Parshat Behar
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In its description of the Jubilee year, the Torah tell us in 25:9 that the shofar is to be sounded throughout the land on Yom Kippur of Yovel.
Noting how we don’t blow Shofar when Shabbos falls on Rosh Hashana because of carrying concerns, Netziv asks how can we blow the Shofar on Yom Kippur, which is Shabbos-squared?
Quoting the Talmud (Rosh Hashana 30a), Netziv says that the Torah injunction obligates every single individual to blow the shofar. This is how it is sounded throughout the land – as presumably, if everyone is blowing, no one needs to leave a house in order to do so.
What a profound thought: every person takes a direct grasp of his or her Jewish responsibility, and the fulfillment of the task at hand as a personal mission.
This incredible event, when the collective Am Yisrael unites to create not just a moment together, but an experience to which each person contributes, is meant to last in their hearts and minds for fifty years. Until the young people are old and the people born over the next fifty years can take charge of the Yovel Shofar sounding when it comes around again. For themselves and for their community.
The theme of every person taking charge of personal responsibilities repeats itself in the works of some of the classic commentaries on the Torah.
When the Torah is first given, and the Aseret Hadibrot are declared, the section begins with a reminder to the community – “Atem r’item” – “You [all] saw what God did to the Egyptians….” And yet, as we’ll read on Shavuos, the Ten Commandments are all written in the singular, what you the individual should or should not do.
Ramban notes that this is a reminder to individuals that every person bears a personal responsibility for one’s deeds. No one should feel that he or she will fall into the destiny of the masses, and just as the community will share in a destiny, the individual can roll with the masses and neglect personal obligations. Each person bears a personal, and in turn, a communal responsibility!
Every person is faced with a choice. I can do my mitzvah because I am personally commanded. Or I can do it as a member of a community.
A community should always strive to be greater than the sum of its parts.
In the Jewish communities Orthodox Jews have created, we are blessed and cursed. Cursed that we make it our responsibility to live within walking distance to a shul – so we can’t always live wherever we want. But we are blessed to create a community because of it. We all live near each other, in very relative proximity. And so we step it up for our friends and neighbors, in good times and especially in bad times.
A minyan is made up individuals, but together that makes a powerhouse for prayer – Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik spoke and wrote about how much he cherished davening in a minyan, because of the magic and majesty that comes from praying together. He may have been able to concentrate better when praying alone, but there is no comparison to the electricity felt when praying with a congregation.
The Rambam writes about the shofar on Rosh Hashana that it was meant to be a wake up call. A wake up call to the slumberers to reexamine deeds to remember your Creator.
Those who rest on the laurels of a community and never roll up their own sleeves to help out or contribute money, time, energy are missing the boat. It’s not exactly the same thing, because there’s no mitzvah to make or participate in a kiddush, but I know a man who decided close to 30 years ago that he would never eat at a Kiddush because he realized he never wants to sponsor a Kiddush. That is certainly one way to be consistent, but it also one way to pull away from the community.
Most people might only hear or participate in the Yovel Shofar blowing once in their lifetimes – if lucky, maybe twice. And maybe the collective Shofar blowing, with every Jew participating, was meant to serve as a wakeup call that you only have one life to live. So take your individuality, take your personal mitzvah, take your individual responsibility, and turn it into the most amazing contribution to your community, and to all of Bnei Yisrael.
Yovel may only come around once every fifty years, but we can learn about it and derive inspiration from it at all times.
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Thursday, March 3, 2016
Donating In Many Ways Other Than Financially
Parshat Vayakhel
by Rabbi Avi Billet
As the Torah progresses with the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle), we find the instructions of chapters 25-31 coming to life with the actions of the people at the beginning of our Parsha, culminating with Moshe turning to Bezalel to essentially tell him, “Do your magic.” (end of chapter 35 –beginning of chapter 36)
“Every man and woman who felt an urge in their heart to give something for all the work that God had ordered through Moses, they – the Israelites – brought a donation for God.” (35:29)
Does “Every man” and “Every woman” refer just to those who had an urge to donate, or to every single person?
The Malbim shares a very powerful interpretation that should remind us of how each and every person can make a contribution.
“What it means to say is that all these donations [of money] are not what God seeks. He wants the hearts. If there was a man or woman amongst the Israelites who did not donate, because the poor people have nothing to donate, they at least dedicated their hearts. They donated their hearts and their thoughts (and skills?). They determined in their hearts that if they only had the means they’d donate all the money for the Mishkan and its vessels.
