Yonah were really a prophesy, and that Yonah dreamt of the city of Nineveh, whose Akkadian symbol was a fish in a house (the word "Nin" means "fish", and neveh means "city") – and that Yonah envisioned himself trapped in a fish for three days in lieu of going to Nineveh which was a three day journey (compare 2:1 and 3:3).

I like this latter possibility because it removes the part of the tale that almost paints Yonah as a bumbling prophet, and puts his choices in terms of a subconscious vision that can be filled with mistakes he might have made had he been awake – but are merely reflections of what he "might" have wanted to do, even though, as a prophet, of course he is going to do God's bidding right away.

Perhaps Hertz's comment about not begrudging Gentiles of God's love, which seems somewhat anachronistic, is meant to be a message to our non-Jewish neighbors that on our holiest day, we are thinking of their welfare as well. In the face of doom, the sailors and Ninevites returned to God on their own terms, through the influence of the story's lone Jew.

Since we believe that all of humanity are judged on this day, we want anyone who might be interested in "seeing what the Jews are thinking about today" to know that we believe everyone in the world has the capacity for good and the capability to return to God in whatever way they deem appropriate - with choices that benefit one another and humankind as a whole.

I also believe this passage is meant to show one more lesson. There is one time when the Torah declares straight out that "God loves you." It is Devarim 23:6, which reads, "Of course, God did not consent to listen to Bilaam, and God your Lord transformed the curse into a blessing for you, since God your Lord loves you."

Peace in the world and peace between neighbors of different faiths can only come about when leaders, or prophets such as Bilaam and Yonah respectively, ultimately do what God asks of them – bless or guide the [perhaps detested] foreigners for whom they may have personally harbored contempt, so "the other" can survive and thrive on this earth, left alone by outsiders who do not know what is best for them. This is not to suggest Yonah hated the people of Nineveh (though it is clear Bilaam hated the Jewish people), but it is clear that he felt telling Nineveh to repent would reflect badly on his own people who were unrepentant.

In the end, we are all God's creatures, and He would like us to find a way to live in harmony in this world, no matter how we might personally feel about "others." This prophesy is no "big fish story." It is the tale of all tales "when the wolf and lamb live together in harmony" (Isaiah 11:6). May we all live to see such a prophesy fulfilled speedily in our days.

For All My Life

2011-09-27T18:03:00.001-04:00

A Rosh Hashana Message

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The Talmud in Kiddushin (40b) has a fascinating passage describing the merits process, which is quite applicable to this time of year.

"Our Rabbis taught: A person should always regard himself as though he were half guilty and half meritorious: if he performs one mitzvah, happy is he for weighting himself down in the scale of merit. If he commits one transgression, woe to him for weighting himself down in the scale of guilt. It is said, 'But one sinner destroys much good' (Kohelet 9). In other words, on account of a single sin which he commits much good is lost to him.

"R. Eleazar son of R. Shimon said: Since the world is judged by its majority, and an individual is also judged by his majority [of deeds, good or bad], if he performs one good deed, happy is he for turning the scale both for himself and for the whole world on the side of merit. But if he commits one transgression, woe to him for weighting himself and the whole world in the scale of guilt, for it is said: ‘but one sinner, etc.’ — on account of the single sin which this man commits he and the whole world lose much good.

"R. Shimon Bar Yohai said: Even if he is perfectly righteous all his life but rebels at the end, he destroys his former [good deeds], for it is said: The righteousness of the righteous shall not deliver him in the day of his transgression (Yechezkel 33). And even if one is completely wicked all his life but repents at the end, he is not reproached with his wickedness, for it is said, 'And as for the wickedness of the wicked, he shall not fall thereby in the day that he turns from his wickedness' (ibid).

"Yet let it be regarded as half transgressions and half meritorious deeds! — Said Resh Lakish: It means that he regretted his former deeds."

The first part of the passage describes the scale we all envision – where our positive deeds and fulfilled mitzvot sit on one weight counter, being weighed against our bad deeds, violations of sin and transgressed negative commandments. This balance act of merits versus demerits is easy for us to understand.

But the teaching of R Shimon Bar Yochai serves to indicate that in some cases, a person can literally be judged based on one's most recent deeds. One who has been good one's entire life can throw everything away in an instant, while one who has been bad can be redeemed in an instant.

Are we reducing Rosh Hashana to a children's game, where we behave nicely right before Rosh Hashana, so Santa Claus will give us the present we want?

Hardly. This is where Resh Lakish comes in. We can't just be judged for our most recent deeds. We must regret our misdeeds of the past as well, and make a commitment not to return to our ways of old.

Herein lies the difference for all of us. It is very easy to say on any given day, "I will be a good person today. I am being judged today. I am being watched today. I will perform well today." It is much more difficult to make a conscience choice to make a commitment today that will last for the rest of my life.

But Resh Lakish is reminding us that we can sincerely regret our past misdeeds, at any time, any day.

If we bring a fair dose of sincerity, and honest feelings of recommitment and renewal to striving to be better people in this coming year, it is our hope we will merit all the blessings that come upon those who truly earn for themselves a sweet new year.

Shana Tova to all.

Going When It's Time

2011-09-22T19:00:00.000-04:00

Parshat Nitzavim Vayelekh

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Moshe's good bye speech that is the book of Devarim contains a number of references to the fact that he will not accompany the people into the Promised Land. He talks about how he requested, knelt, pleaded before God to be given a chance to enter the land – if only for a short time – and how each request was summarily rejected.

In the beginning of Devarim, Moshe pins the reason on the event of the spies (1:37). Sometimes, the reasoning becomes more of God's design than a mundane punishment. The Or HaChaim (1:37) quotes a gemara (Sotah 9a) and the Midrash Tehillim (79) to explain how Moshe's non-entry into the land was part of a plan that would ultimately save the Jewish people. Had Moshe entered the land, he would have built the Temple, which God would never allow to be destroyed.

God's ensuing wrath over the people turning from Him was taken out on wood and stones (the destruction of the Temple), rather than against the Israelite nation.

In his work Siftei Tzadikim, Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Rimanov says that Moshe, the ultimate shepherd of Israel, fulfilled his destiny particularly in his death, through granting Israel an everlasting chance at eternal survival.

To bring the matter to an even more direct level, the Mareh Yechezkel (Rabbi Yechezkel Panet) gives two additional explanations for why Moshe needed to remain outside of the land: for the merit of those who perished in the wilderness, and to serve as a defense against the prosecution of Baal Peor, which would not be able to stand up against Moshe's grave, is in the mountains of Moav, overlooking the place where the negative incident of Bamidbar 25 took place.

In our parsha, Moshe says "Today I am 120 years old and I can no longer come and go. God has [also] told me that I would not cross the

Jordan

." (31:2)

What does Moshe mean when he says "I can no longer come and go?" Is Moshe referring to his physical prowess? Is Moshe referring to the reality that the end of his life has arrived? Is Moshe saying that he can no longer argue the point with God because it is hopeless for him to enter the land?

Ibn Ezra suggests Moshe could no longer lead the people in battle. Rashi rejects the idea that Moshe's physical strength was ebbing, as he offers Moshe's inability (permission-wise) to enter the land, and that Moshe was no longer capable of deep Torah thoughts. (Ramban prefers this latter interpretation.) Different Tosafists point to Moshe's old age as his reason for not being able to continue – following the logical flow of the verse. The Seforno has echoes of Moshe's destiny when he says "Even if I could physically make the trip (go and come), since God said I can not go, it will be better for you if I do not enter, because this will allow you to pass over the Jordan River, and to enter the promised Land."

There are no set rules for when the body begins to break down. Some people might begin experiencing debilitating ailments or conditions at an early age, some at a later stage, and some go through life as healthy as can be past becoming centenarians.

The big challenge for many of us is how to deal with the cards we're dealt. For Moshe, the Torah says he did not lose his physical strength. But there is room to look at Moshe not being able to lead a battle or to not maintain his highest intellectual capacity – especially after he anointed Yehoshua his successor and gave Yehoshua some of his own "glory."

Moshe grew to accept his reality and to understand that some things, which are clearly part of God's master plan, are what they are. No amount of Moshe's pleading could change his destiny once the decree was given.

Does this mean Moshe did not possess Free Will, and that perhaps his destiny was predetermined? Of course not. Moshe demonstrated his free will many times in the Torah, and his destiny was heavily influenced by his free will choices.

The reality presented by the verse also suggests, however, that Moshe was able to recognize when his time was up, so he could walk off into the sunset while still as close to the top of his game as he could possible be.

May we all be blessed to live to Moshe's ripe old age, and merit to appreciate our final days for what they will be: the prelude to our reunion with the divine.

It'll Drive You Crazy

2011-09-16T00:30:00.000-04:00

Parshat Ki Tavo

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Some of the curses in the tokhacha are meant to hit so close to home. Verses 28:29-33 describe how some things we might take for granted could easily be unequivocally stripped from us. The most poetically chilling is verse 30 in which the betrothed woman, the new house and the new vineyard will all be enjoyed by someone else. These recall the three individuals (other than the coward) who are recalled from the battlefield before going out to fight "lest another man enjoy" the beginning fruits of these new projects before the one meant to benefit has a chance to see them through their fruition.

As a result of these terrible losses, the Torah says "You will go insane from what you will have to witness"

Some of the commentaries express tremendous creativity in their attempt to explain what the insanity will be or where it will come from.

Ibn Ezra says the "insanity" will come from the Egyptian boils coming upon the people in verse 27. The Sha"kh says one will be like a crazy-man on account of all the happy occasions one will have shared with others. Whether he is being serious or speaking tongue-in-cheek is open to anyone's interpretation. [The word "smachot" is sometimes used as a euphemisim for 'sad events.']

The Netziv is a little more practical in his explanation as he says "You'll be dumbstruck over how much damage so few instigators can cause you. The overwhelming feeling will cause you to lose your reason."

In essence, these commentaries look at the afflictions which precede this statement of insanity and attach a direct connection – cause and effect.

One can also look at this statement with a contemporary eye and, when looked at by itself, out of the context of the verses surrounding it, a significantly modern lesson can be taken away.

The translation of the verse I provided before is from Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan's "Living Torah." However, it can also be translated, "You will go crazy on account of the things you see."

Israeli motivational speaker Rabbi Avner Kavas suggested that we live in a world in which the sights we see can literally drive a person crazy.

It doesn't take much imagination to understand exactly what he's talking about. Stand at a checkout counter and you're overwhelmed with magazine covers containing images and tabloid headlines you'd rather not be exposed to.

Think about our own feelings of the "Arab Spring" that is rising now, with the discussion over the state that might be declared by the United Nations.

Consider the climbing rate of divorce in our communities.

Wonder about the "singles scene," and if the challenge so many face in finding a mate will be overcome in the near future.

Take note of the drug abuse, sexual abuse, and physical abuse which sometimes make it to the newspapers. Particularly physical abuse between spouses, once unheard of in the Jewish community, is now flickering on a radar screen.

The endless addiction that comes from using electronics, the internet, etc. Even if all of these uses are good or pareve, the inability to communicate normally with another person is becoming a lost art, and the amount of time spent online versus in other intellectual and spiritual pursuits can drive the objective observer mad.

Our eyes are our portal to the world, and it is through them that we see the things that can literally drive us crazy. There is no room to preach filtering, because only the true ascetic can filter out the images and the madness that challenge us on a daily basis in our world and contemporary society.

May we not only pray that the world change in a manner that will make us see a different light, but may we also merit to see a world in which even this kind of fulfillment of the tokhacha turns into a figment of only our wildest imagination.

The Community of God

2011-09-08T22:31:00.000-04:00

Ki Tetze

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Chapter 23, verses 2-4 list a number of male types who may not enter "k'hal Hashem," the community of God. On a simple level, the verses seem strange. The first two individuals – men who have become sterile on account of external, or unnatural incidents – are likely Jewish men. As is the "mamzer," the product of two Jewish people who participated in a Torah-forbidden relationship. Don't they enter the community of God the moment they are born?

The Ammonite and Moabite males who may not enter the community of God are understandably in a different category, it would seem. But when the Torah says "Also the tenth generation may not enter the community of God" – which generation is the "tenth"? How is that calculated? May they become Jews, but only be accepted by the community after ten generations? How would they have any generations if they are not accepted?

While not proposing this exact definition, many of the commentaries define the "non-entry into the community of God" as a prohibition against their marrying Jewish women. Or a prohibition for Jewish women against marrying them.

What kind of discrimination is this? What about love? What about free choice? What about real human bonding? What do you say if people connect in their souls? Why should the Torah care who a woman marries, or if these men have found women who will help them not be alone?

Moabite converts may have once had to marry within their conversion community (if they were permitted to convert), but the fact is that the Ammonite and Moabite prohibition no longer applies in our world, because Sanncherib mixed around cultures, causing these nations to disappear (Talmud Brachot 28a).

As I do not intend to discuss the "mamzer" here, we will now move on the males who have become infertile due to an unnatural act. The comments of the ancient rabbis you are about to read might not smack of political correctness, and certainly do not take modern psychology knowledge into consideration. Nonetheless, I think they are very instructive as to how we can define some of the purposes of marriage.

**IOW - Disclaimer: This discussion relates to men whose genitalia have been physically mutilated. It does not relate to individuals who struggle with infertility for other reasons.**

Some of the arguments proposed by commentaries as to why they may not enter the community of God include: if they no longer have a possibility of fathering children, why should they marry women in the first place? (Chizkuni); the union of a man and wife is a foundation of inspiration and acceptance, which unnatural unfortunate events have rendered impossible on account of the inability to produce children for that purpose – which makes a deficiency in the upper spheres (Rabbi Menachem Ricanati, the Italian kabbalist of the 13^th century) [English translation: if they will not be able to have children to inspire to follow God's ways, a marriage of this sort seems less than ideal]

Along similar lines, Rabbenu Bachaye explains "the community of God" as referring to "marrying an Israelite woman," because, in his understanding, the main reason for marriage is to have children and to raise the next generation. When a man is physically incapable (scientifically is a different discussion), his marriage fails to serve its ultimate purpose.

