Looking To the Past And the Future

Parshat Devarim

by Rabbi Avi Billet


When the Levush records the “halakha” from Shulchan Arukh 428 about when certain Torah portions are read during the year, he explains the rule that Tisha B’Av precedes Va’Etchanan as follows: “So that Devarim, which begins the rebukes of Moshe, will be read before Tisha B’Av.”

 It certainly would have been easier for us to understand if the Shulchan Arukh had done two things differently: 1. Like for Bamidbar and Nitzavim, which precede Shavuot and Rosh Hashana respectively, he had explained that Devarim precedes Tisha B’Av. For some reason, he switched it around saying “Tisha B’Av preceded Va’Etchanan. 2. A small explanation for each, such as a thematic connection, would have gone a long way.

 For Bamidbar and Nitzavim, the purpose of their standing as a buffer between the Rebuke of the previous parsha, Bechukotai and Ki Tavo respectively, and the coming holiday, is made clear. So if Devarim contains a rebuke, shouldn’t it also have a buffer between it and Tisha B’Av? We even read from Parshat Va’Etchanan ON Tisha B’Av! Wouldn’t it make sense to have Va’Etchanan be a reading of the past once Tisha B’Av is over, if the rebuke of Va’Etchanan is powerful enough to be the Tisha B’Av Torah reading? 

We can argue that no buffer will help Tisha B’Av. It is a miserable day. It may as well be attached to rebuke. And, of course, we know that it is. But why not just say that Devarim precedes Tisha B’Av, since it does, even more consistently than Bamidbar precedes Shavuot?

 Parshat Devarim contains within it Moshe’s reference to the sin of the spies. The Talmud (Taanit 29a) tells us that the date when the spies returned with their report was the Ninth of Av. The negativity of that episode, and the devastation it wrought upon the nation was so horrific, bringing it up in any context seems to be an example of pouring salt in very sore wounds.

We can not say that Devarim precedes Tisha B’Av, because we know all too well that what Moshe recounted in Devarim not only preceded the original Tisha B’Av, but caused the original Tisha B’Av! The rebuke within Va’Etchanan, the portion we read on Tisha B’Av, speaks more to the future than to the past. It is a reminder of how to raise children and grandchildren, and what precautions to take to get things right.

Moreover, unlike in Devarim, where the rebuke focuses on the past, Parshat Va’Etchanan begins with Moshe looking to future in his own personal life as well. And this may be the lesson of how all of this is recorded in the Shulchan Arukh.

 When it comes to Tisha B’av, like Devarim, we tend to lament over the past, and find all the flaws and hardships our People have endured. We may even point fingers and say why it happened, and who was at fault, and what the repercussions were and remain for our nation, even after so many years.

 But that does not help us emerge from Tisha B’Av. Unlike Shavuot and Rosh Hashana when we hope to achieve the highest heights of spirituality and connection with our Creator, on Tisha B’Av, we want to be able to get out of our despair and look to a better future. Va’Etchanan begins with Moshe pleading to God to let him into the Land. Even though he’s been told he won’t be allowed in. He still hopes that he can get in there, or even to just be buried there.

 And this is how we have to view this time period. For those who get into Tisha B’Av, who don’t go to work, who read the Kinot, who listen to stirring words delivered by fascinating lecturers, Tisha B’Av is more than just a depressing fast day. It is a porthole to many places in time in which the Jewish people suffered, and it is a reminder that as good as things are in comparison to the past, there is still no Temple in Jerusalem, there is still terrorism aimed at Jews around the world, and especially in Israel, and nowadays we can tack on the threat of Iran and its nuclear ambitions coupled with a naivette that these dishonest fanatics can be negotiated with and trusted, and it remains depressing.

 But we have something to look forward to. Because like Moshe, we can remain optimistic. We can understand the significance of Tisha B’Av preceding Va’Etchanan. Because sometimes we need to go to the deepest depths of despair to understand what our collective challenges are, and we need to tack on to that incredible sense of optimism of Moshe, that even with everything that is going on, we believe there is a bright future ahead.

 Our job is to stand strong. To get through Tisha B’Av and be excited for the future. We must remain cautious, as Moshe was about his prospects for getting in to the Land, while we continue to pray and do our part hoping that God will do what is best and right for our People.