“This is what it means when it says they felt the urge to donate a donation of the heart – they wanted to build the entire Mishkan! The Israelites brought this man and this woman as a gift/donation to God. This man and this woman who desired with all their hearts to be involved – this is the ultimate donation that God wanted, and was receptive to accepting. It is as if Israel is bringing this kind of donation in that they merited to find among them straight, righteous people such as these.”
It seems profound, but in truth it’s not such a novel idea.
The way life looks these days, some people manage to ride around the financial struggle that others live day in and day out. And many live check to check, are in debt, and truly cannot afford to participate in certain aspects of Jewish life, and certainly not in philanthropy, in the manner that others seem so able to do.
How can everyone none the less feel “This is my mishkan?” By giving time instead of money. By showing up. By volunteering. By working the phones, working behind the desk. And through being one of the people that brings life to an institution.
Maybe some parents provide free handiwork to their childrens' school in lieu of tuition. Maybe some members teach classes, or attend every class possible, to support shul programming. Other “shul-people” seem to always be involved in constructive and active ways in the goings-on of the synagogue, they become staples at every event, every program, and almost seem to define the shul itself.
“Owning” a shul or a school doesn’t mean that every person who wants to needs to become a great writer (punch line “who wrote a check.” (2nd to last joke there))
Sometimes the make-up of these institutions is largely defined by those who roll up their sleeves, on the ground, who become the movers and shakers who determine the trajectory of where the community is headed, simply because they are the ones with the most experience, and the most inside knowledge of what the people want, and what is best for the growth of the community.
Raise your hand if you know someone like this. Be even prouder, if this has been describing you.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
As the Torah progresses with the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle), we find the instructions of chapters 25-31 coming to life with the actions of the people at the beginning of our Parsha, culminating with Moshe turning to Bezalel to essentially tell him, “Do your magic.” (end of chapter 35 –beginning of chapter 36)
“Every man and woman who felt an urge in their heart to give something for all the work that God had ordered through Moses, they – the Israelites – brought a donation for God.” (35:29)
Does “Every man” and “Every woman” refer just to those who had an urge to donate, or to every single person?
The Malbim shares a very powerful interpretation that should remind us of how each and every person can make a contribution.
“What it means to say is that all these donations [of money] are not what God seeks. He wants the hearts. If there was a man or woman amongst the Israelites who did not donate, because the poor people have nothing to donate, they at least dedicated their hearts. They donated their hearts and their thoughts (and skills?). They determined in their hearts that if they only had the means they’d donate all the money for the Mishkan and its vessels.
“This is what it means when it says they felt the urge to donate a donation of the heart – they wanted to build the entire Mishkan! The Israelites brought this man and this woman as a gift/donation to God. This man and this woman who desired with all their hearts to be involved – this is the ultimate donation that God wanted, and was receptive to accepting. It is as if Israel is bringing this kind of donation in that they merited to find among them straight, righteous people such as these.”
It seems profound, but in truth it’s not such a novel idea.
The way life looks these days, some people manage to ride around the financial struggle that others live day in and day out. And many live check to check, are in debt, and truly cannot afford to participate in certain aspects of Jewish life, and certainly not in philanthropy, in the manner that others seem so able to do.
How can everyone none the less feel “This is my mishkan?” By giving time instead of money. By showing up. By volunteering. By working the phones, working behind the desk. And through being one of the people that brings life to an institution.
Maybe some parents provide free handiwork to their childrens' school in lieu of tuition. Maybe some members teach classes, or attend every class possible, to support shul programming. Other “shul-people” seem to always be involved in constructive and active ways in the goings-on of the synagogue, they become staples at every event, every program, and almost seem to define the shul itself.
“Owning” a shul or a school doesn’t mean that every person who wants to needs to become a great writer (punch line “who wrote a check.” (2nd to last joke there))
Sometimes the make-up of these institutions is largely defined by those who roll up their sleeves, on the ground, who become the movers and shakers who determine the trajectory of where the community is headed, simply because they are the ones with the most experience, and the most inside knowledge of what the people want, and what is best for the growth of the community.
Raise your hand if you know someone like this. Be even prouder, if this has been describing you.
Friday, September 18, 2015
A Gathering To Unite - If Only...
Parshat Vayelekh
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Shabbos Shuva is named for the first word in the Haftorah, but it also refers to the fact that the Shabbos falls between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, at a time when our people are experiencing the “Aseret Y’mei Teshuvah” – the Ten Days Of Repentance.
How do we repent? What needs to be done. I suppose the classic answers have been talked about – not saying Lashon hora, treating each other nicely, and of course, making amends with God over our misdeeds.