However, Rabbenu Bachaye adds, since the Torah does not forbid "his getting married" (only entering the community of God), he may marry other women who are part of the Jewish community, such as a convert (there are different levels of conversion) or a freed Canaanite maid. Whatever relations the man may be able to have (or any relations in any union) that do not produce children are permitted in the context of marriage.

The Alshich is most practical, saying if a woman marries a man who is incapable of giving her a child, she might resort to forbidden means to get the child for which she yearns.

In our modern technological world, women who yearn for that child have options that need not include a forbidden relationship. Which can resolve the Alshich's concern.

Rabbenu Bachaye's feelings regarding marriage are alleviated by his openness to the reality that people who are scientifically incapable of producing children also marry, as do people who are past child producing years. We certainly understand that people marry for companionship and all kinds of reasons not necessarily related to having a family. Perhaps even suggesting that two people get married in order that they may produce children (when nothing else 'clicks') could be viewed as a creepy approach to matchmaking.

But the ultimate lesson is that a Jewish marriage, and a proper Jewish union, is called "Entering the community of God."

I wish for and bless all those currently looking for mates to look beyond yourself and your needs to find that the person who will help you enter the community of God need merely be a person who shares a common goal and a common vision for what you want out of life. The community of God is one that speaks of an existence of kedushah, of holiness, which is achieved through the kindnesses we do for our spouses, and the choices we utilize to make their lives more fulfilling.

May all Jewish people merit to live a life in the community of God, with marriages that work to inject holiness at every turn. And if children are part of the equation, may they grow to follow in the footsteps of the community of God in which they are raised.

The Middle Road

2011-09-01T22:31:00.000-04:00

Parshat Shoftim

by Rabbi Avi Billet

In describing the formula for how we turn to our teachers for guidance and for psak (rabbinic decisions in Jewish law), the Torah enjoins us to follow the rulings that are handed to us. As many a rabbi will tell you in conversation, "Are we just having a discussion? Or are you asking me what to do? Because if you are asking a 'shaylah,' you have to follow what I tell you. Whereas if we are just having a conversation, you will go home and decide for yourself what is the best avenue to pursue in this matter."

The Torah says "Based on the Torah which they show you and the ruling they will tell you to follow, do not veer from what they tell you right or left." (Devarim 17:11)

This enigmatic passage is the base for some discussion in the Midrash, and much more amongst commentators.

Rashi, based on Shir HaShirim Raba and the Pesikta, explains quite literally that you must listen when they tell you right is left and left is right, and certainly when they tell you right is right and left is left. Ramban elaborates, saying that you might think they are totally wrong, but if they have the halakhic insight you do not possess, they must be listened to [presumably in matters of halakha – rather than for every question under the sun].

The Riva (Yitzchak ben Avraham, a Tosafist) asks an obvious question. What if they are totally out to lunch? What if they are saying that something that is forbidden is permitted, that something which is tameh is really tahor? He answers his own question, saying that in such a case it would be wrong to listen to them. The examples he brings are more along the lines of when there are two legitimate opinions and the scholar sides with an approach which might be objectionable, but is valid. Obviously declaring a horse to be a tahor animal would not fit into such a rubric (my example). But saying that we should not blow shofar on Rosh Hashanah that falls on shabbos is a decree which is valid (Riva's example).

I would like to offer a different approach, equally literal, yet considerably more homiletical, based on the well-known suggestion of Rambam (Maimonides) at the beginning of Hilkhot De'ot – the laws of Worldliness.

When the verse says "Do not veer from what they tell you right or left," perhaps they mean "do not veer too much, neither to the right nor to the left." In other words: don't be an extremist, be a moderate. Take a stand, but don't go crazy.

The Rambam famously wrote, "The proper path is the middle road from every choice a person has in front of him. It is equidistant from the two extremes, and is not 'almost' one or the other. The early scholars commanded us to follow this road of moderation in order to live a more fulfilling existence. For example, don't be easy to anger, but also don't be a stiff with no emotions. Find a middle road. Save anger for a really big deal, so it will [hopefully] not come up again. Otherwise be easygoing…"

The key is moderation, and avoidance of extremism.

In our times, this is very easily understood, because the image the Torah uses to describe the directions in which a person can turn (right or left) are the actual terms used to describe the place on the religious or philosophical (and even political) scale on which a person's approach to life might lie.

The Torah's instruction, therefore, is not to lean too far to the right, or too far to the left, but to find a more centrist viewpoint that is far more moderate and far less extreme.

This is a highly significant message for all of us to take home. Too often, people rush to a rabbi for guidance on every matter under the sun. Too often, people on one extreme try to "outfrum" themselves (separate yichud rooms at a wedding comes to mind). At the same time, people on the other extreme tend to push the envelope as far as they can, to see how far they can take certain practices before being called on them and being subsequently persuaded that "this far is OK, but this far is crossing the line."

We should not be looking to churn out clones and carbon copies. Every person is created in the image of God, is a unique individual, and should therefore make a unique mark in the world.

But the underlying philosophy that should work for everyone, is that of Maimonides. While we will not agree on everything, we work hard to change our approach to life and Judaism. There need not be a negative attitude towards others, trying to either get others' goat or make their lives difficult. Nor should we push the envelope to such a degree that will spark namecalling, lashon hara, animosity, or worst of all, hatred.

Taking the road less traveled may make all the difference to Robert Frost. But taking the middle road – not too much to the right and not too much to the left – is what makes all the difference in creating a wholesome Jewish experience.

Our Father Who Lives Forever

2011-08-25T18:33:00.002-04:00

Parshat Re'eh

by Rabbi Avi Billet

As September looms and the thought of what the UN could vote upon in reference to Israel comes scarily closer, many feel the desperation of the future of the State of Israel. Not only that, but recent terror attacks once again remind us that the uncertainty that continues to dominate elements of Israel's future may sometimes foment within us feelings of despair over what is yet to come.

The Torah tells us, "You are children of the Lord, your God. You shall neither cut yourselves nor make any baldness between your eyes for the dead." (Devarim 14:1) The specific prohibition is against certain acts of body desecration practiced by pagans in mourning, but it also implies that there is a deeper connection to God that presupposes any need for such extreme measures.

Rabbi Shimshon Nadel, a friend of mine, pointed me in the direction of the comment of the Seforno on this pasuk. He says, "You are children of God. It is not proper to exhibit complete and utter concern and pain over the deceased when there are still close relatives, even more honored, among the living. Therefore 'You are children of God' [reminds us] that 'Your father [in heaven] lives forever.' Don’t make a baldness because you are a holy nation… don't suffer too much for the deceased who died 'You are a holy nation' destined for the world to come, where 'bad times' are better than all of our lives on this earth."

The Seforno argues that we have two things going for us that transcend all kinds of trials and tribulations on earth. Our Father in Heaven is always there, and we are all destined for the glory of the World to Come.

It's an amazing thing to think about. In the scheme of the world, even those of us who live to be centenarians only exist for a relative blip in human history. Every person who lived before us, from every regular Joe to even the worst dictators in history, might have thought of their time and their existence as the time to be living, when the decisions they made were the most important the world had ever seen.

There is no question that all of history played a part in shaping and framing the world we have today. But 100 years from now, when very few of us will still be around, how important will our decisions, actions, and choices of today still be? Will we still have family members who remember us, who will even visit our graves?

Edmund Burke said, "Those who do not learn from history are destined to repeat it." I believe there is much truth to this statement.

The Jewish approach has always taken this to a higher level. Might I suggest that Judaism has stood not only for learning from history, but living within our history. We not only crave and yearn for great leaders of the past generation (how many still look to Rabbis Aharon Kotler, Moshe Feinstein, Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, Joseph B. Soloveitchik, the Chazon Ish, etc?), but we also look to the Vilna Gaon, Maimonides, Rashi, the Geonim, the Tanaim and Amoraim, King David, Moshe, our forefathers. We not only learn from them, but we use their wisdom to guide how we live today.

What keeps us going most of all is our living Father in heaven. There are difficult times, and tragedy strikes all too often. Sometimes it comes in the form of terrorism, sometimes it comes in the form of a disease, sometimes it comes in the form of a terrible accident. None are immune from it. Some seem to get more of a free pass, and some seem to suffer more than others.

But our national experience will one day lead to that which the Seforno reminds us is our ultimate destiny: the blissful experience of the world to come.

It is often hard to remember, particularly because we are building legacies and trying to make the world cleaner and better for our future generations. We forget that our little blip in the existence of the world is our chance to land ourselves a better spot in the world to come.

I am not suggesting not to mourn when we experience a loss. Particularly when the loss seems or is unnatural, we are very sad because we will miss the person very much. And it never seems fair that that's the "only" chance the person will get. And thinking "he or she is in a better place" is really only comforting when the deceased was suffering immeasurably in this world – not when life was snuffed out in an instant.

But if we can shift our focus and imagine that a day will come when we will join our friends and loved ones in experiencing heavenly bliss, it will give our lives greater meaning. We will not need to resort to pagan practices that will only make our existence in this world suffer, because we will be renewed with a sense of purpose to live our lives in such a way that we will be able to join our loved ones when our Father in Heaven allows us to enter the world to come.

Remember, and Don't Forget

2011-08-18T22:18:00.000-04:00

Parshat Eikev

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Our parsha features another installment of Moshe's Wilderness History 101 crash course for the second generation entitled, "Where your parents messed up at the Golden Calf." It includes Moshe's account of how he went up the mountain for three 40-day spans, and how God wanted to destroy the people but didn't on account of Moshe's prayer.

In the midst of all this, we are told one of the "Shesh Zekhirot," the six remembrances that appear at the end of Shacharit in many siddurim.

"Remember and never forget how you provoked God your Lord inthe desert. From the day you left Egypt until you came here, you have been rebelling against God." (Devarim 9:7)

The other remembrances are understandably important daily reminders.

Remembering the Exodus (1) reminds us of God's presence and His covenant to watch over the descendants of Avraham. Remembering Shabbos (2) is ostensibly one of the most distinguishing qualities of the Jewish people. God's presence at Mt. Sinai (3) is the source for our devotion and dedication to the Torah. What happened to Miriam (4) is an ever constant reminder that even the greatest amongst us are at the perils of lashon hara, and that it is a draw that we ought to fight from the deepest depths of our souls. The reminder to destroy Amalek (5) is a call to vigilance, for the Jewish people to never lose sight of the fact that there are enemies looking to harm them.

But a reminder about the Golden Calf (6) seems counterintuitive and counterproductive. Why should we be reminded of a major sin? Why be reminded of a time when our ancestors angered God? While it may be true that the generation that left Egypt rebelled against God over and over, does that mean their children were similarly rebelling? Furthermore, is this remembrance something that was meant to be applicable for all time, or was Moshe directing this memory-command at the people he addressed for only their time, and only their generation?

The obvious answer is that if we are reminded of how bad we were, the memory of the repercussions of such a sin might trigger an automatic forcefield against the inclination to sin.

The Torah Temimah (Baruch HaLevi Epstein) struggled over how to explain this "remembrance."
Firstly, the injunction to "Remember" is more than just feeling it in your heart. It is about repeating things over and over, saying things with your mouth. He mentions Ramban's struggle over whether to count this as a mitzvah – was it a one-time instruction or was it for all future generations?

"I don't know what are the qualities of this mitzvah…" Rabbi Epstein pondered. "What to remember, when to remember, because many of the parshas in the Torah talk about when Israel angered God. For example: desiring to return to Egypt, the collecting of the manna on Shabbos, the Golden Calf, the complainers, the spies, the Korach rebellion, and the Baal Pe'or debacle, etc."

He goes on to compare this instruction to the instructions for wiping out Amalek, which includes a similar double language of "Remember, and do not forget." Not to forget is an instruction to be reminded once a year. But to 'remember,' that is something that must take place on a regular basis. It requires an active regular effort.

It might not be a mitzvah – Maimonides, for example, did not codify it – but there is something about the instruction that should strike a resounding chord in our souls. Which would suggest that it was not only meant for the wandering Israelites, but for us as well.

Rabbi JJ Schacter shared a very interesting insight inhis Tisha B'Av webcast, on an unrelated subject, that I believe has relevance here. He quoted Rav Kasher who said that sometimes when you see a verse quoted, it is meant to remind us of the context in which the verse appears. In our case, the next few verses describe how at the moment we generally, and Moshe most specifically, were closest to God, we somehow managed to turn in the other direction – a complete 180 degree turn.

In essence, this reminder is doubled (Remember and don't forget) because the draw of sin is so powerful, so enticing, so exciting, we need to put up safeguards at every turn.

Ramban wrote a very instructive letter to his son, encouraging him to read it once a week in order to stay on the proper path and veer away from sin. (It can be found in some prayer books near the six remembrances.)

Maybe we can find a mussar talk that we can read or some inspiring recording that we can listen to as a podcast or on a cd in the car. If we can take the positive action step of giving ourselves such constant reminders, with God's help we will succeed in warding off the yetzer hara as we continue to grow spiritually in our continued quest to get closer to God.

The Merits of Performance

2011-08-14T04:16:00.000-04:00

Parshat Va'etchanan

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Tisha B'Av is a date on the calendar most noted by observant Jews. It is not so much that it is otherwise ignored, but differently affiliated Jews generally confine their annual Jewish fast days to Yom Kippur. The concept of sadness or a connection to the darker side of our People's history is by no means exclusive to any group. History's enemies of the Jewish people (some of whom continue to make history now) never differentiated between how people practiced their Judaism, as much as they obsessed over the fact that Jews identified as Jews.

The question becomes, for how much longer will those who know not of Tisha B'Av identify as Jews?

The last verse in Devarim chapter 6 states: "It will be a merit for us if we are careful to perform this entire commandment before the Lord our God, as He commanded us."

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch spells out his understanding of this verse in simple language. "We can discharge the tasks of our life's mission only if we keep the whole Torah as "mitzvah"; only if we observe all the laws, without differentiation, as God's commandment, our Divinely-ordained assignment to our life's station; only if we do every mitzvah carefully, without diminishing from it or changing it, all in accordance with the content and manner prescribed by God We do not have the right to abrogate or reform any of it."

