Parshat Ki Tavo
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Twice in Devarim 9 Moshe mentions that he was up on the mountain for 40 days during which time “I did not eat bread and I did not drink water.” It would seem that this would be part of Moshe’s formula to getting close to God – cut out fluids and carbs for a period of 40 days, and God will be right there with you as you learn the Torah.
Strangely enough, Moshe uses very similar language immediately after the Tokhacha (The Great Rebuke of chapter 28) when he addresses the generation about to enter the Promised Land. “I led you through the wilderness for 40 years… bread you did not eat, you did not drink wine or other alcohol, so that you will know that I am Hashem, your God.” (29:4-5)
I wonder if this is Moshe’s way of telling the people, “You’ve accomplished a lot in 40 years.” Is he suggesting that in 40 years they learned and covered what he had learned and accomplished over 40 days? It certainly is an interesting perspective, supported at least on one level by the parallel in the text.
There is an additional concern, however, which stems from the opening verse of Chapter 29. Moshe tells the people “You saw all that God did before your eyes in Egypt to Pharaoh, his servants, and his country (lit. land, though Malbim explains this to refer to his citizens). All the great miracles your eyes have seen, the signs and the great wonders.”
What is he talking about? Who saw? Moshe has been saying over and over that he is talking to the next generation, that “your parents are dead” etc. So if those who left Egypt are gone, how could Moshe be talking to them?
Ibn Ezra notes that some of them saw the wonders of Egypt, and all of them have seen the wonders of the Manna, as well as the defeat of Sichon and Og. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch adds to this list reminding us that the decree to die in the wilderness was not applied to the tribe of Levi, nor to women, nor to the group that was under age 20 at the time of the Spies incident. Therefore Moshe is, in fact, speaking to many people who witnessed the miracles of Egypt in Egypt.
Malbim is a little more esoteric, noting that Moshe is reminding everyone that what happened in Egypt was strictly God’s way of showing that He does take account of every person’s actions, to give each individual what they have coming to them. Pharaoh, for example, was in his own domain, pushing his own agenda, so he was responsible for his own recalcitrance. Pharaoh’s servants had the opportunity to appeal to Pharaoh to be more beneficent towards the Israelites. The common citizens were to blame for adding difficulties to the plight of the Israelites, contributing to their pain, rather than being righteous gentiles who could have eased the difficulties encumbering the Israelites from having an easier life.
This is an important lesson in seeing life for what it is, rather than playing blame games we so often see people play. Instead of trying to work through problems and difficulties and look and move forward, we try to analyze why something failed, who should be blamed, who needs to take the fall. It may be important in business and politics, but in real life, people need to continue living with one another. So how do we move on?
In his Panim Yafot, R’ Pinchas HaLevi Horowitz has a completely unique perspective, which actually takes the opposite perspective of my original assertion made from a parallel to Moshe’s not having consumed bread for 40 days. Not that they accomplished, but that their 40 years were the ultimate missed opportunity.
He says “Moshe was reproving them for not having been diligent in trying to understand the Torah until the time they were entering Israel, which would naturally elevate their capacity for wisdom (based on Bava Bathra 158b)… At a time when they had no need to concern themselves with their physical needs, because Manna was given to them and their clothing did not need laundering or repair (talk about the ultimate Kollel stipend!) they did not concern themselves with becoming great scholars of Torah.”
And so we’re left with two questions to consider. One – are we the blaming type, or do we concern ourselves with how to address issues? Two – do those of us who have the opportunity to utilize our time for Torah study and getting closer to God actually capitalize on such opportunities?
In one way or another, Moshe is addressing ALL of the Jewish people. Even though many of the people he spoke to had been in Egypt, many more had not been there. Moshe was telling them that no matter how you look at it, this is your story. So all the excuses “I got caught up in something… was reading an article… one more youtube video… the game was on… I can’t help myself when it’s the West Wing… needed to comment on a Facebook post, etc.” are just avoiding facing the problems head on. We need to prioritize where we want to be and what we need to accomplish. When we do that, we can proudly look to Moshe and say that our 40 years of no bread and wine were ones of great accomplishment, because we were mimicking what you did in establishing your connection with God, when you were at the top of Mt. Sinai.
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Monday, September 12, 2016
Take Your Judaism Seriously? Then it's time to OPT IN
Parshat Ki Tetze
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When I was in high school, one of my teachers was fond of asking us, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The answer he was always looking for was, “I want to be an eved Hashem – a servant of God.”