Devarim 31:10-13 contains what the Sefer Hachinukh lists as commandment number 612, the mitzvah of “Hak’hel.” This commandment is fulfilled every seven years at the end of a shmittah year, as all of the Jewish people gather in Jerusalem during the holiday of Sukkot to hear portions of the Torah read aloud. While this Biblical commandment is time dependent, the category from which women are generally exempt from obligation, this is one of the exceptions to the rule (the others are Shabbat and eating matzah on Pesach – see Kiddushin 34a-b) (there are many time-dependent Rabbinic commandments to which women are bound).
Collectively the entire nation would hear the king read different portions, altogether over half, of the book of Devarim.
Surely this spectacle was memorable, with the king at the center and trumpets sounding. The Torah was heralded between the king and the high priest and the members of the “Knesset” (not Israel’s modern day parliament), and the king would recite seven blessings praising God, the Jewish people, and the relationship they shared, before he actually read the Torah.
A once in seven years experience is certainly a source of inspiration. Ask anyone who has been to the Siyum Hashas. But even such inspiration often falls short of lasting through to the next gathering of the masses, if it even lasts one month.
Hak’hel was never the same as the tri-annual “aliyah l’regel” of the holidays. Not everyone went every holiday, and not everyone could afford to make the trip so often. But once every seven years gives people enough time to budget and to plan, to make sure they are there to fulfill this great mitzvah.
How could the event of Hak’hel serve as the inspiration it is meant to be if it only takes place once every seven years?
It would seem every seven years Jews are meant to have a unifying moment. We go to our homes, to our communities, to our own lives and we tend to lose sight of the greater picture of the Jewish community, what we collectively share and value and do to enhance our lives. Hak’hel serves as a reminder for this.
The hak’hel moment is meant to inspire other experiences, to inspire a lifestyle, to inspire a regimen of continued education and learning that reflects all the spiritual grandeur invoked in the heartfelt reading of the Jewish king on that day in the Beit Hamikdash on the holiday of Sukkot. Hak’hel should be the climax, not the initiation. We should be living an ongoing life of inspiration which reaches its pinnacle moment when we gather after an extended period of separation.
This year has its own rules for the use of Etrogim that come out of Israel, owing to the completion of the recent Shmittah (Sabbatical) year. Hakhel’s seven year cycle was related to Shmittah, so we have a deeper connection than usual this year to this special mitzvah.
But in the absence of the Beit Hamikdash, we do not experience Hak’hel. So what can it mean for us today?
The answer is quite simple. Hak’hel is a gathering most symbolic of the unity of the Jewish people. It is a time when the Jewish people were reminded that “there is more that unites you than divides you.”
This message is particularly poignant at this moment in history. I have had a number of political debates with religious Jews over the Iran deal. It seems to be a done deal, and we hope for the best.
But I have a very difficult time understanding how Jews who advance all the talking points of the proponents of the deal think they know what’s best for Israel’s security, and are critical of Israel’s prime minister for looking out for the security needs of his country, in a very hostile and dysfunctional Middle East.
Even US politicians who support the deal say Iran can’t be trusted. And Israel is much closer to Iran geographically than the United States is to Iran.
I don’t know if sins in political moves require teshuva. And truth be told, it is hard to make a judgment call of who is right or wrong, especially when people have very strong opinions that will not be swayed.
But the Jewish people need to be united, because, as the old saying goes, “United we stand” while “divided” – as we surely have been over these political dealings – “we fall.”
If only we could create a real hak-hel, we’d see how much we have in common. If only.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Shabbos Shuva is named for the first word in the Haftorah, but it also refers to the fact that the Shabbos falls between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, at a time when our people are experiencing the “Aseret Y’mei Teshuvah” – the Ten Days Of Repentance.
How do we repent? What needs to be done. I suppose the classic answers have been talked about – not saying Lashon hora, treating each other nicely, and of course, making amends with God over our misdeeds.
Devarim 31:10-13 contains what the Sefer Hachinukh lists as commandment number 612, the mitzvah of “Hak’hel.” This commandment is fulfilled every seven years at the end of a shmittah year, as all of the Jewish people gather in Jerusalem during the holiday of Sukkot to hear portions of the Torah read aloud. While this Biblical commandment is time dependent, the category from which women are generally exempt from obligation, this is one of the exceptions to the rule (the others are Shabbat and eating matzah on Pesach – see Kiddushin 34a-b) (there are many time-dependent Rabbinic commandments to which women are bound).
Collectively the entire nation would hear the king read different portions, altogether over half, of the book of Devarim.