In Hirsch's view, there is no question that an observance of Judaism that follows the letter of the Law as described in Devarim and elsewhere in the Torah, is meritorious for the Jewish people. Obedience to Divine dictates, as it were, is a lifestyle that is timeless, and is not meant to ever be viewed as being outdated.

When Rabbi JH Hertz's assumed the post of Chief Rabbi of England in 1913, his inaugural sermon invoked the message of the Men of the Great Assembly as recorded in the first mishnah in Avot, focusing on their three-tiered message, which concludes with "make a fence for the Torah."

His words are as relevant today as they were then.

"Ours will be no Platonic admiration of the Torah; ours no "fulfilling" of the Torah by abolishing it. For well we know that, when the framework of the ancient Law falls away, when the immemorial rites, customs, and ceremonies go, we are left without God in our lives. We may – for a time – remain an ethical, but we are no longer a religious people. And then our days are numbered; for in our Religion alone lies the secret of our deathlessness. When Malachi's contemporaries asked for proof of the love of God, he bade them contrast the history of Israel with that of the neighboring Bedouin tribes. And verily, with all their outward similarity and kinship of blood, how different were the ultimate fates of Israel and of Moab, for example. 'The history of Moab, loses itself obscurely and fruitlessly in the sand; that of Israel issues in eternity.' Why? Israel had the Torah, statutes, judgments, 'fences'; ceremonies which in a world of maddening brutality, sweetened the life of the Jew; customs which linked generation to generation in filial piety; observances which in the face of countless cataclysms and dispersions unified, as nothing else could, the scattered atoms of the House of Israel – dykes built by inspired engineers to save us from all the waters of heathenism and animalism."

Tisha B'Av is therefore a microcosm of a much larger concern facing our generation. Through our history, the Jewish people were either ridiculed for not conforming to the standards of the majority population, or were singled out as scapegoats and victims for the problems and aggression of their anti-Semitic tormentors, who detested the Jewish moral righteousness and high ethical standards to which the Torah demanded the Jew to abide by.

How long will Judaism without Torah remain Judaism? Which generation of Israeli politicians will drop their 'standards' because it doesn't get them anywhere with the West and with the domestic problems that are aggravated by local enemies?

How many more generations of un-Jewishly-educated Jews will it take for Judaism to drop from their ranks and files because it will be completely out of touch, and too ancient?

The time is right for all Jews to pursue an authentic Jewish education, and to bring a dose of traditional Judaism back into the home and one's lifestyle choices.

Ethics are beautiful, but they only work when the source of the ethics are understood as not only instructive to our lives, but as a small ingredient of a larger recipe that creates a fulfilling life. The other ingredients are not self-motivated or self-understood. They come from thousands of years of a tried and true tradition that works when it is adhered to, and has proven disastrous time and time again when ignored.

As the verse says, "It will be a merit for us if we are careful to perform this entire commandment." I hope we agree that we can use all the merits we can get.

Contrition Crying

2011-08-04T22:44:00.000-04:00

Parshat Devarim

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The first Tisha B'Av memory is the incident of the spies, which set in stone the concept of a"b'khiya l'dorot" – a date on which all future generations will have reason to cry. (Taanit 29a)

In the immediate aftermath of the spies debacle, a group of people realized the folly of their complaints and tried to save face through mounting an offensive which was thrown back by Emorites. When our parsha recalls that incident (Devarim 1:45), it is Moshe who recounts it to the people saying, "You returned [from the defeat at the hands of the Emorites] and wept before God; and He did not listen your voice, and did not give an ear to you."

In his commentary, Rabbi J.H. Hertz provides the most profound and poignant message. God did not listen "because their weeping was not the outcome of sorrow over sin; but of sorrow over the consequences of sin. This feeling the old theologians named 'attrition'; in contrast with the sincere penitence – the sorrow over sin itself – which they called contrition. There is all the difference in the world between a man who is contrite and one who is merely 'attrite.'"

Have you ever seen a defendant in court (even on TV) who is obviously guilty? Sometimes the defense lawyer can get the person off on a technicality. Some truly feel badly, but can justify their actions with 'self-defense' (which is generally a valid argument when true). Others have no remorse, but know the prosecution has no real case.

Through the trial and ordeal, they remain stone-faced, showing no emotion. Now the verdict comes in. "Innocent" – defendant is all smiles. "Guilty" – only now, when the realization that "I am going to pay dearly for my actions" sets in, does a person break down and cry. The latter case is 'attrition' – when the "consequences" of my actions cause my feelings of regret and remorse, whilst my actions don't move my stone-cold heart.

"Contrition"is the realization I come to on my own, irrespective of others, that the sin is a bad one, and that there is much work to be done to achieve any semblance of atonement.

We live in a time where "attrition" generally carries the day. I am always right. You are always wrong. There is nothing you can say to get me to change. I am the greatest gift to mankind, and if something comes along and proves I am wrong, that fact or person is lying.

It is only when someone kicks me in the pants real hard that I realize that I have fallen into the mud and that there's a lot of cleaning up that needs to take place before I can get back on my feet. And I only feel this way because I am dirty right now, and I need to look presentable right away.

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik said (11/12/73), "Prayer is an art. We have totally forgotten this art. Today it is no more than a mechanical performance. True prayer is more than this. It is an attitude, a state of mind, creating a mood and temperament for the worshiper. It is an exciting experience and an adventure." (Rakeffet, "The Rav, Volume I", KTAV Publishers, p. 146)

In my own life, I have seen very few people who experience true prayer the way Rabbi Soloveitchik described it. I've come to a point that I no longer look at those who cry on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur and Tisha B'Av and think "What's wrong with that guy?" Now I say, "What's wrong with me? How come I can't feel it? How come I can't connect to what I'm doing in such a manner? How come I can't speak to God with heartfelt sincerity? How come I am incapable of letting go, letting everything all out on the table, to ask God to help me, to forgive me, to guide me to the truth and His light?"

Truth be told, this is a lifelong struggle. Some spend a lifetime climbing to a goal, some never quite make it, and some give up along the way.

The question becomes one of attitude and focus. Will we be those who cry from attrition – no apologies, just distaste from the consequences of our actions? Or will we be the ones who are truly penitent, who can admit our mistakes and learn from them after we realize we've committed them? This is a great act of contrition.

As the years continue to bring us further and further from the destroyed Temples, we begin by taking the time to figure out why we are still mourning on Tisha B'Av. If we can pray sincerely, and cry on account of the moving Kinot, our contrition-inspired prayers will help us move mountains in our lifelong quest of getting closer to God.

Compassionate Leadership

2011-07-29T09:31:00.000-04:00

Parshat Masei

by Rabbi Avi Billet

In the history of mankind, rulers have often had the power over who will live and who will die. In some cases, one's prison sentence might be linked indefinitely to the grudge of the ruling power, and reprieve might come only upon the latter's death.

Much would depend on the nature of the crime of which the individual stood accused, while in many cases, there may not have been a crime committed at all.

The Torah presents a seemingly odd circumstance in which those who were accidental murderers, destined to live out their lives in cities of refuge to avoid avengement from the deceased's relatives, were allowed to emerge from the city upon the death of the High Priest – not the king. The relatives had a free pass, so to speak, to avenge the blood of the deceased, until the death of the High Priest granted clemency and freedom to the accidental murderer. Any relative who carried out personal justice after this point would be considered a deliberate murderer, subject to the laws of murderers, and not avengers.

While the fact that accidental crime was not a politically rebellious act, it would seem that a safe haven or a city of refuge would nonetheless be considered a politically-functioned sanctuary. Maybe it is unfair to suggest that the death of the king would bring about freedom for those taking refuge. But it makes less sense to tie the reprieve to the death of the High Priest! The High Priest position is spiritual and holy. In the classic Rabbinic literature, the High Priest is considered the holiest Jew! How could his death be intertwined with the release or reprieve of the accidental murderer?

The Yerushalmi Yoma 7:3 declares that the death of the High Priest is the Torah's definition of the achievement of atonement for this act of 'accidental murder.' This stands to suggest the High Priest is very connected to the advent of the unfortunate mishaps.

There are a number of classic explanations for this connection.

The Talmud (Makkot 11b) faults the High Priest with not praying that the person's trial return an innocent verdict.

Rashi (Bamidbar 35:25), based on the Sifrei, promotes a contrast between the High Priest's representing God's presence and the lengthening of Israelites' lives on earth, while the murderer (even the accidental one), removes God's presence from Israelites and shortens their days on earth. He, therefore, is not worthy to stand in the presence of the High Priest and must remain in exile until the High Priest passes on. This approach blames the accidental murderer.

Rashi offers a second opinion that puts an element of blame on the High Priest himself. The High Priest was supposed to pray that such unfortunate mishaps not occur during his lifetime. His lack of prayer, or unanswered prayer, is therefore responsible for the death of the victim and the exile of the perpetrator. The end to the chapter will come when the High Priest, himself, dies.

Rabbenu Bachaye follows this sentiment saying the relatives of the deceased might truly blame the High Priest, believing his leadership flaw caused the death of their loved one. As such, the High Priest's death might be a comfort for them, closure if you will, that the real person responsible for their relative's death has received his just desserts. They can now let go of their desire for revenge against the accidental murderer, who was God's unfortunate messenger to bring about the death of the victim.

Either way one looks at it, says Rabbi Moshe Shternbuch, we see that the High Priest shares in the blame for the incident. His prayer should have either prevented the accident in the first place, or should have helped deliver an innocent verdict to the defendant after the fact.

Rabbi Shternbuch says,"This is the job of the righteous [leaders] of Israel. It is their job to advocate for God's compassion to erase the sins of those who err accidentally or out of ignorance, so He may accept their repentance with mercy…"

In this period of the three weeks, let us call upon our leaders to find the compassionate trait
the High Priest was required to hone within himself, so they may be the best advocates for those who sin accidentally or out of ignorance.

In this Age of Information, "lack of access" is no longer a good excuse for ignorance. Leaders are needed to help guide those in seek of the information they need, and those leaders need to be able to relate to people of all colors and stripes, and to present Judaism in way that is relevant and appealing to a techno generation.

The time is ripe for there to be an overabundance of love and reaching out to those who seek a connection to Judaism and our way of life. If our prayers are sincere and our connection to God is real, perhaps we will merit to see the Jewish people live fulfilling lives as Jews, following the Torah as best as they can, with a commitment to God that reaches the heavens.

Revenge... Anything But Sweet

2011-07-21T20:48:00.000-04:00

Parshat Matot

by Rabbi Avi Billet

There are no words to explain the horrific tragedy that unfolded in Brooklyn last week, only questions.

The positive side of the story is the outpouring of love, concern, and support that a community could exhibit for a child and for his family, in the aftermath of a conclusion noone could anticipate, expect, or face as being the reality.

In light of the story and how it has affected all of is, we can ask a particularly poignant question on a verse in the Torah that seems to go against everything we hold dear.

The war against Midian was a one-time event, pursuant to a very specific nation of moral depravity who had waged a full scale war against the Jewish people, sacrificing their daughters' innocence, along with any moral fabric they may have possessed, to destroy the Israelites from within. Their actions led directly to a plague in which 24,0000 Israelites died.

God's instruction was, "Enact revenge against Midian." After killing all the adult males on the battlefield, the soldiers report they've left the women alone, causing Moshe to instruct them thus: "And now, kill every [Midianite] male child and every woman who has lain with a man kill [as well]. The females who have never been with a man can be spared." (Bamidbar 31:17-18)

Could God have truly dictated such a command? Was the Midianite crime so terrible that an all out war to kill even all the male children was necessary?

This is neither the first or last time an entire nation was to be wiped out in the Torah. Amalek is the poster-nation for this concept in the Torah, and wars were waged or declared against them in Shmot 17 and Devarim 25:19, as well as in Shmuel I chapters 15 and 30. Similar rules were enforced in wars waged against the seven nations of the land (Devarim 20:16).

Certainly, God did not spare the children in His destruction of Sodom and in the Flood.

Questioning God's decisions as to how He runs His world is a silly exercise. A God-fearing person recognizes that God may choose who will live and who will die. These are judgment calls He makes on a regular basis. We may not always like it, but that is the way of the world.

But why does He have to put such a possibility into the hands of man? Why did the Israelites need to be the power behind the revenge? Why did God prefer to issue forth this command, rather than enact a plague against Midian to take care of the dirty work, as He did to Egypt? Why did the Israelites need to have the blood on their hands?

Rabbi Moshe Shternbuch argued that the classic rules of engagement did not apply to this irregular war of revenge, a war governed by definition by different rules.

This answer is helpful in a general sense, but it does not answer our question. The halakhic argument of "When one comes to kill you, kill him first" (Brachot 58a), or revenge itself can be justified against the seductive women who brought about the plague. This does not include little boys!

In raising a logical argument Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch also does not answer our question: "We must assume that the national degeneration was rooted primarily in the males, whereas the females – if removed at an early age from impure influences and impressions – were able to attain morality…"

Rabbi Ben Zion Feerer points out the incongruity. If it's all out war, then none of the children should be spared. Why is there a difference between the boys and the girls?

Rabbi Feerer suggests that the fate of the boys is inexorably linked to that of the adult women. Generally speaking, the toll of war is on the men who fight, who, in a sense, are expected not to return. Children grow up, rebuild a nation, and live out the dream their fathers died for.

The Talmud says (Kiddushin 2) that women do not normally go out to war. As their death in battle is not a normal result of war, it is much longer remermbered and carried as a "battle scar" for the rest of a child's days.

In this case, however, since the women's actions instigated the revenge, there was no getting around that they would die in battle. There was therefore a need to rid the nation of the young males, so they would not grow up harboring the hate that would come from having lost their mothers and women in battle. They would have gotten over the deaths of their fathers alone – that is the natural order of warfare. But losing their women would pit them against Israel in a future Hatfield/Mccoy war that serves no purpose to the next generation.

The innocent girls could be spared, on the other hand, because they would not take revenge one day in battle.

It's a sad state of affairs when the actions of the guilty must bring about a punishment to the innocent. But it is reflective of a society that cares more about trying to destroy their enemy than about taking care of their children.