The Victory That Comes From Doing God's Will

Parshat Devarim

by Rabbi Avi Billet               

Moshe said, “God was also angry at me… [as He] said, ‘You too shall not go there. Yehoshua bin-Nun… is the one who will apportion it to Israel. As for your children of whom you said ‘They’ll be taken captive,’ and your children who did not know good from evil this day – they will come there. To them shall I give it and they shall possess it.’” (Devarim 1:37-39)

                

Without going into too much of the background, in this passage Moshe outlines who will be inheriting the land – as the apportioner and the apportionees – and who will not be involved in the process (Moshe himself).

                

His focus on the children being the ones to inherit – along with the emphasis on good and evil – prompted the Midrash Tanaim to explain that this is a reference to war. “They have to know that it is God who wages war for you, and that you do not have to fight when you are doing God’s will.” The Baal Haturim goes along similar lines when he says exile would have never happened had the people not turned to sin.

                

Rabbi Yehuda Amital, the founding Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Har Etzion (“the Gush”), was appropriately critical of people (i.e. certain contemporary rabbis) who would look at any event and ascribe causality to it. “This tragedy happened because…” is in an ineffable statement to make. We don’t explain rockets, destruction, wars, and a Holocaust. We are not prophets. We do not know why these things happen.

                

God-fearing people say “This is God’s will. It is part of His Master Plan,” and continue to live their lives in the service of God, trying to get closer to Him despite the sadness that may pervade at any particular point in time. Rav Amital, whose fifth yarzeit was this past week, was in several labor camps during the Holocaust and lost his entire family. In response to the question of how he could have faith in God after the Holocaust, he explained that if he had lost his faith that wouldn’t bring his family back. It wouldn’t answer any of his questions about God’s hiding His face during that era of darkness.

                

But the message of the Midrash Tanaim is still worthy of consideration. We do not understand how the “doing of God’s will” plays a role in the upper spheres. But every one of us can probably pinpoint a time in our lives when we knew we were doing things right, and other things in our lives fell into place. Whether it was a job, a promotion, a family member getting better from illness, or life just being good. It happens all the time – we just don’t always notice.

                

And so it is up to us, particularly at this time of year with Tisha B’Av approaching, to ask ourselves if we are properly doing God’s will. The great prophets and Sages were granted the insight to say the first Temple was destroyed because of murder, idolatry, immorality, and the Second Temple was destroyed on account of baseless hatred. And while we don’t dare make similar pronouncements in our times (and shame on those who do!), we can certainly improve in those areas! Idolatry and murder are, thank God, not big challenges for our people. But immorality is. And baseless hatred certainly is.

                

There’s a reason many of the “al chet”s we include in our Viduy confession are for sins of the eyes and the mouth, because it is through these channels that most of our sins are committed – whether we ourselves look at things we should not be looking at and say things we should not, or whether we cause others to look at things they should not see or have them hear things they should not be hearing.

                

The good and evil that the Midrash Tanaim says refers to war could have two meanings. The esoteric meaning is for the internal battle that a person fights between the yetzer hara (the evil inclination) and the yetzer hatov (the good inclination).

                

But in a practical sense, it refers to the battles which were to soon be waged by the Israelite armies entering the land. And Moshe is recalling how 39 years earlier he told the generation that was not going to be entering the land that it would be up to their innocent children, who had not yet tasted good and evil, to lead the charge in inheriting the land.

                

The verses which follow show the response of the people when they heard this pronouncement:  “We have sinned to God! We will go up and do battle according to everything that our God has commanded us!” (1:41)

                

And the Exodus generation was told not to, because God was no longer with them and would not fight their battles any more.

                

Are we reliving this history? Every generation in Israel has borne the responsibility of fighting the battle that the previous generation did not finish. It is the “children” (18-22 year olds are young men, but they are all sons of the nation of Israel) who are fighting, the children who learn quickly about the difference between good and evil. Many of these “children” are older reservists, and they too are battling in the trenches.

                

Our job is to love them, to care for them, and to do our part through doing God’s will. Unlike the generation who left Egypt, who were told (when they messed up with the spies) that God is no longer with them, we must assure, for the safety of our soldiers and our People in Israel and around the world, that we are doing God’s will, so God will in-turn be with us.

                

When the enemy is so evil and only cares to rack up deaths on both sides, we must know where we stand. War is sadly a necessary evil. And it brings great sacrifice in pursuit of a hopefully attainable and sustainable peace. The attitude of Tzahal (IDF) through all of this has been inspiring.