Surely this spectacle was memorable, with the king at the center and trumpets sounding. The Torah was heralded between the king and the high priest and the members of the “Knesset” (not Israel’s modern day parliament), and the king would recite seven blessings praising God, the Jewish people, and the relationship they shared, before he actually read the Torah.
A once in seven years experience is certainly a source of inspiration. Ask anyone who has been to the Siyum Hashas. But even such inspiration often falls short of lasting through to the next gathering of the masses, if it even lasts one month.
Hak’hel was never the same as the tri-annual “aliyah l’regel” of the holidays. Not everyone went every holiday, and not everyone could afford to make the trip so often. But once every seven years gives people enough time to budget and to plan, to make sure they are there to fulfill this great mitzvah.
How could the event of Hak’hel serve as the inspiration it is meant to be if it only takes place once every seven years?
It would seem every seven years Jews are meant to have a unifying moment. We go to our homes, to our communities, to our own lives and we tend to lose sight of the greater picture of the Jewish community, what we collectively share and value and do to enhance our lives. Hak’hel serves as a reminder for this.
The hak’hel moment is meant to inspire other experiences, to inspire a lifestyle, to inspire a regimen of continued education and learning that reflects all the spiritual grandeur invoked in the heartfelt reading of the Jewish king on that day in the Beit Hamikdash on the holiday of Sukkot. Hak’hel should be the climax, not the initiation. We should be living an ongoing life of inspiration which reaches its pinnacle moment when we gather after an extended period of separation.
This year has its own rules for the use of Etrogim that come out of Israel, owing to the completion of the recent Shmittah (Sabbatical) year. Hakhel’s seven year cycle was related to Shmittah, so we have a deeper connection than usual this year to this special mitzvah.
But in the absence of the Beit Hamikdash, we do not experience Hak’hel. So what can it mean for us today?
The answer is quite simple. Hak’hel is a gathering most symbolic of the unity of the Jewish people. It is a time when the Jewish people were reminded that “there is more that unites you than divides you.”
This message is particularly poignant at this moment in history. I have had a number of political debates with religious Jews over the Iran deal. It seems to be a done deal, and we hope for the best.
But I have a very difficult time understanding how Jews who advance all the talking points of the proponents of the deal think they know what’s best for Israel’s security, and are critical of Israel’s prime minister for looking out for the security needs of his country, in a very hostile and dysfunctional Middle East.
Even US politicians who support the deal say Iran can’t be trusted. And Israel is much closer to Iran geographically than the United States is to Iran.
I don’t know if sins in political moves require teshuva. And truth be told, it is hard to make a judgment call of who is right or wrong, especially when people have very strong opinions that will not be swayed.
But the Jewish people need to be united, because, as the old saying goes, “United we stand” while “divided” – as we surely have been over these political dealings – “we fall.”
If only we could create a real hak-hel, we’d see how much we have in common. If only.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
The Unified Commitment
Parshat Yitro
by Rabbi Avi Billet
It is quite uncommon for the entirety of the Jewish people to agree about something. I would venture to bet that all of the Jews agree to the historical and national significance of theLand
of Israel
All Jews agree that Hebrew is a Jewish language. But not all agree that it's "the" Jewish language. (ditto)
The Alshich notes that Moshe understood them to mean the first interpretation (unified with Moshe), while God understood they had in mind the second interpretation (unified in not wanting to hear from Moshe). God's response, therefore, was "to come down in a cloud" (19:9), because they don't believe you, Moshe, and I want them to believe you. My coming in the cloud is so they can hear Me speaking to you.
The whole premise of these "possibilities" is disturbing, particularly in light of the verse right before the Az Yashir song, "And they believed in God and in Moshe his servant." (14:31 )
Perhaps it goes back to the question made famous by the Marx Brothers, "Who are you going to believe? Me, or your own eyes?" They believed in Moshe at the Sea. But they still didn't believe him at Sinai. Until, apparently, the cloud came down on the mountain.
Rabbenu Bachaye notes the Talmudic tale of God lifting the mountain over them (Shabbos 88a) explaining that the pressure was to accept the Oral Law. But the Written Law was accepted willingly, with a great desire, with joy and gladdened hearts.
It is known, however that despite all these acceptances and promises, it is literally impossible for any person to fulfill all of the mitzvot of the Torah. Some are only for men, some for women, some for Kohanim, some for Leviim, some only for Yisraelim. [To bring one simple example: Many people never get divorced and thus never write a get.] The Meshech Hokhmah notes that the acceptance here is to do the mitzvot which are relevant to each individual's circumstance. Otherwise, the acceptance is to learn about and understand the details of the commandments one can not fulfill.