The Israelites needed to carry out the deed so they could afterwards demonstrate and teach that the act of revenge is anything but sweet. This is not something they enjoy doing or want to do (remember, they originally returned from battle having spared all the women!)

With the moral lesson "out there" they could hopefully teach their neighbors to live and let live so that a revenge of this nature might never be necessary again.

Man Plans...

2011-07-15T11:59:00.000-04:00

Parshat Pinchas

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Before its exposition of the holidays and their respective sacrificial offerings, the Torah gives us its only reversal of the most repeated verse in the Torah. Normally it says "And God spoke to Moshe saying." Here it says "And Moshe spoke to God saying."

Moshe's instruction to God centered around his concern that with his own passing, the people would be left without a leader – like a flock without a shepherd. Understandably, after seeing his brother die, his nephew Elazar fill the vacant shoes, and now his great-nephew Pinchas slated to be the next inline for the High Priest position, Moshe wants to see that the next person is ready to take on the leadership role to complete the project he started: to bring the people to the Promised Land.

In all the pomp and ceremony, perhaps the most significant element of Yehoshua's new appointment is his being put into a position in which he will direct questions to the Urim V'tumim, the divinely controlled mechanism in Elazar the High Priest's breastplate that provides a direct line of communication with the Divine.

It becomes the ultimate lesson in irony.

The Talmud (Eruvin 63a) points out that this connection was never utilized. Both Yehoshua and Elazar were punished, in a sense, for speaking out of turn in the presence of Moshe. Yehoshua instructed Moshe to put Eldad and Meidad in jail (Bamidbar 11:28), and Elazar taught everyone the laws of kashering metals in the aftermath of the Midian war (Bamidbar 31:21-24). Yehoshua's punishment was that he never had children, and Elazar's punishment was that Yehoshua never needed him.

To be fair, the Midrash Aggadah suggests that Yehoshua never needing Elazar was more of a reward to Yehoshua, as per the verse in Mishlei 27:18, "He who guards his master shall be honored."

Regardless, the fact is that there was a high anticipation of the new generation of leadership sharing an incredible professional relationship. Aharon and Moshe worked well together because they were brothers and because their personalities complemented one another in many respects.

Would Yehoshua and Elazar have a similar rapport? We never find out.

There's an old Yiddish saying (some claim German origins) that "A mentsh tracht und Gott lacht - Man plans and God laughs." [On the internet, I found some people ascribing its origins to Tehillim 33:10 and Mishlei 16:9]

Perhaps we can suggest that even Moshe, in a sense, spoke out of turn to God. For all of Moshe's plans, even Yehoshua did not leave a successor. In this regard maybe the anarchy of the book of Shoftim is partly attributable to Yehoshua's poor leadership choice.

In the end, our charge is to do our best, in as humble a manner and in as God-fearing a manner as we can. Success, wealth, employment, our ability to accomplish and fulfill our dreams are all in the hands of God.

But God puts them in our hands when we do our part to make it happen, and when He feels, at this stage, that we are deserving. But we must be doing something if God is going to help us fulfill our goals.

A classic Jewish joke has Mendel praying to God to help him win the lottery. After months and months and no winning, Mendel comes to the Western Wall and screams at God, "After all I've done for You! After all the sacrifices and promises!"

All of a sudden, the heavens open and God's voice communicates directly with Mendel, "Mendel you are my most beloved. But for heaven's sake – buy a ticket!"

We may be most deserving. But nothing's going to happen just because we are good people. Very few are so lucky.

And for those who are in the trenches, sometimes we walk on a thin line between getting exactly what we want, and becoming destined to never reach that which should have otherwise been our absolute potential.

The words of Micha (6:8) in last week's haftorah say it best. "He has told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord demands of you; but to do justice, to love loving-kindness, and to walk discreetly/humbly with your God."

With this as our formula for achieving Godliness, hopefully we can be blessed to find our calling in life.

Relationships "With" Others

2011-07-08T00:36:00.001-04:00

[Click here for an audio shiur further analyzing this subject]

Parshat Balak

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Bilaam desperately wants to go with King Balak's men to fulfill what he believes is his destiny to curse the Jewish people. Knowing of his own relationship with God, however, he will not accept the job until he is given permission from God to go. And he makes this quite clear to Balak's first agents.

Yet when God finally does acquiesce, saying, "If the men have called you specifically, go with them with the understanding that you'll only be able to say what I tell you to say" (22:20), why does He then get angry when Bilaam goes? (22:21-22)

The answer lies in a subtlety that is lost in an English translation. God made it very clear to Bilaam that "You will not go 'imahem'" (22:12). However, the permission He grants is to "Go 'itam.'" (22:20)

Two Hebrew words for "with" are "im" (ayin mem) and "et" (alef tav). "Et" has other meanings in the Torah as well, such as to, in, or from, and it most often appears as a grammatical tool connecting a verb to its object, or preceding a noun. According to the Even-Shoshan Concordance, the "et" meaning "with" appears hundreds of times in Tanakh.

Is there a difference between the "with" of "im" and the "with" of "et"?

In the context of Bilaam's assignment, there seems to be a big difference. Bilaam firmly believes that God is "imo" (22:19). Whatever that relationship may be, God instructs him not to have a similar relationship with Balak's emissaries, "Lekh itam ["et" them]." Bilaam seems to ignore this when he goes "im" them – thereby fueling God's anger and causing the angel to stop him on the road. After the entire donkey/ angel incident, however, Bilaam is instructed by the angel to go "im" Balak's officers. (22:35)

What changed?

I think that God assigning to go "et" them implies there will be a distance between the prophet and those hiring him. That Bilaam will only say what God lets him say is understood when the prophet goes in accompaniment because it's a job ("et"), as opposed to because he is putting his heart and soul into the assignment ("im"). While not comparable (because murder is murder), one might suggest a hired assassin who kills for a paycheck versus one who does it because he enjoys the thrill of the kill are not to be judged by others the same way.

In response to the first envoy sent to him, Bilaam was told he could not go and could not curse the people. In 22:12-13, Bilaam only mentioned that he could not go, and left out that he could not curse the people. Similarly, once Bilaam was given permission to go, he never let on to the officers that he was constrained in what he could say. He went "im" them because he wanted, heart and soul, to be with them, and he believed he'd be able to do what he wanted.

Only after the encounter with the angel, when the instruction regarding what he'd be able to say was repeated in stronger terms (22:35), was he able to express to Balak (22:38) that he'd only be able to say what God allows him to say. And this is why he could be given permission to go "im" the emissaries, because now, no matter what his heart and soul will dictate, he understands and makes it understood that he may personally want to do exactly what Balak wants him to do, but he will only be able to do what God allows him to do.

In addressing this question, the Netziv shares his own observations about the differences between going "et" versus going "im." Following on his coattails, perhaps in the specific context of people traveling together, this distinction applies. Those who go "et" others, are walking on the same path, but their minds are in different places. Those who walk "im" others, not only share a physical space but also share a mental and perhaps spiritual state of being.

People who go "et" others (different mindsets) in the Torah include: Terach with his family on the way to Haran; Lot going with Avram on his continued journey to Canaan; Lot immediately before the fight that caused him to separate from Avraham; Avraham with his lads to sacrifice his son. Avimelekh and company, as they depart from Yitzchak after making a treaty; Yaakov and his sons when they went to Egypt (all with different hopes for the future); The Egyptians who came with Yosef to bury Yaakov.

People who go "im" others (same mindset) in the Torah include: Lot going with Avram after the events in Egypt (after seeing God help Avram in a tight situation) [soon after, Lot separates "me'imo" to move to S'dom]; Avraham accompanying the angels on their way to destroy S'dom; Lot and his daughters escaping from S'dom; Eliezer and the servants looking to find a wife for Yitzchak; Rivka's choice to go with Eliezer to be Yitzchak's wife; Yaakov with Lavan (until he is no longer "imo" (Bereishit 31:2); 400 men with Eisav; the brothers of Yosef when they go to bury their father.

It is interesting to note that like Bilaam, Lot is the main figure who jumps back and forth. Perhaps this is because, like Bilaam, he was an opportunist who came close when it was good for him, but distanced himself when things did not work out.

Both kinds of relationships are healthy and normal when they are utilized in the contexts in which they are meant to take place. May we merit to have an equal and consistent balance of "et" and "im" relationships.

A Big Og? UGH!

2011-07-01T09:54:00.003-04:00

Parshat Chukat

by Rabbi Avi Billet

In the battles that round out the end of Parshat Chukat, Moshe and the Israelites defeat Sichon and Og, and their respective nations. Before the battle with Og, Moshe is told by God not to fear for "I have given him into your hands." (21:34)

The Torah describes both kings as "giants," though the nature of their actual size is never discussed in the Torah itself. (The size of Og's bed is mentioned in Devarim 3:11, and while oversized, it by no means indicates he was anywhere near the height of a tall tree.) The Talmud (Niddah 64a) further tells us the two kings were brothers, and the rabbis talked about their individual stories, including discussions about how they each merited to achieve the longevity they enjoyed in their lives.

Some accounts indicate they may have been living since the time of the flood (around 800 years – See Rabbenu Bachaye on Bamidbar 21:34) while others say they were living from the time of Avraham (500 years).

The one with greater merits was Og, who is attributed with being the "palit" or refugee from the Sdom war of Bereishit 14, who came to tell Avraham about his nephew Lot's capture. It was the merit of helping Avraham save Lot that caused Moshe to fear Og's infallibility (Niddah 64a).

Moshe did not fear Sichon, so whatever size "giant" he may have been was clearly not a deterrent to facing him in battle. Og's merits, not his size, was the source of Moshe's concern.

The Talmud (Brachot 54b) describes the battle encounter of Moshe against Og. "Og uprooted a mountain of three parasangs and placed it on his head [to cover the Israelite camp with it.] God set grasshoppers upon it, and they burrowed a hole in the mountain and it fell round his neck. He tried to pull it off his head with his teeth but could not… How tall was Moshe? Ten cubits. He grabbed hold of an axe ten cubits long, leaped ten cubits, struck Og in the ankle and killed him."

On a simple literal level, Moshe was no slouch himself. A height of ten cubits would be somewhere between fifteen and twenty feet tall. While such a height is not something we see as likely, it is almost in the realm of the explainable.

At the same time, if Og's ankle was 30 cubits high, we can only imagine how big he was – a few hundred feet tall! He would make King Kong (25 feet) look smaller than a teddy bear in his eyes.

In an article entitled "The biology of King Kong" (Forbes.com, December 2005) the author quotes John Hutchinson, a researcher of large animals, who estimated Kong would weigh anywhere from 20 to 60 tons. He would not be athletic and would barely be able to move, supporting such weight on two legs.

In his book "Sacred Monsters" Rabbi Natan Slifkin indicates a giant of such magnitude (skyscraper height) would weigh in the millions of pounds.

Given that the indicated height of Og as suggested in the Talmud is likely not meant to be taken literally due to the biological improbability, how then are we to understand the Talmud?

Professor Admiel Kosman of Bar Ilan University wrote an article which appeared in "Professors on the Parashah" (Urim Publications) entitled "Was Og Just a Tall Story?" It can also be found online here.

He quotes the Rashba, who explains each image as a metaphor to merits. "The "mountain" that was Og's weapon alludes to the merits of our patriarchs," in his case Avraham, whom he had helped to save his nephew. "The grasshoppers, an allusion to the prayers of the Israelites, caused the merits of this "mountain" to disintegrate… Moses joined in the fray, countering the merits of Og with three other merits: the merits of the patriarchs (ten cubit leap into the past)…; Moses' own personal merits (ten cubits tall); and the merits of the people of Israel as a whole (ten-cubit ax)…. All these formed the weapon that Moses wielded against the merits of Og, and through them Og was ultimately vanquished."

The Maharsha (Brachot 54b) wonders why Moshe would be concerned that the merit of the forefathers would work more strongly for Og than for Moshe himself. He suggests instead that Og carried with him "Kochot HaTumah" (strength of impurity) that could come head to head with Moshe's spiritual powers.

He suggests that the 10-cubit ax represents the merit of the 2 tablets which contained the 10 Commandments. The 10-cubit jump represents the Mishkan which was 10-cubits tall, and had been erected by Moshe all by himself. [Moshe's height could refer to the merit of the ten plagues he had brought about.]

Not everything we read in the Torah and Midrashim is meant to be taken absolutely literally. While some things can be rationalized and explained as a supernatural creation or act of God, not everything must be explained in such a manner.

We are challenged to find satisfactory explanations for the Aggadic tales which are difficult to explain on a simple level. Only when we have sought the depths of Torah and its lessons to the point we are happy with the explanations can we truly say we have fulfilled our obligation of Torah study.

The Reality Check of the Staff Test

2011-06-24T02:18:00.001-04:00

Parshat Korach

by Rabbi Avi Billet

It is hard to understand how the people of Metropolis can not see that the only difference between Clark Kent and Superman is a pair of glasses. Then again, Superman is a comic book superhero.

It is similarly hard to understand how the people who participate in the test that "proves" that Aharon and the tribe of Levi were respectively chosen by God can not see that the entire sequence is a contrived setup! And here, it comes directly from God's instruction

In 17:17-18, Moshe is instructed to tell leaders of twelve tribes, each to place his name on his staff. Aharon's name is to appear on the tribe of Levi's staff.

Is Levi's staff in addition to twelve others, or is Levi one of the twelve? Yaakov had twelve sons, but usually Yosef's progeny is divided into two tribes, Efraim and Menashe, and Levi is out of the count.

If the tribe of Levi, as represented by Aharon, are in addition to the twelve tribes, why doesn't the Torah instruct there to be thirteen staffs? And if Levi is to be counted as part of the twelve, then Efraim and Menashe will not have specific representation. Will the person who represents Yosef be from Efraim or Menashe? How could this be a fair test if Levi participates and either Menashe or Efraim is left out?

In the instructions to Moshe, Levi seems to be included as an afterthought. At the same time, Levi's ultimate triumph looks like a foregone conclusion. "Take the twelve, and make sure Aharon's staff is included in the bunch."