The truth is, for the Jew who takes Judaism seriously, this is the only answer we should be able to give with certainty. People change careers all the time. Some professions are not for everybody. I know of lawyers who have left their field to go into rabbinics, rabbis who have made the opposite move, and trained doctors who have dropped everything to pursue careers in business and entrepreneurship.
I’ve heard a fair dose of “inspirational speakers” in my life. And one question they often present is “Do you keep all 613 mitzvos?” For a person looking to be an "eved Hashem" it's a good question to consider. However, doing so is actually impossible for a number of reasons. Firstly, without a Temple in Jerusalem, more than half the commandments of the Torah cannot be fulfilled. Secondly, some mitzvoth of the Torah are only for men, some only for women, some only for a king, some only for kohanim (priests), etc. Thirdly, some of the mitzvoth of the Torah can be fit into a category of what I call “optional.”
For example, in last week’s Torah portion, one can argue that the way the appointment of a king is presented, it is optional to have a king (17:14-15). (I know most mitzvah-list codifiers present it as obligatory.) Two weeks ago, we were informed that “when you decide you want to eat meat, here is how you prepare it.” There is no mitzvah to slaughter an animal “just because” – only if you intend to eat it (or for a sacrifice…)
This week we read of the case of the “y’fat to’ar” – the woman from an enemy nation who is captured during a war and brought home to possibly become the paramour of the soldier who takes her. There is no mitzvah to take her home. But should the soldier succumb to his desires and passions, the Torah tell us he has the option to take her home if he follows the instructions outlined in the text.
Towards the end of our parsha we find another mitzvah which is “optional” as it is only for those who end their marriages through divorce – the writing of a “get.” (24:1) Of course, when a marriage ends, the “get” is not optional, but one need not purposely get divorced just to fulfill this mitzvah. I would argue that most people would prefer to not make this mitzvah obligatory, as divorce is usually a last resort after all options have been exhausted.
So what are we left with? I have a list of over 50 mitzvot that can be couched this way including, from this week’s portion, putting tzitzit on clothes – you have the option to never wear a four cornered garment (22:19), and from last week’s portion, the mitzvah for the blood redeemer (a relative) to kill a murderer – he is not obligated to avenge the blood of his relative (19:6,12). He may choose to let the murderer live.
Particularly in our world where “free choice” and individualism is so heavily emphasized, anyone can choose to fulfill any mitzvah or neglect it. Some choose to never keep kosher or readily violate the rules. Some ignore Shabbos. Some never wear tefillin. I see many men who ignore the rules of shaving the corner of the head (leaving payot), and I know there are men who shave with a razor.
But what is most disturbing is the manner in which people are content with where they are in their Jewish experience, thinking they know what they need to know, thinking their level of observance is sufficient, thinking they’ve reached the height of their spiritual journey.
I see this in kids who are uninitiated. Whether they are uninspired by their teachers, or their parents have dropped the ball. Or, perhaps in some cases, the kids are difficult. But with all the preparation that goes into bar and bat mitzvah celebrations, not to mention the expense in many cases, how could there be a young man over age 13 who doesn’t go to minyan 3 times a day? In all honesty, until she becomes a mother, how could there be a young woman over 12 – in our women’s lib world – who doesn’t go to minyan 3 times a day? What are we celebrating and dancing for if it’s all about the party and not about the Jewish life that is to be lived continuing immediately from training that has brought the child to this moment?
How is it that children don’t feel a minimal sense of responsibility to learn more about their heritage, to put time into their growth as a Jew, to not plateau at bar or bat mitzvah but to grow way above and beyond whatever was done “in preparation” for the big day?
How do committed Jewish adults attend no classes, have no chavrutot (study sessions), sleep through or walk out of sermons, and show up to prayers – late yet – only on Shabbos morning, and not even Shabbos afternoon? Where else does one need to be on Shabbos?
Rosh Hashana is fast approaching. It is time to distinguish between the optional mitzvoth that we need not pursue versus those that define our lives as Jews day in and day out. And which are very definitely not "optional."
If each of us is to live up to our mandate of being an “eved Hashem” – a servant of God – we ought to take the steps necessary to become the best servants we can possible be.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
When I was in high school, one of my teachers was fond of asking us, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The answer he was always looking for was, “I want to be an eved Hashem – a servant of God.”
The truth is, for the Jew who takes Judaism seriously, this is the only answer we should be able to give with certainty. People change careers all the time. Some professions are not for everybody. I know of lawyers who have left their field to go into rabbinics, rabbis who have made the opposite move, and trained doctors who have dropped everything to pursue careers in business and entrepreneurship.