What is included in "all that God has spoken?" Is it everything that was said until that point? Was it a commitment to what will soon be spoken, exchanged between Moshe and God, and subsequently heard by the people? Did it include all that would be recorded in the Tanakh (24 books of the Bible)?
According to the Talmud (Berakhot 5a), all of the ideas recorded in the Bible were given over at Sinai to be recorded in written form later on. This idea is elaborated upon in the Machzor Vitri (Chapter 424).
One of the important teachings of the Torah is "not to desecrate My name" (Vayikra22:32 ).
One of the important teachings recorded in the Prophets is, "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" (Micha 6:8)
With the "yeshiva break" behind us, as life returns to its normal routine, it is incumbent upon us to ask ourselves if in our travels we demonstrated our commitment to "Do all that God said," "not to desecrate God's name," and "to walk humbly with our God."
When away from home, some people tend to let the "doing all God said" part of our lives slide a bit, some tend to be loud and obtrusive, to call attention to themselves, or forget that when not in one's usual environment, one does not blend in and go unnoticed. On the contrary, we are more scrutinized than in our home environments because we are clearly visitors. (Your choice to believe me or your own eyes!)
If we are truly committed to doing all God said, we must take a very careful "cheshbon hanefesh" (reflection) and resolve to be models of "Kiddush Hashem" behavior, wherever future journeys may take us.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
It is quite uncommon for the entirety of the Jewish people to agree about something. I would venture to bet that all of the Jews agree to the historical and national significance of the
All Jews agree that Hebrew is a Jewish language. But not all agree that it's "the" Jewish language. (ditto)
Moshe tells God's words
to the people, "And the entire nation responded, united, and they said,
'All that God has spoken we will do!' And Moshe returned the words of the
people to God." (19:8)
The
Midrash (Pesikta) notes that "they did not answer thus in adulation or
with flattery, one answering for the other. Rather they answered united with
one heart. Even though we have not heard all of the things (all that He has
commanded us – Midrash Sechel Tov adds) – we will do them."
A very rare unified
voice!
Were they really
unified?
The Alshich explains
that there are two schools of thought in understanding their collective
declaration. Either they believed Moshe's words because God had spoken them –
everything that you have said in God's name we will do. Or, all that God has
surely ('vadai') said we will do – as long as we know it's from Him, to the
exclusion of what you have said of your own accord. In other words – we want to
hear it specifically from Him.
The Alshich notes that Moshe understood them to mean the first interpretation (unified with Moshe), while God understood they had in mind the second interpretation (unified in not wanting to hear from Moshe). God's response, therefore, was "to come down in a cloud" (19:9), because they don't believe you, Moshe, and I want them to believe you. My coming in the cloud is so they can hear Me speaking to you.
The whole premise of these "possibilities" is disturbing, particularly in light of the verse right before the Az Yashir song, "And they believed in God and in Moshe his servant." (
Perhaps it goes back to the question made famous by the Marx Brothers, "Who are you going to believe? Me, or your own eyes?" They believed in Moshe at the Sea. But they still didn't believe him at Sinai. Until, apparently, the cloud came down on the mountain.
Rabbenu Bachaye notes the Talmudic tale of God lifting the mountain over them (Shabbos 88a) explaining that the pressure was to accept the Oral Law. But the Written Law was accepted willingly, with a great desire, with joy and gladdened hearts.
It is known, however that despite all these acceptances and promises, it is literally impossible for any person to fulfill all of the mitzvot of the Torah. Some are only for men, some for women, some for Kohanim, some for Leviim, some only for Yisraelim. [To bring one simple example: Many people never get divorced and thus never write a get.] The Meshech Hokhmah notes that the acceptance here is to do the mitzvot which are relevant to each individual's circumstance. Otherwise, the acceptance is to learn about and understand the details of the commandments one can not fulfill.
What is included in "all that God has spoken?" Is it everything that was said until that point? Was it a commitment to what will soon be spoken, exchanged between Moshe and God, and subsequently heard by the people? Did it include all that would be recorded in the Tanakh (24 books of the Bible)?
According to the Talmud (Berakhot 5a), all of the ideas recorded in the Bible were given over at Sinai to be recorded in written form later on. This idea is elaborated upon in the Machzor Vitri (Chapter 424).
One of the important teachings of the Torah is "not to desecrate My name" (Vayikra
With the "yeshiva break" behind us, as life returns to its normal routine, it is incumbent upon us to ask ourselves if in our travels we demonstrated our commitment to "Do all that God said," "not to desecrate God's name," and "to walk humbly with our God."