                

May our efforts, not just during the Nine Days, but throughout the year as well, sway God to continue to guide the soldiers of Israel in their important work, and may all of Israel merit to live peacefully under the banner of the promise that “your children who did not know good from evil this day – they will come there. To them shall I give it and they shall possess it.” In safety, in peace, and – much like has been demonstrated in Israel in support of the soldiers – with a complete sense of Ahavat Chinam, loving our fellow Jew.

To Walk in His Ways

Parshat Ki Tavo

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The bulk of Parshat Ki Tavo is occupied by the Tokhacha, the great Rebuke that is promised to the Israelite nation in exchange for their infidelity to God. Prior to the curses and promises of destruction there are 14 verses of blessing which, were we to keep our end of the deal, paint the Israelite existence in the Land as the most fantastic we could ever dream to experience.

            

In the middle of the blissful depiction of Divine Grace, we read, "The Lord will establish you as His holy people as He swore to you, if you observe the commandments of the Lord, your God, and walk in His ways." (Devarim 28:9)

            

The simple reading of this verse seems to be descriptive and straightforward. God will do "Y" for you on account of your having done "X." Nowhere does there seem to be a commandment in this verse. While not exactly a throwaway line, the phrase "walk in His ways" on a base level does not seem to be an instruction as much as it is an example of how to observe the commandments. In the original text, the phrase is two words, "V'halakhta B'drakhav."

            

Another example of this is the phrase "Zeh eili v'anvehu" (Shmot 15:2) – this is my God and I will glorify Him. In Mesekhet Sofrim 3:17, this verse is utilized to explain how a Jew should go the extra mile to fulfill mitzvot with nicer products rather than with inferior products. Some examples include: decorating the sukkah, finding the best lulav set, using the best materials (ink, quill, parchment, etc) when writing a Torah, mezuzah or putting together tefillin.

            

The original phrase was uttered by the people in the context of the Song of the Sea, and while perhaps not a throwaway line, it is certainly not viewed as a mitzvah! While the people may have accepted upon themselves a commitment to glorifying God, this does not turn their "chumrah" choices (stringencies) into an absolute requirement.

            

Similarly, the notion of "V'halakhta B'drakhav" could arguably be viewed in the same way. How does one best fulfill commandments? Or more accurately, how does one behave in the most complete and perfect fashion? Through walking in His ways. The same source in Mesekhet Sofrim (and Yerushalmi Peah 1:1) quotes Abba Shaul as saying, "Just as He is merciful, you should be merciful."

            

And yet Maimonides takes the verse and extracts what is, in his count, the 8^th commandment in the Torah: To Imitate God. Maimonides claims the mitzvah appears elsewhere as well – see Devarim 8:6, 10:12, 11:22, 13:5, 19:9, 26:17, 30:16 – and yet he uses our verse as his prime example of the mitzvah, utilizing the teaching of "Just as He is merciful…" which also appears in the Sifrei on Eikev to describe exactly how one walks in God's ways.

            

In describing this mitzvah, Ramban quotes the passage in Sotah 14a (Maimonides mentions it in passing) which further describes the imitation of God's ways as "clothing the naked, visiting the sick, comforting the mourner and burying the dead" each of which God did for Adam, Avraham, Yitzchak and Moshe respectively.

            

Considering the 7 other places where this idea occurs in the book of Devarim, it is hard to argue that "Walking in God's ways" should not be a mitzvah. Each verse in its context clearly says it is a mitzvah. But it is still curious that Maimonides chooses the phrase in 28:9 as the poster phrase for this mitzvah. The verse is not quoted in the entire Talmud. And were it to appear alone in the Torah, without the seven supporting verses, perhaps we would be able to argue that "walking in God's ways" is no more of a mitzvah than "this is my God and I will glorify Him." Meaning, it is a nice and helpful piece of instruction, but by no means one of the six hundred and thirteen commandments!

            

I think a difference between this verse and all the others is that 28:9 is the first mention of imitating God that appears after Moshe's big speech. Devarim 5-26 has been one long monologue of Moshe telling the people a mixture of narrative and commandment, perhaps lending itself to people thinking Moshe was adding things of his own accord. Perhaps people felt that "Moshe's 'throwaway lines' were added touches, but were not meant as commandments" because they did not see God's strings pulling Moshe's teachings.