Apart from God's instruction, it seems strange that anyone would participate in the rouse, unless we suggest no one really cared about the outcome. This is how the e end of the story plays out. After Aharon's staff blossomed, "They saw and they took – each man his staff." (17:24) Apparently, the results were not a surprise. Maybe the whole arrangement was just a perfunctory motion to prove once and for all that Aharon and the Levites had been chosen.

This is still problematic, however, because in the end the stick test proves something no one disagreed with. Korach and his followers, all of whom were of the tribe of Levi, claimed only that others of their tribe should be allowed to serve as kohanim as well (16:6-11). Datan and Aviram and their gang – all from different tribes - challenged Moshe's leadership. They had no concerns about the role of the tribe of Levi and who should serve as kohanim.

Ramban claims there are only twelve tribes included in the test because the Torah does not rise above a hard number twelve when counting the tribes. (See his commentary on Devarim 33:6.) I would argue the possibility that the Torah can be in a manner suggesting thirteen staffs were included in the test: twelve plus Aharon's.

In the verses quoted above, twelve staffs are mentioned followed by Aharon's staff. 17:21 says, "Moshe told the Israelites to have their princes each give their staffs, one per tribe to make twelve staffs; and Aharon's staff is among their staffs." Perhaps, in addition to their staffs.

When Moshe places the staffs in the tent of the testimony, it says "He placed the staffs there," without specifying how many he carried in.

It could be everyone knew Levi would "win," and it could also be that everyone knew the test was a rouse to satisfy those of little faith. But every tribe needed to have a representative to give an image of a fighting chance to be chosen.

Human leadership does not exist in a vacuum. Yehoshua is clearly from Efraim, not from Yosef. Some of the kings in the book of Kings are clearly from Menashe, not from Yosef.

Here too, while not diminishing from the magic number twelve, we ought to consider the possibility that each tribe – including Efraim and Menashe – were aptly represented. Aharon's leadership – especially after the k'toret incident – may or may not have been contested once Korach and Co. were gone. Levi's place in the nation may have also been quite clear.

The roles we experience in our lives are either of the type we inherit, fall into, acquire or are appointed to. In some cases they are changeable, while in others they are not. The challenge is to make the best of our circumstances, and when possible, to advocate a change that is in the realm of the possible.

There is always room for civil conversation and civil debate. And, when necessary, every side should have a representative. But like Aharon and the Levites, there are sometimes when the conclusions are apparent even before the conversation begins. Somehow, we must learn to live with and grow to accept such realities.

Moshe's Teachable Moment – Commitment to a Long Term Goal

2011-06-16T09:45:00.000-04:00

Parshat Shlach

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Every time we consider a conversation between God and Moshe, the absurdity of the concept of Moshe "teaching" God something becomes apparent.

There is no question that God exhibits a sense of concern for His name. He does not like when people disgrace His name, misrepresent Him, or behave in a manner that is ungodly. There are a number of times in the Torah when the people act so poorly and with such disregard for God, His kindness, and all the things He has done for them, one wonders how their heads concoct some of the shenanigans and complaints they come up with and act upon.

But the strangest part is not as much when Moshe comes to their defense. He is, after all, their shepherd. It is, after all, his job to defend and protect them. The difficulty is that his logical arguments on their behalf seem so obvious. One wonders why he needed to tell them to God. And why God, seemingly, did not come up with them on His own.

The whole premise of this suggestion is heretical. If God is the Almighty, the all-seeing and the all-knowing, then God knows the past and the future. Nothing is hidden from Him. Rabbi Akiva says in Avot chapter 3, "Everything is foreseen, but free will is given." Humans have free will, but only God knows what will happen.

This is why the middle of Bamidbar chapter 14 is so confusing. It really looks like Moshe is playing the role of the psychologist and chief advisor to God. "Moshe replied to God, 'And what will happen when the Egyptians hear about it? You have brought this nation out from among them with Your great power! And what if they tell the people who live in this land? They have heard that You, God, have been with this nation [

Israel

]. You, God, have revealed Yourself to them face to face, and Your cloud stands over them. You go before them in a pillar of cloud by day, and a pillar of fire at night. Now you want to kill this [entire] nation like a single man! The nations who hear this news about You will say that 'God was not able to bring this nation to the land that He swore to them, so He slaughtered them in the desert.' Now, O God, is the time for You to exercise even more restraint'…" (14:13-17)

Rashi says Moshe was suggesting everyone will think God had the power over the Egyptians, but He could not defeat the Canaanites.

Ramban and others focus on the perspective that others will perceive that God could only defeat Egyptian gods but was no match for Canaanite gods.

I would like to suggest that Moshe is not teaching God a lesson, or causing God to consider a different perspective. God is well aware of all the permutations and possibilities of how Man thinks. Moshe, who grew up in the house of Pharaoh, is well aware of the Egyptian mindset. His prayer comes on account of his personal lament over the folly of trying to pick up the pieces after God decimates the Israelite nation.

This is not about God. This is about Moshe.

When a person dedicates one's life to a project, with a very clear goal, the thing that keeps the person going is that goal, and the need to see it through to the end. These people, obstinate and stiff-necked and difficult as they may be, are Moshe's people. He loves them and cares for them.

This God, Who chose Moshe, has the most incredible reputation, and inspires awe and fear among nations. In Moshe's mind's eye, there is no sense in working for a God whose reputation has been diminished.

Moshe is saying, "I know how the Egyptians think. I know what they'll say – about You and about us. And I don't want any part of that! My job was to take care of these people, and once they are all dead my job will end."

This is the ultimate lesson in what it takes to be committed to a cause, and what it takes to stand for your principles. God doesn't change His mind because Moshe convinced Him to. God "changed His mind" because He wasn't ready for Moshe to hang up his gloves forever.

Moshe could not accept the notion that a new world would be created when he saw the beauty, strength, power and possibility that existed in the one he knew. And he could not bear the thought that Egypt might have the last laugh, were the Israelites to be destroyed. His appeal to God, therefore, was not about saving face for God, as much as it was to allow his life to continue to have a purpose – to bring his people closer to the promised land.

God's possible destruction of that goal, which would either affect Moshe's life directly, or indirectly through the media channels of the day which would criticize God, were enough to warrant Moshe's objection. Moshe's objection was not to convince God to behave otherwise, as much as it was to show Moshe's dedication to the people and his readiness to lead them through thick and thin – even 40 years of wandering in the wilderness.

Razors to Raise Them

2011-06-10T02:07:00.001-04:00

Parshat B'ha'alotkha

The Levites are consecrated, once and for all, in the opening passages of our parsha. Mazal tov!

Hold your horses. Did you read what they have to go through to experience this monumental achievement?

"Take the Levites from among the Israelites and purify them. This is how you purify them: sprinkle on them 'sin waters' and pass a razor over their entire bodies (ie. shave their hair), then they'll wash their clothes and they'll thus be purified." (8:6-7)

The Midrash takes the entire procedure and places it into Korach's mouth as one of his arguments against Moshe's sanity and moral leadership. With (arguably) good reason! It sounds like they're going through a delousing formula before entering prison!

Rashi is so disturbed by this depiction that he quotes a "nice idea" that he heard from Rabbi Moshe HaDarshan, the master of Biblical exegesis, to try to explain why the Levites would go through such an ordeal. Such a homiletical interpretation suggests a lesson to be learned, but also an explanation that may not be entirely accurate.

Their body hair seems to be shaved, he explains, "Since they brought about the forgiveness for the firstborns who had worshiped idols (through killing those who worshiped the Golden Calf), and idolatry is considered 'the offerings of the dead,' and a person afflicted with tzara'at is called 'dead,' they were required to have the same kind of haircut as those afflicted with tzara'at."

So, if one is looking to achieve a spiritual connection to God, the last step before bringing a korban or dunking in the mikveh is to take a full-body-shave?

I understand the concept of shaving to achieve "cleanliness." But to compare the journey of the metzora cleansing himself to that of a Levite who carried out capital punishment on idolators is like comparing apples to oranges. Technically they're both fruit – but through two very different processes.

The biggest irony comes from the fact that the only other time the word for razor (ta'ar) appears in the Torah is in the context of a nazir commencing his vow period of not drinking wine or cutting his hair (Bamidbar 6:5). While the metzora does shave all his (or her) hair (Vayikra 14:8-9), there is no mention of the use of a razor.

The Talmud (Nazir 40) addresses the question of how we know the metzora's shaving is done by razor, concluding that the Rabbis interpreted thus from comparing their shaving to the shavings of the Levites and Nazirs which were done with a razor.

More importantly, what does it mean to have the body-hair shaved? And why do the Levites have to go through such a procedure?

Commentaries address how much hair must be removed. Ibn Ezra quotes the "copiers" who said the beard should be shaved, but not the "pe'ah," the area that is Biblically forbidden to cut (Vayikra 19:27). Rabbenu Bachaya says the "pe'ah" is included in what may be cut. The Midrash, however, says the only hair that may not be cut grows in hidden areas.

The Torah Temimah defines these "hidden areas" as armpits and the pubic region, and he learns this from a passage in Kiddushin 25a that says we only count generally seen organs. Organs that are not normally seen need not be shaved in the "full-body" shave.

No matter how much of the body is shaved, the question remains of why the "cleansing process" of shaving is applied to the Levites. One marked distinction between the shavings is that of the Sefer HaChinukh (Mitzvah 377), who says the Levite circumstance was a one-time purification process that only the first group of Levites went through, while nazirs and metzoras would forever have to go through such a process.

The Siftei Cohen (Shakh) puts it best when he describes the symbolism of this one-time act as one which helps the Levites get past a few dark spots in their familial history.

While it says "they will pass a razor on their flesh" the Torah does not go into detail as to what they'll actually shave, because it is the act of the moving of the razor that is symbolic, not the removal of the hair (as it is in the case of the metzora). The Levites had an appetite for the sword, as was originally demonstrated by their ancestor's actions in wiping out the city of Shechem. They took the same sword to punish those who had sinned at the Golden Calf (compare Bereshit 34:25 to Shmot 32:27). The razor needed to be passed over the body as a 'kapparah' for their distasteful act, inspired by the bad angel Sama'el, of using the sword to carry out justice.

Therefore, the razor, and not the actual hair removal is what becomes the focus. Even though capital punishment is sometimes necessary, those who rush to carry it out are still held culpable for their participation in the act, minimally mandated to have a spiritual cleansing.

The one-time act was meant to purge forever Levitical characteristics that would no longer be useful in those designated for Temple service.

The Kohanim Who Bless

2011-06-03T07:45:00.001-04:00

Parshat Naso

With the holiday of Shavuot almost upon us, we have the opportunity to explore a subject of importance to those who experience Birkat Kohanim only on holidays. What qualifications must a kohen have to participate in the blessing ritual? What might disqualify a kohen from duchening?

The Torah (6:23-27) provides a very unique mitzvah to the kohanim – the ability to be the instrument through which the people of Israel will be blessed.

It is such a unique kind of mitzvah that, with some exceptions of course, even a kohen who is a known sinner may still bless the people. It is his status as a kohen that carries the day, and pushes aside the choices he may make in his life that don’t model the best effort of maintaining a life of observance of mitzvot. This ruling is so clearly in the kohen's favor that the Shulchan Arukh suggests that a kohen who should be blessing the people who opts out (chooses to shirk his responsibility) at the moment the kohanim are called is considered in violation of three positive commandments (Orach Chaim 128:2).

Maimonides (Laws of Prayer Chapter 15) lists six qualities that would render a kohen ill-fit to bless the people. The following is a summary of the disqualifying qualities – with exceptions to these rules – as presented in Maimonides and the Shulchan Arukh.

Reading and Diction: If he cannot recite the words properly, if he confuses letters (such as alef and ayin, shin and sin), or if he has a 'heavy tongue' that prevents words from coming out.

A 'Baal Mum': If he has a blemish, either temporary or permanent. If he has a deformity in his face, hands or feet, or if spittle drips from his mouth when he talks. A person who is blind in one eye may not bless the people (though the Shulchan Arukh says even a person who is completely blind may bless the people if everyone is familiar with the person). A person afflicted with the blindness or spittle issues may bless the people in their own city, when everyone knows them and is comfortable with their nonstandard qualities. At the time he has a broken limb, he should not bless the people.

A Sinner: If he killed someone, worshiped idolatry, or became an apostate (even if he did teshuvah in the latter case). The Rama (128:35) allows a kohen who killed someone by accident (such as in a car-crash) to bless the people again after he has done teshuvah. The Mishnah Brurah even allows teshuvah to let a non-accidental murderer bless the people again. [I don't believe killing someone in war counts as a disqualifier.]

The Shulchan Arukh adds that if he has married a divorcee he may not bless the people, even if he divorces her or she dies, until he makes a vow not to associate in an intimate way with the women a kohen is forbidden to marry.

A kohen who is otherwise not careful about observance (such as one who violates the Sabbath) may bless the people. Mishnah Brurah 128:146 reminds us that just because he is a sinner does not mean we have the right to take away a mitzvah that is uniquely for him. Every person can use all the mitzvah "points" they can get, and a sinning kohen certainly can use every mitzvah given to him.

Years: Some say he needs to have facial hair, but the Shulchan Arukh says (128:34) if he is bar mitzvah, it is as if he has facial hair. A minor may participate to learn the ropes, as long as there are others present who are over the age of 13.

Wine: One who has consumed a "r'viis" (between 3 and 5 ounces) of wine in one straight shot, or more than a r'viis of wine in any number of shots, may only bless the people after the effect of the wine has passed. (Higher percentages of alcohol drinks would apply as well.) If the r'viis was consumed in two shots, or the wine was diluted, he may bless the people.

Tumah: If he did not wash his hands, he may not bless the people. Shulchan Arukh adds that if he became tameh to a person who is not one of his seven close relatives (mother, father, wife, sister, brother, son, daughter), he may not bless the people.

The law states (Sotah 38a) that the blessing has to be said in Hebrew. Rabbi Mordechai HaKohen asks why is this so. Couldn't the blessings be performed in whatever language the kohen understands?

He answers that the last words of the blessing are "And He shall place for you Shalom." The word 'Shalom' contains within it all kinds of important connotations, feelings, thoughts, and ideas. As it cannot be adequately translated from Hebrew, it must be stated in Hebrew.