When away from home, some people tend to let the "doing all God said" part of our lives slide a bit, some tend to be loud and obtrusive, to call attention to themselves, or forget that when not in one's usual environment, one does not blend in and go unnoticed. On the contrary, we are more scrutinized than in our home environments because we are clearly visitors. (Your choice to believe me or your own eyes!)
If we are truly committed to doing all God said, we must take a very careful "cheshbon hanefesh" (reflection) and resolve to be models of "Kiddush Hashem" behavior, wherever future journeys may take us.
Following the thought of the Meshech
Hokhmah, these are commitments we can all relate to, as they are incumbent upon
all of us. Hopefully, united, we can all agree on this one!
Thursday, February 23, 2012
MM&M and Divine Inspiration
Parshat Terumah
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In the descriptions of three of the elements of the to-be-constructed mishkan, the Torah includes the phrase "as you saw/were shown in the mountain."
In other words, in receiving the descriptions of how things are to be made for the mishkan, Moshe was also provided with a visual aid to better understand what the items in question should look like.
The Torah does not shy away from repeating phrases such as "As God commanded Moshe" and the like, which support a running theme in the Torah's narrative. As our phrase in question is repeated, but only three times, it stands to reason the three items or instructions thereof are connected.
We are told that Moshe saw a vision of the Menorah (25:40), how to set up the Mishkan in its entirety (notably through erecting the beams that make up the walls) (26:30), and what the Mizbeach was supposed to look like (27:8). Aside from all of the three items beginning with the same consonant, what could be a connection between three items that are so different?
The menorah is made out of solid gold, the beams are made of wood and covered with gold, and the mizbeach is made of wood and covered with copper.
If anything, the ark, the table, the small mizbeach and the beams would be in the same category, all made out of wood and covered with gold. Perhaps the cover for the ark and the menorah could be classified similarly as they are both of more complex and intricate design and made out of a solid piece of gold.
I think that the Menorha, Mishkan and Mizbeach have in common that they all serve the entire nation.
The mishkan itself and the mizbeach do this in a more obvious way. The building will be the center of Jewish life. It is the central image of that which we look to for inspiration in our quest to get close to God, as a place on earth where God's presence is identifiable. The mizbeach is the place where all sacrifices offered by the people will be brought, and it therefore serves the important function of channeling the connection people will be looking to make with God. The mizbeach is also used every day, and even had a prohibition against its fire extinguishing.
How does the menorah serve the entire nation? More pointedly, how does the menorah stand unique amongst all the other vessels? The Ark, for example, is the symbol of the Torah! While it is usually hidden, it is taken out to lead the people in battle!
The menorah is unique because even though just like the smaller mizbeach, the table, and the ark its place is hidden from the view of the general public, it is the only item in the mishkan which not only has a daily use (the ark sits idly, and the table is touched once a week when the show-bread is replaced), but whose function is a conglomeration of the participation of the entire nation.
One need look no further than the beginning of the next parsha (end of Ch. 27) to understand the role every member of the nation has in the functioning of the menorah.. As the Ibn Ezra writes (27:20), "There is an eternal commandment for the community to always provide the olive oil that will allow the candles to burn forever."
It therefore comes as no shock that the visions of the mishkan, mizbeach and menorah were shown to Moshe on the mountain.
If we were to symbolically contemporize these three things, the mishkan would be our community center (the shul building, perhaps), the mizbeach would be the specific place we serve God (such as the sanctuary) and the method of doing so (prayer), and the menorah would be that which shines forever because it is fully supported by our communities.
Maybe the parallel to the menorah is the Torah, maybe it's our children, maybe it's our way of life, maybe it's the values we continue to live, sacrifice and strive for, maybe it's just our hopes and dreams for our collective future.
None of these happen or work automatically. A divine blueprint is the best guide for making things work and having them be successful.
Moshe was given that blueprint for physical and tangible vessels of the mishkan. May we merit to be enlightened with a similar blueprint that will help our own "candles" burn forever.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In the descriptions of three of the elements of the to-be-constructed mishkan, the Torah includes the phrase "as you saw/were shown in the mountain."
In other words, in receiving the descriptions of how things are to be made for the mishkan, Moshe was also provided with a visual aid to better understand what the items in question should look like.
The Torah does not shy away from repeating phrases such as "As God commanded Moshe" and the like, which support a running theme in the Torah's narrative. As our phrase in question is repeated, but only three times, it stands to reason the three items or instructions thereof are connected.