            

Now that the big speech is over and Moshe is once again telling the people that he is quoting God, 28:9 is the first time he mentions to walk in God's ways. Maimonides is merely jumping on this appearance of the idea in order to make it clear to those with doubts that this is not a throwaway line – it is a commandment like any other, and it comes from God.

            

The preparations for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur require us to square away wrongs we have committed against our fellow man and wrongs we have committed against God. The mitzvah of imitating God is meant to help us accomplish both. If we are always being like God, we can not possibly wrong God. And if we follow the examples that the Talmud brings of how we are to treat man through imitating God, we will become the most caring individuals.

            

May we merit to utilize this mitzvah of imitating God to become the most wholesome people in our relationships with God and our fellow Man.

O, man. Where art thou?

Parshat Devarim

by Rabbi Avi Billet

In the Midrash Rabba's introduction to Megillat Eichah (paragraph 4), Rabbi Abahu compares the experience of the nation of Israel in the land and being exiled to the experience of the first identified man in the Torah, Adam. "Like Adam, they violated the covenant."

Adam was placed in the garden, was commanded, he violated the command, was judged, expelled, and God lamented over his downfall. Israel had the same experience: brought into Israel, commanded, they violated the command, they were judged and expelled. God lamented over their downfall.

The lament in both cases is highlighted by the midrash with the same word – at least in its spelling. Alef Yud Kaf Heh - איכה. The difference between the two words is that in Adam's case, the word is pronounced "Ayekah," while the lament for the Israelite nation is pronounced "Eichah."

In essence, when Adam is hiding after having eaten from the Tree of Knowledge, and God calls out to him saying, "Ayekah" – "Where are you?" (Bereshit 3:9) – God is lamenting that Adam feels his newfound knowledge gives him the ability to hide from God.

With regard to the Israelites, "O how has the city that was once so populous remained lonely!" (Eichah 1:1) It's a lament for what could have been, had the Israelites only continued to keep God's word.

Yirmiyahu said in 16:11 that the exile happened because the people abandoned God and did not observe the Mitzvot. The Midrash here (Eichah Introduction, paragraph 2) quotes Rav Huna's expounding on this that "If only they had abandoned Me and did not abandon My Torah! because observing the Torah would have brought them around to God again."

The term "Eichah," which Moshe utilizes in our parsha when he says "Eichah Esa L'vadi?" (1:12) – how could I carry this burden myself – is a powerful term which expresses a longing for every ideal imaginable: time, circumstance, peers, community.

 In a sermon he delivered in 1964, Rabbi Norman Lamm argued that the intention behind paralleling Adam to Israel is the teaching that "Israel's exile issues from a human failing rather than a specifically Jewish weakness."

 The word "Eichah"'s chief connotation is one of doom and gloom. That could be Moshe's intent when talking about the burden of leading the people alone. It was certainly Yirmiyahu's intent. Was it also God's intent with Adam?

 Following Rabbi Lamm's understanding of the parallel in the Midrash, the word Eichah, in our Parsha, in the Haftorah this week, in Megillat Eichah, and indeed even in the Adam story, teaches us a powerful lesson in what it means to lament over the loss of an ideal.

The earlier of the two Midrashic paragraphs that have been quoted here (Intro:2) suggested that abandoning God might not have been so terrible as long as the Torah had not been abandoned. The argument was that the Torah is the true anchor to God.

 In other words, falling in love with God alone – without the Torah – is not our way. A Jewish life that is governed by Torah observance, first and foremost, according to the Midrash, is what brings a person back to God.

 It's a hard sell to a rationalist. Why would anyone observe the Torah without believing in God? Perhaps the Torah has universal truths which speak to people who want to be a part of it, but have difficulty with accepting an all-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful, invisible God.

 But this is the message of "Ayekah." No person who is committed to Torah can survive very long in the system without coming to some kind of epiphany that God plays an essential role in all of this. "Where are you, Adam? Where are you, Mankind?" Can you really hide forever? Do you think I won't find you? Torah comes first. Not God.

 The people, at the time of Temple's destruction, imagined that God could only be found in the Temple, but nowhere else.

 With this in mind, Rabbi Lamm proposed a few opposite-ended questions which may help us drive one of the important messages of Tisha B'Av into our systems.

 What makes you think that you can declare any place in the world out-of-bounds for God? May a man hate his brother, so long as he prays in the Bet Hamikdash? May he exploit his worker and drive his slaves, as long as he brings his sacrifices regularly to Jerusalem?