Rashi explains that through blessing the people the Kohen also receives the same blessings from God. Indeed the Rambam explains that the Kohen is merely the instrument through which every Jew receives the blessing from God. This is why his personal righteousness is lest important than his pedigree.

May we always find a way to be accepting of the kohanim who come to bless us, who fit the qualifications as described here. May kohanim merit to live their lives in such a manner that the congregation will be pleased to be blessed by and through them. May they also work on the qualities they can control (tumah, pronunciation, wine, etc) such that they will always be ready to fulfill their mitzvah.

Hopefully, as a result, we can all be blessed with the most beneficial blessing: the blessing of Shalom.

Shavuot - Not a Date for Celebrating the Torah

2011-06-01T00:00:00.001-04:00

What significant moment from Jewish history is celebrated on Shavuot?

The giving of the Torah. Right?

Wrong.

Unlike other holidays such as Pesach and Sukkot, the Torah does not assign a historical significance to Shavuot. In Pesach’s case the Torah tells us “On this day I took you out of Egypt.” (Shmot 12:17) In Sukkot’s case, the Torah tells us we dwell in Sukkot “because I had the Israelites dwell in booths when I took them out of Egypt.” (Vayikra 23:43)

Rabbi Joshua ibn Shu’ib pointedly reminds us that the Torah never says “Celebrate a holiday of Shavuot for on that day I gave you the Torah.” We know that Rosh Hashana is a “day of truah” (sounding the shofar), and Yom Kippur is a “day of forgiveness,” but Shavuot is considered “zman matan torateinu” – the general timeframe of the giving of the Torah, but not “yom matan torateinu” – the day of the giving of the Torah.

One can argue that Pesach and Sukkot are also called “zman” something, such as the time of our freedom (Pesach) and the time of our rejoicing (sukkot). They also are not called “Yom” – the “day” of these celebrations! But the difference between these two holidays and Shavuot is that they are each spread over a seven-day period, which by default can not be defined as a single "day of” our freedom or rejoicing.

One reason why Shavuot can never be called the “day of” anything is because Shavuot does not celebrate a historical event. In the Torah it is depicted only as an agricultural holiday. In Shmot 23:16 it is called “Chag Hakatzir” – the holiday of harvest. In Shmot 34:22 it is called “Shavuot” as the acts of harvest and bringing first fruits are mentioned. In Vayikra 23 the holiday isn’t even called by name, but is set in the context of counting sefirah, in that the fiftieth day, also known as the day after the completion of seven full weeks, is the day of the holiday. (Devarim 16 has a similar context, as it calls the holiday Shavuot as well). Finally, in Bamidbar 28:26 the holiday is called “Yom Habikkurim” – the day of the first fruits.

So why is the connection to the giving of the Torah so ensconced in our heads? Obviously we do not live in an agricultural society, nor do we live in Israel, so perhaps we needed to develop an additional significance to this holiday. If not for some deeper symbolism, that is, in our own hearts we would have difficulty understanding the need for this holiday at all.

There are two Talmudic passages that can shed light on our quandary. Rosh Hashana 6b points out that before there was a set calendar, any month on the Hebrew calendar could potentially be 29 or 30 days. If Nissan and Iyar were both 30 days, Shavuot would be on the 5th of Sivan. If Nissan and Iyar were both 29 days, Shavuot would be on the 7th of Sivan. If one was 30 and the other was 29, Shavuot would be on the 6th of Sivan.

In Shabbat 86b-88, the Talmud goes through painstaking detail and argument over the date of the giving of the Torah. It boils down to two opinions: the 6th or 7th of Sivan. The back and forth is not relevant to our discussion, but the fact that the date of the giving of the Torah is uncertain is highly relevant. In the previous paragraph the possibility of a 5th of Sivan Shavuot was raised as a very real possibility. Such a Shavuot would be completely disconnected from any commemoration of the date of the giving of the Torah. As well it should be, for the event of the holiday and the event of receiving the Torah are unconnected.

But there is some connection. It is the same season. In some cases Shavuot will fall out on the day of the giving of the Torah.

The Minchat Yitzchak notes how the 7 weeks of sefirah parallel the seven preparatory days a woman takes before going to the mikvah. We count as she counts, and like the bride awaiting her chupah, the Jewish people prepared to bind themselves to God forever at Sinai. These connections, plus the coincidence of the calendar put Shavuot and a celebration of the receiving of the Torah into the same ballpark.

So why doesn’t the Torah give us the date of “matan Torah”?

Rashi says in Shmot 19:1 “Because the Torah should be new to us every day, as if it were given today.” We can not limit our celebration of the Torah to one night/day of the year. It is a constant gift, with no time limits and no set dates.

The Incredible Human Spirit

2011-05-27T08:14:00.000-04:00

B'Midbar

by Rabbi Avi Billet

There are seven instances in the Torah when a tally of the army-age males is given to us. Twice they are rounded to "600,000 foot soldiers" (Shmot 12:37 and Bamidbar 11:21). The first three times they are counted to more exact specifications, first with the half-shekel (38:26) and twice in our parsha (1:46 and 2:32), the census result is 603,500. The last two "exact numbers" are different: 601,730 (Bamidbar 26:51) and 675,000 (Bamidbar 31:32).

While the fact that the two censuses in our parsha return the same numbers is not surprising, the fact that they are the same as the census at the end of the book of Shmot is quite surprising.

Since Vayikra began on the first of Nissan, and Bamidbar begins on the first of Iyar, we can suggest equal numbers are on account of a minimal passage of time.

And yet, we know that people die every day. Certainly individuals between age 20 to 60 died during that month. Nadav and Avihu died. The blasphemer presumably died (the Meshekh Chokhmah points out that the Torah does not say that "he died" in Vayikra 24:23, but it is pretty clear that he did).

There is a discussion in the Midrash Eichah Rabba as to how many people died during the years in the desert. Was it 15,000 per year? Was it 15,000 plus a little? Did the numbers fluctuate year to year? Did only 60 year-olds perish, or did people get to live longer, even though the exodus generation were all destined to die in the desert? The Ritva on Baba Batra 121a explores all the particulars, recognizing that the arguments only become relevant after the incident with the spies (Bamidbar 13-14), when the forty-years decree is made.

In our parsha, we are still a few months before that episode.

I believe this is the explanation for why there is no discrepancy in the censuses of 603,550.

Until the incident of the spies, the path of the Israelite nation was to march to the land of Canaan, to take it over as per God's promise and command, and to build a temple in the "place that God will choose" (Devarim 12).

With a mishap here and there, God surely foresaw what would transpire and knew the numbers would somehow remain balanced because 603,550 was supposed to be the size of the army conquering the land – no more and no less.

Once the setbacks begin in Bamidbar 11 and culminate with the spies three chapters later, the natural order of the world could continue. 24,000 die in Bamidbar 25:9, and yet the difference in numbers from our parsha to the census that takes place one chapter after that plague, (around 38 years after the original census) is a little less than 2,000 people. The next census, a few chapters later, records a quick population explosion of over 73,000 newcomers to the 20-60 club.

The ways of God are unknown to us, but the power of the human spirit is something we see very often. Sometimes doctors will give a person a limited amount of time to live, only to see the person defy the medical textbooks, and then some.

Sometimes a marriage of 5 or 6 decades ends with a death, and a perfectly healthy widow or widower dies shortly thereafter, having wanted only to "be with" the spouse who passed first.
While I cannot account for how individuals did not enter the 20-year-old zone, I imagine that those Israelites who experienced the Exodus and wanted only to see the Promised Land were able to mobilize the incredible human spirit to delay the course of how things "might have been."

In this week following our president's flip-flop in his hopes for Israel, and the aftermath of a strong AIPAC conference, let us hope that the human spirit of our people and the State of Israel will retain its resolve to see the Promised Land for what God promised it would be in good times (in last week's parsha Vayikra 26:3-13): a land where the rain falls and the crops grow, where you can live securely without the sword passing through. Where a minimal army will easily defeat a multitude of enemies, who will be chased away and fall by the sword if they choose to fight. Where our numbers will only grow, and God's sanctuary will forever be in our midst.

Of Curses and Mourning - A Lament About Sefirah Practices

2011-05-19T22:59:00.000-04:00

Bechukotai and Sefirat Haomer

by Rabbi Avi Billet
Do a search on the internet for "Klausenberger Rebbe" and you'll find the deceased rebbe has a Facebook page. Add the word "tochacha" to your search, and you'll find a story about a time he was in shul for the reading of the tochacha, and he told the reader to read the section in a loud voice. Rabbi Frand, who tells the story, records the Rebbe's explanation for this contrarian position to an ancient custom.

"This can be read quietly when you are afraid that it might happen and you don't know what is going to happen to you once it happens. We, however, have already lived through this [in the Holocaust] and we are still here. This is now something that we are proud of… The Tochacha is now our badge of honor. It will no longer be read silently. It will be read completely out loud! We can say 'We were there. It happened to us and we have remained Jews of integrity.'"

The tochacha carries with it God's promise of His personal vengeance against those who do not follow His ways, followed by His promise to send a sword against His people when they veer from the path. The sword will presumably be carried by enemies appointed by God.

In this period of Sefirat HaOmer, it is quite poignant to think of these promises at a time when we continue to observe certain "mourning practices" over the loss of the students of Rabbi Akiva, more than eighteen hundred years ago.

Which devastating period for the Jewish period was the fulfillment of the tochacha? Was it the destruction of the Temple? The period of the Crusades? The Inquisition? Chmielnicki? Pogroms? The Holocaust? Arab terror?

Was the Klausenberger Rebbe right? Or is the worst still to come? How do we reconcile this all with the reality of a promise that seems to be ongoing, and perhaps everlasting? Will we always be responsible for the bad behavior?

I think it comes in waves. It took 1700 years of Jewish wandering until this incredible country we reside in was created. The benevolence and freedoms this nation offered and continues to offer are a Godsend for the Jewish people. In a word, outside of Israel and Jewish sovereignty, "we never had it so good" in a land that was not our own. From the United States of America, as demonstrated through the tolerance and openness of this country, the history of God's "appointed enemies carrying His sword" has taken an altogether different face. In some instances, the US has taken upon itself the role of being the protector and defender of injustice in the world, fighting against those who carry the sword.

So why do we continue to mourn for the students of Rabbi Akiva? Let's say their deaths were the fulfillment of a tochacha punishment. If it comes in waves, then our mourning practices should be limited to Tisha BaAv, as when every other event is commemorated.

I think the deaths of Rabbi Akiva's students carry with them an even more profound significance. In their book, "Why the Jews?" Dennis Prager and Rabbi Joseph Telushkin point out that when picking a monotheistic faith as a substitute for paganism in the Fourth Century, the Roman Empire should have logically picked Judaism to be that replacement.

They claim that 7-10 percent of the people living in the Roman Empire were Jews, many of whom were converts. The philosopher Seneca even remarked that "the conquered have given their laws to the conquerors."

Then Christianity arose from Judaism, presented a more appealing argument of spiritual rather than physical mitzvot plus a Messiah who had already arrived, and the rest, as they say, is history.

What if Rabbi Akiva's students, who lived (and died) at that time, had become the great emissaries of his Torah teachings? What if they had reached out to the greater world and invited people to join them under the wings of the Divine Presence?

In what way would our world look different? What if the whole world really "was" Jewish?

This, like any other "what if" regarding the past, is a pipe dream question which can never be answered. In the USA, I certainly do not ask the question with an eye towards changing any status quo. But the hypothetical question is still compelling, especially as we learn more and more about ancient civilizations.

The fact that there is hatred and war in the world, perhaps on account of the loss of the potential teachings that could have easily spread Judaism like wildfire, is most unfortunate. We continue to ask "what if" when we observe the mourning practices of Sefirat HaOmer because the opportunity they had in those days might never come again.

And that is a reason to mourn..

The Special Beauty of Shabbos

2011-05-12T02:45:00.000-04:00

Parshat Behar

by Rabbi Avi Billet

If the Torah is of divine authorship, why does it repeat itself so much? Did God forget what He had already written when He chose to repeat an idea? And not just any idea, but an entire verse – word for word? Compare 26:2 to 19:30 and you'll find the exact same words: "Observe my Sabbath and revere my temple, I am God."

The phrase "Observe my Sabbath" appears one more time in the book of Vayikra, when it is connected to the commandment of revering one's parents. (Vayikra 19:3)

What is the connection?

When one examines the last few verses of our parsha, one sees a very clear reference to the first four utterings of the Decalogue: the Israelites are my avadim (servants or subjects) because I took them out of Egypt; you are not to make idols, monuments or stones for worship purposes; do not bow down to them; observe My Sabbath and revere My Temple.

The commandment to honor one's parents (as it appears in Shmot 20), or to revere them (as it appears in Vayikra19:3), is conspicuously absent here – it seems to be replaced by the commandment to revere the Temple. What gives?

Rashi famously asks at the beginning of the parsha "What is the reason for discussing the laws of shmittah at Sinai?" The answer to this question is the subject of much homiletical discourse.

But perhaps the parsha ends with a reference to the Ten Commandments, Sinai-originated, of course, to emphasize the importance and significance of the Man-God relationship in our lives (the general theme of the first five of the 'commandments' there), and how it even exists when we are discussing the laws of the shmittah and of charity and of the Jewish eved.

Why is the relationship to parents, then, left out of the discussion?

There are three ways we are instructed to relate to God: To love God (Devarim 6:5, 10:12, 11:1,13,22, 19:9, 30:6,16,20), to fear/revere God (Vayikra 19:14,32; 25:17,36,43, Devarim 13:5), and to honor/respect God (Shmuel I 2:30). There are two ways we are instructed to relate to our parents: to fear/revere them (Vayikra 19:3), and to honor/respect them (Shmot 20:11, Devarim 5:15). There are two ways to relate to the Temple: to revere it (Vayikra 19:3, 26:2) and not to desecrate it (Vayikra 20:3, 21:23).

We are instructed to revere God, Temple and parents. We are instructed to honor/respect God, to avoid desecrating the Temple, and to revere parents. We are told to love God, but are not instructed to love our parents or the Temple.