We are told that Moshe saw a vision of the Menorah (25:40), how to set up the Mishkan in its entirety (notably through erecting the beams that make up the walls) (26:30), and what the Mizbeach was supposed to look like (27:8). Aside from all of the three items beginning with the same consonant, what could be a connection between three items that are so different?
The menorah is made out of solid gold, the beams are made of wood and covered with gold, and the mizbeach is made of wood and covered with copper.
If anything, the ark, the table, the small mizbeach and the beams would be in the same category, all made out of wood and covered with gold. Perhaps the cover for the ark and the menorah could be classified similarly as they are both of more complex and intricate design and made out of a solid piece of gold.
I think that the Menorha, Mishkan and Mizbeach have in common that they all serve the entire nation.
The mishkan itself and the mizbeach do this in a more obvious way. The building will be the center of Jewish life. It is the central image of that which we look to for inspiration in our quest to get close to God, as a place on earth where God's presence is identifiable. The mizbeach is the place where all sacrifices offered by the people will be brought, and it therefore serves the important function of channeling the connection people will be looking to make with God. The mizbeach is also used every day, and even had a prohibition against its fire extinguishing.
How does the menorah serve the entire nation? More pointedly, how does the menorah stand unique amongst all the other vessels? The Ark, for example, is the symbol of the Torah! While it is usually hidden, it is taken out to lead the people in battle!
The menorah is unique because even though just like the smaller mizbeach, the table, and the ark its place is hidden from the view of the general public, it is the only item in the mishkan which not only has a daily use (the ark sits idly, and the table is touched once a week when the show-bread is replaced), but whose function is a conglomeration of the participation of the entire nation.
One need look no further than the beginning of the next parsha (end of Ch. 27) to understand the role every member of the nation has in the functioning of the menorah.. As the Ibn Ezra writes (27:20), "There is an eternal commandment for the community to always provide the olive oil that will allow the candles to burn forever."
It therefore comes as no shock that the visions of the mishkan, mizbeach and menorah were shown to Moshe on the mountain.
If we were to symbolically contemporize these three things, the mishkan would be our community center (the shul building, perhaps), the mizbeach would be the specific place we serve God (such as the sanctuary) and the method of doing so (prayer), and the menorah would be that which shines forever because it is fully supported by our communities.
Maybe the parallel to the menorah is the Torah, maybe it's our children, maybe it's our way of life, maybe it's the values we continue to live, sacrifice and strive for, maybe it's just our hopes and dreams for our collective future.
None of these happen or work automatically. A divine blueprint is the best guide for making things work and having them be successful.
Moshe was given that blueprint for physical and tangible vessels of the mishkan. May we merit to be enlightened with a similar blueprint that will help our own "candles" burn forever.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Compassionate Leadership
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.
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.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
A Communal Priority
This was published by the Jewish Star
Parshat Re'eh
Who is the most desperate, destitute member of the Jewish society?
It’s a loaded question and there is no correct answer. Unless you specify from whose perspective. The pauper feels he is most destitute. Every collector who comes to my door thinks their story is the most important tale of woe. Maybe the person who needs life-saving surgery, or the one on the waiting list for an organ is most needy.
All of these are certainly important cases, and when possible, we ought to help in whatever way we can.
From the Torah’s perspective, there are a group of people who we are to keep in mind because, unlike those who come to our doors to collect — who are able to do something for themselves — there are those who can’t, thereby rendering them projects for the Jewish community to lovingly support.
Numerous times in our parsha we are given lists of who we should support. While some of those who we need to look out for are fairly obvious, the widow and orphan for example, the ones that round out the various lists are “your sons and daughters, your male and female servants, the ‘ger’ (stranger? Proselyte?) and the Levite.” (See Devarim 12:12,18; 14:29; 16:11,14)
Specifically, the Levite seems to be the common denominator, and is often mentioned alone (12:19; 14:27; mentioned apart from the group in 14:29).
While caring for one’s children is an obvious priority for any parent, and the responsibility of caring for those who serve you — servants or slaves — is elementary to a compassionate Jew, why does the Levite get such special attention?
The simple answer is given in the Torah in numerous places. In the realm of inheritance and tribal property, the tribe of Levi were given cities, but were otherwise left out of the divisions of the rest of the nation. (see Bamidbar 18:23-24 Devarim 10:8-9; 12:12; 14:27; 18:2)
The Rambam (Maimonides) takes this a step further and provides us with an answer to our question with a contemporary twist.