I’ve heard a fair dose of “inspirational speakers” in my life. And one question they often present is “Do you keep all 613 mitzvos?” For a person looking to be an "eved Hashem" it's a good question to consider. However, doing so is actually impossible for a number of reasons. Firstly, without a Temple in Jerusalem, more than half the commandments of the Torah cannot be fulfilled. Secondly, some mitzvoth of the Torah are only for men, some only for women, some only for a king, some only for kohanim (priests), etc. Thirdly, some of the mitzvoth of the Torah can be fit into a category of what I call “optional.”
For example, in last week’s Torah portion, one can argue that the way the appointment of a king is presented, it is optional to have a king (17:14-15). (I know most mitzvah-list codifiers present it as obligatory.) Two weeks ago, we were informed that “when you decide you want to eat meat, here is how you prepare it.” There is no mitzvah to slaughter an animal “just because” – only if you intend to eat it (or for a sacrifice…)
This week we read of the case of the “y’fat to’ar” – the woman from an enemy nation who is captured during a war and brought home to possibly become the paramour of the soldier who takes her. There is no mitzvah to take her home. But should the soldier succumb to his desires and passions, the Torah tell us he has the option to take her home if he follows the instructions outlined in the text.
Towards the end of our parsha we find another mitzvah which is “optional” as it is only for those who end their marriages through divorce – the writing of a “get.” (24:1) Of course, when a marriage ends, the “get” is not optional, but one need not purposely get divorced just to fulfill this mitzvah. I would argue that most people would prefer to not make this mitzvah obligatory, as divorce is usually a last resort after all options have been exhausted.
So what are we left with? I have a list of over 50 mitzvot that can be couched this way including, from this week’s portion, putting tzitzit on clothes – you have the option to never wear a four cornered garment (22:19), and from last week’s portion, the mitzvah for the blood redeemer (a relative) to kill a murderer – he is not obligated to avenge the blood of his relative (19:6,12). He may choose to let the murderer live.
Particularly in our world where “free choice” and individualism is so heavily emphasized, anyone can choose to fulfill any mitzvah or neglect it. Some choose to never keep kosher or readily violate the rules. Some ignore Shabbos. Some never wear tefillin. I see many men who ignore the rules of shaving the corner of the head (leaving payot), and I know there are men who shave with a razor.
But what is most disturbing is the manner in which people are content with where they are in their Jewish experience, thinking they know what they need to know, thinking their level of observance is sufficient, thinking they’ve reached the height of their spiritual journey.
I see this in kids who are uninitiated. Whether they are uninspired by their teachers, or their parents have dropped the ball. Or, perhaps in some cases, the kids are difficult. But with all the preparation that goes into bar and bat mitzvah celebrations, not to mention the expense in many cases, how could there be a young man over age 13 who doesn’t go to minyan 3 times a day? In all honesty, until she becomes a mother, how could there be a young woman over 12 – in our women’s lib world – who doesn’t go to minyan 3 times a day? What are we celebrating and dancing for if it’s all about the party and not about the Jewish life that is to be lived continuing immediately from training that has brought the child to this moment?
How is it that children don’t feel a minimal sense of responsibility to learn more about their heritage, to put time into their growth as a Jew, to not plateau at bar or bat mitzvah but to grow way above and beyond whatever was done “in preparation” for the big day?
How do committed Jewish adults attend no classes, have no chavrutot (study sessions), sleep through or walk out of sermons, and show up to prayers – late yet – only on Shabbos morning, and not even Shabbos afternoon? Where else does one need to be on Shabbos?
Rosh Hashana is fast approaching. It is time to distinguish between the optional mitzvoth that we need not pursue versus those that define our lives as Jews day in and day out. And which are very definitely not "optional."
If each of us is to live up to our mandate of being an “eved Hashem” – a servant of God – we ought to take the steps necessary to become the best servants we can possible be.
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Can't Go To War Without Reaching the Beginning
Parshat Shoftim
by Rabbi Avi Billet
A man who builds a new house, plants a vineyard or who betrothed himself to a woman, in each case without enjoying the next stage – living in the house, redeeming the first crop, or actually marrying the woman – is exempt from battle in a “milchemet r’shut,” a non-defensive war, a war that is not commanded, such as against Amalek. (20:5-8)
These three categories are rounded out with the ultimate person who does not belong on the battlefield, the person who is afraid.
While we can understand why the fearful person should go home, his attitude could potentially be infectious thus debilitating to his squadron, the other three require more attention.
One might assume the builder, planter and nearly married are exempt because their mind is elsewhere. They are thinking about their house, vineyard, fiancé and can’t do justice to the battlefield. Ibn Ezra suggests that in the heat of the battle, this person may run from the battlefield because his interests are back home and not in facing the enemy before him. This attitude would be more understandable, however, in a person who knows what he is missing because he is living in the house, knows how good his vineyard is, and truly loves his wife, and children, if he has children.