I think that the repeated verse we began with is meant to teach us an important lesson, in code. Parents and the Temple are to be equated. There is no instruction to love either one, as there is to love God, for example, because the love is either there or it is not. It either comes naturally, or it does not. And if it does not come naturally, one needs to work on it if one wants it. As long as the reverence and respect for one's parents is there, and as long as one reveres the Temple and takes no steps to desecrate it, one is operating in a positive direction.

And the connection to Shabbos is manifestly clear. On what day of the week does one have the opportunity to spend the most time in the Temple? On what day of the week do parents have the chance to spend the most amount of time with their children? The answer to both is "Shabbos." And it is through the observance of the Shabbos that we spend the best quality time aimed at building the uncommanded loving part of our relationships with our parents or children and with our Temples and our experiences there.

So now the question becomes one of how do we utilize all these lengthy hours of quality time? Does the relationship between parents and children grow – through quality meals, singing, learning together? Or do the parents nap most of the day while their children are playing God-knows-what-God-knows-where?

Does the Temple become a place of reverence and non-desecration? Or is there talking during the service, idle chatter in the hallways, and a general disregard for what the Temple on Shabbos is supposed to look like?

The three final verses in our parsha remind us of the spiritual side of the Decalogue. It is through our honor, reverence and love of God that we come to observe and remember the Shabbos, and it is through our proper, family oriented approach to observing the Shabbos that children can come to revere their parents and respect the Temple.

These are ideals that are worthy of repetition. Over and over again.

Because It's the Truth

2011-05-09T21:51:00.001-04:00

This is an essay I wrote a few months ago. I was thinking of sending it to a Jewish newspaper, but whatever. The topic has been bugging me for a while, so I share with you in hopes it will reach someone who can relate.

****************************************************************

Sometimes coincidental occurrences over a short period of time relegate me to thinking that my life consists of monthly themes. One month my focus and thought will be on a particular question related to a Torah narrative. Another month I'll be preoccupied with an educational philosophy question. A fascinating book might occupy the better part of a few weeks' conversations, as messages and lessons gleaned from the book are consistently raised in the course of daily dialogues I'll engage in.

Of late, I've had a number of people, particularly parents in the 38-48 year-old range, approach me to talk about their children. The story is more or less the same. "My kid is a teenager. Judaism has no meaning to her/him. S/he has no interest in davening. How can I get this to change?"

While I don't have solutions to this challenge, I have been sharing an anecdote that a colleague shared with me a few years ago. In a right-wing community, a survey of a large number of kids was conducted in which, among other questions, they were asked, "Why are you observant?" An overwhelming majority answered, "Because my parents are" or "because that's how I'm being raised." A minimal percentage said, "Because it is the emes (truth)."

The follow up question from the parent now is, "How do I get my kid to realize this is the emes?"

In my view, we have a number of challenges.

#1. Many of our children grow up extremely privileged, and have no idea what it means to really need or want something, or to work hard to earn something. Many of us may think we do a decent job of not spoiling our children. But, despite our best efforts, our children are very spoiled. For most people, the only real time they turn to God is when someone very near and dear to them is very very sick.

#2. We put too much stock in the education we provide for our children by sending them to school or yeshiva, and don't do enough at home to reinforce what we would like them to get out of their education. If a child davens in school every morning, but on a day off is allowed to "sleep in," what kind of message is that? Days off from school should translate to shul shacharit minyanim filled with kids. If need be, parents should sponsor a breakfast in shul as an incentive, and get the shul rabbi, or a few of the rebbeim who live locally to learn with the kids for an hour.

When I went to camp, the P.A. system was silent for the 80 minute morning learning session. When the period was over, they would announce "Learning never ends. Learning groups are now over." If "learning never ends," we parents, who are supposed to be the most invested partners in our children's education, ought to make sure a day off from school is not a day off from learning.

A friend of mine put it to me this way. Too often we view home as a supplement to what our children get at school. But the truth is, school should merely be supplementing the Jewish education our children should be getting from our homes.

#3. We must must must teach more than by example. We must take our children by the hand, and help them experience what we experience. We could be the most consistent shul-goers. We can attend the most classes and shiurim. But if our children are never there with us, they don't see how important it is to us, or how meaningful the Jewish experience could be in transferring truths.

If we set time for Torah study, but don't set time to study Torah with our children, we are failing in our efforts to show them "this is emes."

#4. We have to demonstrate true respect for Torah and Torah scholars. If we talk when the Torah is taken out, or during Torah reading, our children notice. If we speak ill of the rabbi, or talk about how the rabbi is wrong, our children notice. We may be right! We may be referring to a political opinion he holds. We may disagree with a certain thing he said – which is legitimate. We are entitled to disagree. But our children need to hear that we respect the rabbi. They need to understand the specific point, to understand on what we are basing our opinion. And how even when we disagree, it does not take away from the appreciation and kavod hatorah we exhibit to the person who plays a significant role in our lives.

I have asked many children, "Why is it important to be Jewish?" Usually the answer they give is, "Because Judaism teaches you how to be a good person." They'll give a little speech about morals and ethics – the Jewish way.

And I say, "Hogwash." A person need not be Jewish to be a good person. Anyone who volunteers and does acts of chesed (kindness) for others is a good person. The difference between a good person and a good person who is Jewish is "Torah and Mitzvot."

A dedicated Jewish life is committed to spiritual pursuits, to getting closer and closer to God through our Torah study, through our davening, through our commitment to Godliness in this world. In Maimonides Book of Mitzvot, Positive Commandment 8, and in Sefer HaChinukh 611, we are commanded to imitate God. The Talmud in Sotah 14a explains how to do this. Just as God clothed the naked (Adam), we are enjoined to clothe the naked. Just as God visited the sick (Abraham post-bris), so must we visit the sick. Just as God comforted mourners (Isaac, when Abraham died), so must we comfort mourners. Just as God buried the dead (Moses), so must we bury the dead.

This is just the tip of the iceberg. A Jewish life doesn’t begin or end at Bar or Bat Mitzvah. It begins the minute we are born, and only ends when we are dead and buried.

Children can be introduced to all aspects of Jewish practice and life at an earlier age than we sometimes think. Shul going should begin when they are able to sit in shul and daven. If shabbos davening is too long, take them during the week.

If funerals and burials are too much for them, take them to a shiva house. Show them how to behave, how to relate to the mourner. How to be respectful.

Bake with them, cook with them, and bring the food to the ill or to the house of mourning, or to the family blessed with a new baby. Why should their food deliveries be limited to mishloach manot on Purim?

Demonstrate your love for the mitzvot you do – tefillin, mezuzah, kosher, candle lighting, keeping Shabbos. Make your holiday experiences be joyous ones and not burdensome ones.

Explain to your children that you work hard and that you believe God provides everything you have. God gives you the ability to work, to produce, and that you have employment on account of God's good graces. If you are going through rough times, tell them you believe in God and His kindness and you know this period is a test. And with the right attitude and the right effort, things will turn around.

Learn with them. Have meaningful conversations. Ask them about what they learned in school. Show them it is important to you. Show them that you care.

Parents are the most influential people in the lives of children. If we demonstrate, in everything we do, that Judaism and the Torah are "emes," our children will come to realize it too, sooner than we could ever imagine.

On the death of Bin Laden

2011-05-06T06:25:00.000-04:00

There is a question which has been coming up this week regarding whether it is appropriate to celebrate the death of Osama Bin Laden. In simple terms, I think it is appropriate to celebrate the end of an era, and to look forward to a brighter future, to delight in the achievements of the US military, and to feel good about one's country - all while leaving out any gloating or particular joy over a worthless individual's death.

I elaborated on these points and others in a shiur I gave last night, which I have posted online at yutorah.org. If you are interested in it, the link is here: On the death of Bin Laden

Precautionary Measures

2011-05-06T06:14:00.000-04:00

Parshat Emor

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The description of the lighting of the Menorah appears three times in the Torah: in Parshat Tetzaveh (Shmot 27:20-21), in our parsha (24:2-3), and at the beginning of Parshat B'haalotkha (Bamidbar 8:2-4). The contexts are different – the creation of the priestly clothing, one of the Torah's presentations of the holidays, and as a precdent to the purification process of the Levites, respectively.

The B'haalotkha passage is different in that it describes how Aharon will conduct himself "when lighting the candles." The other two passages are very similar to one another, containing a few subtle differences that might even be missed at first glance.

In reference to the candles, Parshat Tetzaveh begins with Moshe being told that "Aharon and his sons will set it up," while in Emor, Moshe is told that "Aharon will set it up." Two questions emerge: Why does God refer to the candles in the singular ("it"), when seven candles need to be set up? Why are Aharon's sons left out in our parsha's instruction?

Regarding the singular form of "setting it up" the Torah Temimah implies from a midrashic passage that it could come to pass that different kohanim could be responsible for different candles. The seven candles could even be lit individually before being inserted into the menorah. As such, Aharon's family were responsible for the set-up of one of the seven candles.

Incredibly, a seemingly inconsequential word presented in the singular form ("אותו - oto") teaches us that for some religious rites, they need not be confined to a single person. There is much room in Jewish life for shared responsibility. For example, no job that is filled by volunteers in a synagogue should be held exclusively by any individual for any lengthy period of time (salaried individuals are a different story). Gabbais, baalei tefillah, Torah readers should be changed around on a regular basis. This is a context where "spreading the wealth" is a good thing. The more that people feel this sense of responsibility, the more they feel involved and significant, the less they will come to despise those who "hog" all the honors.

This seems to contradict our second question. Why are Aharon's sons included in Tetzaveh, but left out of setting up the candles in Parshat Emor? If we're sharing the wealth of serving God, Aharon's sons should certainly be included!

The Meshekh Chokhmah looks at the context of Emor and says that once we're talking about the holidays, which was a special time for the kohen gadol (based on Yerushalmi Chagiga 2:4), it is appropriate to mention the kohen gadol's exclusive role with respect to setting up the menorah.

I think, however, that there is a practical reason Aharon's sons were removed from the clearance list of setting up the menorah. Since the advent of Parshat Tetzaveh, two of Aharon's sons have entered an arena which was actually exclusive to their father, and they paid heavily for their impertinence, losing their lives in the process.

The Baal Haturim suggests (24:3) that Aharon would not allow Elazar or Itamar to enter the sanctuary alone, out of his concern that they would meet a similar fate to their deceased brothers. Once he was there with them, he would obviously have first rights in setting up the menorah.

There is a time and place for everything. Two of Aharon's sons had taken advantage of their right to enter the sanctuary, and applied it to an activity that was out of the confines of the services they could perform: the burning of ketoret. Collective punishment is not always a good idea, but when lives are at stake, as was the case with Aharon's sons, it is sometimes a necessity.

Life consists of peaks, valleys and stops everywhere in between. Sometimes we learn from mistakes to never repeat them, and sometimes precautions are put into place to avoid the problem altogether in the future. Sometimes, out of context, the precautions may even seem silly. Think kitniyos on Pesach, some elements of muktzeh, certain strictures in kashrus supervision, and even some of the laws of yichud.

The people who put these rules in place were not dummies – they knew exactly what they were doing. And we need to understand the rules in context, to realize how much insight into human nature and human psychology they really had. The precautionary rules were put into place to prevent us from violating laws that, from a Torah perspective, should be inviolable.

Honor and Reverence

2011-04-29T11:43:00.002-04:00

Parshat Kedoshim

by Rabbi Avi Billet

In the listing of ingredients for the proper pursuit of holiness, the Torah puts reverence of one's parents and the observance of the Sabbath at the forefront, on just about equal footing.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch clarifies that the term used in the Torah "Imo v'aviv tira'u," which is often translated as "fear your parents," is better understood as an instruction to "be mindful of our parents and of our obligation to fulfill their wishes."

More importantly, Hirsch says, it is not "the good that parents do for their children, but the mission given to the parents concerning their children that is the basis of the mitzvah of honoring one's parents."

As to why observance of the Sabbath is attached so closely to the commandment to fulfill the wishes of the parents, Hirsch explains, "A child who sees his parents observing the Sabbath will learn from their example to place his world at G-d's feet; obedience to parents leads to obedience to G-d."

In a larger sense, the mitzvah of reverence for the parents should be an easy one to fulfill. If I owe everything, life itself, to my parents, I should logically want to repay the kindness and fulfill their every wish.

But Hirsch twists the idea on its head. It's not just about the fact that parents bring children into the world. Their responsibilities to their children do not end there. It is they who are to mold and shape and guide their children, so that their children will understand the role their parents play in raising them not only as ethical human beings but as incredible Jews.

This reverence of parents, then, is merely a reflection of the reverence of G-d that the parents demonstrate and display to their children on a daily basis.

Whenever I try to talk to younger children about G-d, I always use their parents as the example. "When you want something and you ask your parents for it, do they always give it to you? Or do they sometimes say 'No?'"

What's fascinating is that the Sabbath and honoring one's parents share similar billing in the Decalogue, and both appear there with a different action word. We are told in Shmot 20 to "Remember the Sabbath to keep it holy," and to "Honor your parents."

In his book "Or HaDeah," Hassidic Rabbi Uri Langer suggests that just as Shamor and Zachor were said in one saying with regard to the Sabbath (Rosh Hashana 27), Kavod and Yirah – Honoring and Revering were said in one saying with regard to how one is to relate to one's parents.

It is easy to honor one's parents when they are gone – to say kaddish, to commemorate a yahrzeit, to say the kel malei rachamim, to speak of them in a respectful way. On equal footing is the obligation to revere them – to listen and to fulfill their will - when they are alive. One reveres one's parents through following their ways.

In the end, the responsibility is two directional. The child has to follow the ways of the parent, but the parent must make the life choices and commitments to be admired by and desirable to the child.

It is no one else's responsibility. Not the school, not the shul, not the rabbi, not one's friend, not even one's own parents (the children's grandparents). It is my responsibility. It is your responsibility. The honor is earned through bringing the children into the world. We will all surely be honored once we're gone.

But the reverence is what we really aspire to, and truly want from and for our children – to follow the path we have chosen and to want with all their hearts and souls to carry it to the next generation.