 "When you restrict God only to the Synagogue, then He refuses to dwell even in the Synagogue." Parallel statements about when we pick and choose the manner in which we observe Torah and Halakha are easily understood.

We dress one way in shul and school, and with no rules in other places. We keep separate dishes in our homes, but aren't careful about kosher standards outside the home. We would never go to places of ill-repute in our neighborhood, but on vacation or when no one knows us, all bets are off. We would never speak inappropriately, but we don't object to being around others who do. The list goes on.

The message of Eichah and Ayeka is a lament over where we could be. We need not pretend we can hide from God. We must strive to have our external and our internal lives match one another – to be the most wholesome people we can be.

Even Moshe's lament about his leadership is a poignant reminder that we in the Jewish community need not go about this alone. We have one another, and we must utilize one another, to create a system that helps us raise and better our lives and Jewish experiences to the exponential power we can achieve through unwavering personal and communal support for such efforts.

How to Judge

Parshat Devarim


by Rabbi Avi Billet


The book of Devarim begins (1:12-18) with Moshe reminding the people of how when the Law was first given he was unable to personally deal with every dispute. At the time, he appointed a tier system of judges over specific population sizes to work with the people. Moshe would serve, in a sense, as the equivalent of the Supreme Court (sans the politics), as the highest arbiter of the law, whose decisions are final.

          
It is worth noting that the way Moshe describes what he did at the time is mostly a reflection of the steps he took following the advice given to him by his father-in-law Yitro in Shmot 18. The Or HaChaim uses that story to indicate the Torah's approach to learning from anyone who has wisdom to share – Yitro being a model non-Jew who was able to teach Moshe organizational skills.

          
In his recounting of those early days of appointing judges, Moshe recalls the instructions that were given to the initial appointees: "Listen to every dispute among your brethren, and judge honestly between each man and his brother [or] his 'ger.'" (1:16) He continues to describe how favoritism is to be avoided, whether based on wealth, looks, or some other criteria. Just judge by the book, based on the evidence presented.

          
In order to understand what this form of judging means, we need to understand what the term "ger" means in this context. While "ger" sometimes means "convert" or "proselyte," the fact is that one who has converted to Judaism is really supposed to be referred to as a convert for one second – at the moment of conversion. Afterwards, the person is meant to be included in the term "his brother" – because one who has joined the Jewish people is a full Jew (with a few restrictions on certain positions they may hold, which do not transfer to their children).

          
It could be referring to a "ger toshav" – what we might call a "righteous gentile" or a non-Jew who has opted to live with the Jewish people, abide by the 7 Noahide Laws, and accept Jewish sovereignty. This category would clearly be distinct from "his brother."

          
Rashi offers two interpretations. The first focuses on the word "his" (which is a one-letter suffix in Hebrew), which Rashi explains to mean "his litigant." Rashi comes to this interpretation from a play on words from the word "agur," which means one who "collects arguments" to present against him in court. This likely refers to a litigant who is classified differently than a "brother" – who comes to court to settle a friendly dispute – particularly one who comes as an adversary.

          
Rashi's second interpretation is that the word "ger" is a play on words on a similar word which means "where one lives" (think "gur ba'aretz"), referring to people who are dividing property, such as siblings who are splitting physical objects they inherited together.

          
Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch expands the sphere, saying "his ger" may refer to a neighbor, or one who lives under the same roof (think apartment buildings or condo units).

What is clear from these commentaries, the 'ger' in this context seems to refer to anything but a convert.

          
I think the message of "his ger" is that disputes – some may be civil, some uncivil –  come up with those who are fairly close to you and they should be brought before the magistrate and adjudicated.

          
While this may be informative as to when or in what circumstance a case is to be brought before the court, it does not instruct us as to how to go about presenting the cases best so they can be judged properly.

          
Which leaves us with the tale Rabbi Hertz shares in his Chumash. It is a Chassidic tale of a rabbi's wife who has a dispute with her "ozeret" (helper), who decides to present her case to a court. As she leaves the house, her husband rushes to accompany her, and when she asks him why he is coming, he says, "To provide a defense for the other woman, who will otherwise not have an advocate before the court."

          
The word "ger" can mean "stranger," and it can also mean "other." And the message of this tale is the message of how to judge others.

          
Maybe the best way to judge others is really not to judge others. But human nature is such that we always see ourselves as being right and the other person as being wrong. And we do rush to judge. And while some cases are black and white (like the shooter apprehended in Colorado in the aftermath of his horrific act), most cases between people are gray and have two sides to the story.