At the end of the laws of Shmittah and Yovel (13:12-13), Rambam writes:
In our day, in the absence of the Temple, these roles have been filled by our teachers and rabbis. These professions are often thankless jobs, in many cases filled by people who have chosen this life because of their desire to teach and help Jews advance their personal Jewish experiences.
The Levites made whatever effort G-d allowed them, and were singled out by G-d as a top priority of people needing support from the community.
There is a need to support those who sacrifice and dedicate themselves to the community. These are not the individuals who sit in a yeshiva all day; not the individuals who choose to “only learn” when they are by no means the “best and the brightest” destined to be great Torah leaders. If they do not dedicate their time and their Torah knowledge to share with others, they are not the contemporary Levites.
But those who make an impact, who are in the trenches with the general population, who sacrifice glory and wealth to help others get closer to G-d are worthy of being the beneficiaries of the words of Devarim 12:19: “Be careful, lest you leave behind the Levite all your days on your land.”
Parshat Re'eh
Who is the most desperate, destitute member of the Jewish society?
It’s a loaded question and there is no correct answer. Unless you specify from whose perspective. The pauper feels he is most destitute. Every collector who comes to my door thinks their story is the most important tale of woe. Maybe the person who needs life-saving surgery, or the one on the waiting list for an organ is most needy.
All of these are certainly important cases, and when possible, we ought to help in whatever way we can.
From the Torah’s perspective, there are a group of people who we are to keep in mind because, unlike those who come to our doors to collect — who are able to do something for themselves — there are those who can’t, thereby rendering them projects for the Jewish community to lovingly support.
Numerous times in our parsha we are given lists of who we should support. While some of those who we need to look out for are fairly obvious, the widow and orphan for example, the ones that round out the various lists are “your sons and daughters, your male and female servants, the ‘ger’ (stranger? Proselyte?) and the Levite.” (See Devarim 12:12,18; 14:29; 16:11,14)
Specifically, the Levite seems to be the common denominator, and is often mentioned alone (12:19; 14:27; mentioned apart from the group in 14:29).
While caring for one’s children is an obvious priority for any parent, and the responsibility of caring for those who serve you — servants or slaves — is elementary to a compassionate Jew, why does the Levite get such special attention?
The simple answer is given in the Torah in numerous places. In the realm of inheritance and tribal property, the tribe of Levi were given cities, but were otherwise left out of the divisions of the rest of the nation. (see Bamidbar 18:23-24 Devarim 10:8-9; 12:12; 14:27; 18:2)
The Rambam (Maimonides) takes this a step further and provides us with an answer to our question with a contemporary twist.
At the end of the laws of Shmittah and Yovel (13:12-13), Rambam writes:
“Levi did not merit to inherit the land or the spoils of war because they were separated to do the service of G-d, to serve Him and to teach His straight ways, and his righteous laws to the masses, as it says ‘He will teach [G-d’s] laws to Jacob and His Torah to Israel.’ Thus they were removed from the ways of the world. They do not engage in battles, they do not inherit land, and they do not merit privileges through their own might. They are G-d’s army — and G-d personally gives them merits when He says ‘I am your portion and your inheritance.’”The Levites were not kollel-leit. They didn’t choose to be Levites — they were born Levites, limited in the work they could do, and were mandated by G-d to be supported by the community. They were teachers, scholars, and role models.
“And it is not only the Levites. Rather, any man of the world who donates his spirit and understands of his own knowledge to separate himself and to stand before G-d, to serve Him and arrive at knowledge of G-d… and he removes from himself the burden of financial accountings, he has sanctified himself to be the holiest of holies and G-d becomes his portion forever. He will merit — in this world — to have stability and no worries, just as the Kohen and Levi have.”
In our day, in the absence of the Temple, these roles have been filled by our teachers and rabbis. These professions are often thankless jobs, in many cases filled by people who have chosen this life because of their desire to teach and help Jews advance their personal Jewish experiences.
The Levites made whatever effort G-d allowed them, and were singled out by G-d as a top priority of people needing support from the community.
There is a need to support those who sacrifice and dedicate themselves to the community. These are not the individuals who sit in a yeshiva all day; not the individuals who choose to “only learn” when they are by no means the “best and the brightest” destined to be great Torah leaders. If they do not dedicate their time and their Torah knowledge to share with others, they are not the contemporary Levites.
But those who make an impact, who are in the trenches with the general population, who sacrifice glory and wealth to help others get closer to G-d are worthy of being the beneficiaries of the words of Devarim 12:19: “Be careful, lest you leave behind the Levite all your days on your land.”
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