Maybe observance of the Sabbath is a good first ingredient to achieving the reverence. But even observance of the Sabbath requires a lot more than "not violating the law." We must make Shabbos a day of holiness of beauty and the beginnings of a family bond that creates reverence of the holy day and reverence of G-d.

Through this first ingredient, may those of us who are parents merit to enjoy the honor and reverence we receive as we model it for our children through our own honor and reverence for G-d.

The Relevance of a Tangent

2011-04-14T22:51:00.001-04:00

Acharei Mot - Aharon's Dead Sons - Part II?

by Rabbi Avi Billet
Aharon's sons died three parshas ago, in Parshat Sh'mini, and nary a word has been said about them. Our parsha opens mentioning their deaths, seeming to pick up exactly where the Torah took a break in its narrative to discuss other things.

Is there any significance to a multi-chapter tangent from the regular narrative of the Torah?

Only if the Torah doesn't view the tangent as a disruption of the narrative.

Shortly after his sons died, Aharon received one of his rare personal revelations from G-d in Vayikra 10:8-11. In addition to laws specific to their situation as mourners, he and his remaining sons were informed of "how to distinguish between holy and mundane, between tamei and tahor, so they may teach the Israelites the laws G-d had taught through Moshe."

The two and half parshas which followed those words were a blur of adherence to this code. Through Moshe and Aharon, the Israelites were then taught of the laws of what makes an animal tahor or tamei, fit to be used in the Temple, for sacrifices, offerings and for consumption, versus unfit and undesired by G-d.

Then Moshe and Aharon received divine instruction about the different kinds of tumahs that will come about, whether on account of tzara'at of the flesh, on clothing or of the home, or on account of a bodily emission.

What is the connection between all the discussions of tumah and taharah that follow the deaths of Nadav and Avihu? How is this five-chapters-long tangent significant to their story, causing the Torah to continue its narrative in our parsha beginning with the words "G-d spoke to Moshe after the deaths of the two sons of Aharon?"

I think it is because Nadav and Avihu served as an incredible study in contrasts. They tried to achieve holiness and purity, and ended up dying and becoming the greatest form of tumah a person can become in death.

Humans have a choice in terms of what animals they will eat. The Torah gives two options: will a person choose the route of taharah (spiritual purity), or will a person choose animals that are tamei, not preferred by G-d to be sources of human consumption?

People have a choice in terms of how they will conduct themselves, in deed and in certain behaviors, to possibly bring tumah upon themselves. Tzara'at, most often caused by lashon hara, was an affliction only a kohen could diagnose. It was accompanied by requisite tumah, which could only be purged with a unique isolation and subsequent sacrificial rite. Perhaps many people were afflicted with the ailment on account of their speculation over what caused Nadav and Avihu to die.

For other tumah circumstances, the kohen was on hand to help the person achieve taharah once again.

In all these discussion of tumah and taharah, it soon becomes highly significant that Nadav and Avihu are missing from the equation. Forty percent of the original kohen work force disappeared in an instant, leaving only three kohanim to do the job on behalf of the people.

Nowhere is this felt more significantly than in the Holy Temple on Yom Kippur, the topic addressed in Acharei Mot's opening, the day when the kohanim were the focus, and all kohanim stood to assist and facilitate the efforts of the High Priest in his attempt to achieve atonement for the people on the holiest day of the year.

Our lives are a delicate balance between tamei and tahor – being unfit to serve and correcting ourselves to be able to serve G-d appropriately. The holiday of Pesach, which took place two weeks after the deaths of Aharon's sons, stood as a pivotal moment for many who were looking to partake in the Korban Pesach.

How do we get past the devastating downside of the past few weeks - the marking of Aharon's sons' deaths on the calendar, and the notable uncertainty that prevails in our own times - in order to celebrate the Festival of Freedom? We learn about the delicate balance of our lives, and make every effort to recognize the good in others and purge our homes of the kinds of food which don't belong.

Now that we have achieved personal holiness, we read about Yom Kippur, the highlight of national holiness. And we understand what we strive to attain in our lives, whenever our minds are focused on our true priorities: God, Torah on the bein adam lamakom (between man and God) side, and Family and Friends on the bein adam lachaveiro (between human beings) side.

May we never lose sight of these focii as we reach great heights in the mountain-climb that is our lives.

The Bird That Lives

2011-04-07T12:26:00.000-04:00

Parshat Metzora
by Rabbi Avi Billet

Our twenty-first century minds may find the purification process of the metzora unsettling. "Take two live birds, cedar wood, scarlet and hyssop. Have one bird killed in an earthen vessel over running water. Dip the remaining items (including the other live bird) in the blood of the first bird. Sprinkle the mixture on the one being purified, then let the live bird go free." (14:4-7)

After this, anyone who thinks tzara'at was a medical condition, such as leprosy, ought to have the head examined. It is obviously a highly symbolic formula, and each ingredient carries a deeper message for the former metzora looking to rejoin society after a week or more isolated from the rest of society. The gemara in Arachin 16b lists a number of actions that may have brought about the tzara'at – the common denominator being that the person has neglected to consider implications of one's actions vis-à-vis the society at large.

What most fascinates me is the live bird that goes free. Every other Torah ritual that involves an animal results in the animal's death. Only the effort to remove tzara'at of the body and of the house utilizes a bird who is released, alive and well, with a mini bathing in blood to serve as a memory of his experience. Why is its life spared?

On a very simple level, it could represent the idea that just as the bird's life is spared and it goes free, the metzora could have been punished otherwise, perhaps losing his life, but he is now free.

The Kli Yakar takes the significance of the two birds to a much deeper level.

He explains that a person experiences two types of speech – prohibited and mitzvah-oriented. The prohibited speech, which includes lashon hara, is represented by the chirping bird that is slaughtered over the earthen vessel under running water. If he is a real person, he will have a weakened spirit at the sight of the bird that is taking his place, as the verse in Mishlei 15:4 says, "A healing tongue is a tree of life, but if there is perverseness in it, it causes destruction by wind." His judgment is compared to the earthen vessel which, were it to become unkosher in some manner, it can never be fixed and must be smashed.

On the other hand, if he is a scholar, his resolution at the sight of all these happenings will be to study Torah, which is compared to running water. This is why the term "zot torat" (This is the Torah of…) appears five times in the telling of the metzora's purification process, as it teaches him that one who delves into the teachings of the Five Books of the Torah can be saved from the tzara'at he may have received on account of speaking lashon hara.

The bird that lives and is set free represents the words of Torah and prayers that a person may have uttered. They are to be combined with cedar wood, scarlet and hyssop which represent one's submission and humility. Even when studying and praying one's heart should have that feeling of being broken and submissive.

The rabbis taught us (Sotah 5a), "The Torah does not say 'man' will be healed, but that 'flesh' will be healed (Vayikra 13:18), because only a person whose heart is soft and fleshy (as opposed to hard as stone) will be healed of his tzara'at."

Sotah 5a also teaches that "Basar" (flesh) is an acronym for "Bushah, Sruchah and Rimah" – shame, foulness and worms. This could be a reminder of the disgrace and degradation that awaits one at death on account of his deeds.

With this in mind, one might choose one's words more carefully and pursue humility when dealing with others.

The sprinkling of the blood soaked living bird upon the healed metzora is meant for him to see the possibility of repenting for past deeds, and taking upon himself a sincere effort to improve in the future. Torah study is meant to help this pursuit of goodness, as living by its guiding principles is meant to create a wholesome and wonderful human being.

Picture the image of a bird that is released from captivity. Imagine it spreading its wings as it flies away. This is what the live bird is meant to represent to the metzora. "Your past deeds are duly noted. You did the wrong thing and were given this spiritual ailment to serve as a wakeup call. You are being given a new lease on life. Don't waste this opportunity. Pursue truth, kindness, and have utmost respect for your fellow man through the things you say and the way you carry yourself."

Amen.

"Real" Altruistic Priorities

2011-04-01T10:01:00.000-04:00

Parshat Tazria

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Rabbi Yerachmiel Yisrael Yitzchak of Alexander, Poland explained the following rabbinic passage in a most creative and instructive manner. The rabbis taught, “[Tzara’at] blemishes come upon a person on account of the sin of lashon hara” (Erachin 15b and other places).

The rabbi of Alexander explained that those who speak Lashon Hara are often altruistic in intent. Since they are telling the truth, they’ll argue, they are fulfilling a mitzvah when they do point out the flaws of others. Truth, after all, is most important when trying to achieve an element of G-dliness in one’s actions.

This is why the Torah says, “The blemish needed to be brought before Aharon the Priest. (13:2)” We bring the so-called “truth teller,” who causes hate and division between people through his “truth,” to Aharon the Kohen.

According to the Rabbis, Aharon personally did the exact opposite. Aharon would, at times, tell a lie in order to bring about peace between individuals who were fighting. From this perspective, it is not just that the Kohen is invoked with the power to declare tzara’at to be the diagnosis or not. It is Aharon himself who is put in this task to show the individual that sometimes what seems to be the wrong value needs to take priority for the sake of the common good.

In Aharon’s case, eventually the truth will come out. He would tell individuals who were in an altercation that the other party wanted to make peace. And he would do it in a manner so that when they met again, they did make peace. One day, in conversation, they’ll figure out Aharon’s rouse. But they would have already made peace.

The person who speaks lashon hara, on the other hand, truthful as he or she may be, needs to come to Aharon himself to learn that peace is more important than some truths. That achieving an amiable solution is more desirable than fomenting strife and discord between peoples.

This is a challenge that many of us, particularly Jewish newspapers, struggle with. We are trained to think, “The truth must be told,” and "the public has the right to know." But sometimes the truth need not be told, out of respect for the privacy of those involved, and out of concern for the longer- term repercussions. It is not true that “All publicity is good publicity,” as much as society, celebrities, or individuals selling books would like you to think.

Let us take care to protect those about whom we know secrets so that we are doing our parts, like Aharon the Kohen, in promoting peace between friends and neighbors.

The Lessons We Learn

2011-03-23T22:44:00.000-04:00

Parshat Shmini

by Rabbi Avi Billet

In the aftermath of the massacre of the Fogel family in Itamar, Parshat Shmini couldn't be more timely in its arrival. While the impetus for the deaths of Aharon's sons, Nadav and Avihu, is obviously not comparable to the heinous crime committed in Israel, it is the aftermath of their demise which is most instructive.

What brought about the deaths of Aharon's older sons? Most discussions analyze the specific nature of the particular service they were performing. Were they drunk? Were they wearing the proper clothing? Did they enter an area prohibited to them? Did they perform a service reserved for their father alone? Did they merely bring a strange fire?

The different approaches curtail our ability to know exactly what triggered their deaths. A thorough analysis, however, helps paint entirely different pictures, suggesting that, perhaps, Aharon's sons died for other reasons.

Picture #1: Shmot 29:43 says that when the Mishkan will be dedicated, "It is there that I will commune with the Israelites, and [the tabernacle] will thus be sanctified with My glory." In other words, something grand will happen which will demonstrate God's awesome power. A sacrifice of some kind will be offered, which will consecrate the Tabernacle. It may or may not relate to the actions of individuals.

Picture #2: Shmot 19:22 says, "The priests, who [usually] come near the Divine must also sanctify themselves, or else God will send destruction among them." This verse leads us to believe that somehow, Nadav and Avihu did not properly sanctify themselves.

Picture #3: Shmot 24:9-11 presents a strange narrative of the actions of some of the leading figures of Israel. "Moses then went up, along with Aharon, Nadav and Avihu, and seventy of Israel's elders. They saw a vision of the God of Israel, and under His feet was something like a sapphire brick, like the essence of a clear [blue] sky. [God] did not unleash His power against the leaders of the Israelites." Targum Yonatan explains that God saved his punishment for them until the Yom HaShmini, 'the eighth day' of our parsha, while Rashi explains that they deserved to be killed at that time, based on the verse "And [God] said you may not see My face, for a human can not see me and live." (Shmot 33:20)

Picture #4: When describing why Elazar and Itamar are described by the Torah as "the remaining, or spared sons", Rashi on Vayikra 10:12 says "Those spared – from death. It teaches us that the death was also decreed upon [Elazar and Itamar] over the sin of the Golden Calf as it says 'And God was angry enough with Aharon to destroy him.' 'Destruction' refers to the deaths of his sons, as it says (Amos 2) 'I destroyed his fruits from above.' Moshe’s prayer canceled half of the decree as it says 'And I prayed on Aharon’s behalf at that time.'"

In other words, all of Aharon's sons should have died as punishment for his behavior in the Golden Calf story, but on account of Moshe, Aharon's punishment was reduced. He only lost two sons instead of all four. [This is not the forum to discuss the theological or philosophical implications of a punishment in which the father loses his children, or in which children have to die on account of the sins of the father.]

The point of the analysis is that we have no idea why things happen, or what truly constitutes God's Master Plan. And it is obvious that in many cases, it is impossible for us to understand.

The possible reasons for Aharon's son's deaths, as presented, have nothing to do with the story in Itamar. The parallel of half of Aharon's sons is coincidental to the fact of half of the family's children being lost. The fact remains - there is no comparison. Nadav and Avihu were taken by God, while the five Fogels were taken by monsters disguised as human beings.

The brutal nature of the murders of the Fogel family has all of the Jewish people shuddering with revulsion at the abhorrent nature of the crime. How divorced from humanity does one need to be to see any shred of justification in such a despicable act?

In Aharon's case, he carries on. The lesson is learned. He must find solace in his other children, and do all he can to protect them. He must make sure they follow the laws, and adhere to the instructions outlined for them by God. And they grow, in time, to become great men. In Elazar's case, he fills his father's shoes more than adequately.

In the case of the Fogel family, as for all of Israel, the lesson must be learned as well. Security must be a top priority. The care of the remaining children, of this and all attacks, are the responsibility of all the Jewish people. One supermarket owner, Rami Levy, has apparently committed to keep the family's pantry stocked with food until the youngest Fogel child turns 18. This form of generosity knows no bounds.

Israel must have a more forceful response than "they kill, we build" to send the message that the blood of its citizens, on all sides of the Green Line, is not cheap. We want all of our people to have the opportunity to grow up, and like Aharon's surviving sons, to have the chance to become great people.