          
And it does not matter who the other side is – whether the person is wealthy, poor, a prominent person in a community, a maid, or even a derelict. Every person has a story, every perspective should have a chance to be heard, and after all sides are presented and defended, a judgment can be made.

            
As we come to Tisha B'Av once again, we are reminded of the kinds of behavior that Chazal tell us brought about the destruction of Jerusalem and the Holy Temple. May our shift to reserving judgment until after we've heard both sides serve as a merit for us to let us see the Temple rebuilt, speedily in our days.

The Merits of Performance

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

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.

A Time to Mourn?

A slightly modified version of this article appears in the Jewish Star

Parshat Devarim / Pre Tisha B'Av

Like most of us who have been up to date on local news, I don't think Jewish scholarship in women is something we need to mourn for on Tisha B'Av. I think the more Jewish knowledge that is out there, that can be shared with those who will hear, that can be taught to our children, is a good thing.

But where I feel we need to mourn on Tisha B'Av comes from a reference in chapter two of Devarim 2:16-17. "And it was after the entire generation of soldiers died from amongst the people… And then God spoke to me saying…"

Rashi suggests that since the word which is used to convey God's love is "Vayomer" (and He said) instead of "Vaydaber" (and He spoke), this means God's conversations with Moshe since that time were more one-sided, that Moshe did not "converse" with God in the face-to-face manner he had otherwise enjoyed previously until the first generation died out completely. This teaches us that the prophets only come to help out Israel when Israel is worthy.

Over the last few years, I have heard a number of well-known rabbis speak of what they felt was the biggest threat to Judaism today: the failures of Jewish education. As much learning as there is, as much as we personally learn, and as much as we support, we are still not conveying to our children, and thus to the next generation, why we care and why they should care.

Many schools do a fine job of educating our youth. But the reality is that every school fails miserably. When Jewish children leave a yeshiva elementary school, and certainly high school, not knowing: how to read Hebrew, how to translate basic Chumash, the overall storyline and narrative of the Torah, some of the works of the Neviim (prophets) and Ketuvim (writings), basic Jewish history and other basic knowledge, why Judaism is important, why our ancestors died for the Torah, the struggle of faith, the challenges we face in our lives, then we have what to mourn.

Why do kids rebel? Why do kids reject? Why do we assume they will only come around when they get to Israel and become inspired?

Because it doesn't mean enough to us, or we don't know how to properly convey why it is meaningful. We can't express in words why we keep shabbos, why we spend more money on kosher food, why we spend so so so much money to make sure our kids get the Jewish education that fails them. And why we don't back up what they are taught in school with similar values and education at home. And that's because we fail them.

God didn't talk to Moshe in a loving way for 38 years because the people were not deserving. The generation Moshe lead was going to die. They spent 38 years waiting for their ends to come. And during that time, God did not have a loving word to say to them through Moshe.

When we wonder why it sometimes feels as if God doesn't speak to us, it is because as good as we think we are, we are still not doing enough to transmit all we stand for to the next generation. Is it our place to live out our lives waiting to die so the next generation can go to the Promised Land? If God did not declare we have nothing to live for except for our time to finish up so we can pass a baton, we have no right to give up on ourselves or our children.

I encounter too many adults who go through the motions of an observant life and I wonder why they bother. They don't seem to care about davening, learning, lashon hara, laws against gambling, lewd behavior, modesty in behavior and dress. Until we are successful at cleaning up our own house and setting goals for ourselves that correspond to the lifestyle we seem to want to model for our children (as indicated by the places we send them to be educated), the question over what we new things we mourn for on Tisha B'Av remains an open book.

Every man and every woman needs to first come to grips with the statement of Ben Zoma in the beginning of the fourth chapter of Avot. "Who is rich? The one who is happy with one's portion." I will never be a kohen or a levi. I will never be a king. I will never be a mother. I will never know what it means to be loved by a husband.

A woman will have a different list of what she will never be.

I am content with my lot, and try to make the most of the things I can be and the opportunities I have to reach out to other people. And heaven knows, I have a long way to go in becoming the best I can be.

When we can teach ourselves and our children that our lives are meant to be more Theocentric than egocentric, then perhaps God will speak to us again.

Until then, the mourning comes because we do not have enough men and women who are personally inspired and who are subsequently inspiring ourselves and our children.