One might argue that the person who understands what he has on the line, what he stands to lose if the battle goes the wrong way may be better equipped to fight intelligently. The novice in homemaking, vineyard tending or marriage will have less of an idea of what is at stake, as each new life-project is merely a dream he hopes to live out, and thus he might be a little more foolish, and possibly dangerous to himself and others on the battlefield.
The Talmud claims the merits of the builder, planter, and betrothed are less than those of others, and in a war controlled by divine providence (overseeing natural events), they may be more prone to being killed. (Sotah 43a-b)
The odd thing is, though, that the only thing the three people have in common is their beginning a new project in life. The builder could be moving his family from a smaller house to a bigger house. The planter may have many fields, but this is a new vineyard to add to his multitudes. And the betrothed could be on the precipice of a second marriage, or perhaps even taking a second wife (in Biblical times polygamy was permissible – see Abraham, Jacob, Elkanah, many kings).
The Torah says the reason each one should not go out to war is not because of fear, nor because of a lack of merits, nor because of inexperience in battle. The person may very well have a family he is looking to protect, wealth he is otherwise looking to enjoy or make good use of, or he has been married (or currently is married to another woman). The reason is because “perhaps he will die and another man will [take his house, vineyard or fiancé for himself.]”
As any person who goes out to war may die, it seems that the number one concern is that another man may take his property, not death. Midrashic literature refers to this man as a “nokhri” – a stranger. Whether this stranger is a Jew he does not know or a non-Jew is unclear, but since the law is raised in the context of Jews living in the land of Israel, we can assume it refers to a Jew he does not know.
So what is so terrible? We know war is horrible, and the consequences in the human realm – death, maiming, permanent physical or emotional damage – are most undesirable. But it is a reality those who engage in warfare know they must face. Try as we might not to think about it, it happens. The outcome of death in battle is that a person is no longer around to protect his assets and interests. What makes this fear, losing one’s assets to a stranger, the cause for turning soldiers into workmen who repair roads and bring food to the fighters in lieu of fighting? (Mishnah Sotah 8:2)
The Talmud (Sotah 44a) suggests the order of people involved in new life endeavors who are exempt from war as presented is meant to teach a way of life. Build a home, then begin working and maintaining an income, then marry – in that order. For practical reasons, of course. This is an important lesson, but it does not answer our question.
For a person starting out, not being able to even embark on an adventure, losing one’s assets to a stranger, combine to give a person a tremendous sense of loss and depression. Of course if a person dies in battle, the person will not have such feelings. But if a goal of ours is to leave our mark on this earth so our life seems meaningful beyond our own mortal existence, humans need to feel, at the very least, “I started a project and brought it to its point of beginning. Not only did I build the house, I started to live in it. Not only did I plant the vine, I was able to benefit from its fruit. Not only did I meet the right person, I married and began to build a Jewish home.” Until we can feel that completion of the beginning of a new task, we can not comfortably go out to war.
We need to feel we have taken something beyond the base level to make the accomplishment our own. This is not something we want others to do.
“I introduced the couple and helped them talk to each other.” “I helped raise money for a cause, and personally delivered the check and watched the money be put to good use.” “I came up with the idea, got the ball rolling and set things in motion for the next person to take over.”
With this attitude prevailing, “My mission can be taken over by someone else for I have done my part and left it open for such change,” anyone can be comfortable going out to war.
Of course, we are left with a question - one for which I don't have a good answer. And sadly, it has been a reality too often in Israel's most recent wars. If the man who hasn't yet lived with his betrothed must go home, it stands to reason that if he has lived with her, he may go out to war. And if he should fall in battle - what then? He may have achieved his goal of getting his beginnings to move along, but what of his young widow? What becomes of her and her dreams, which have now been shattered to millions of pieces? I don't know...
by Rabbi Avi Billet
A man who builds a new house, plants a vineyard or who betrothed himself to a woman, in each case without enjoying the next stage – living in the house, redeeming the first crop, or actually marrying the woman – is exempt from battle in a “milchemet r’shut,” a non-defensive war, a war that is not commanded, such as against Amalek. (20:5-8)
These three categories are rounded out with the ultimate person who does not belong on the battlefield, the person who is afraid.
While we can understand why the fearful person should go home, his attitude could potentially be infectious thus debilitating to his squadron, the other three require more attention.
One might assume the builder, planter and nearly married are exempt because their mind is elsewhere. They are thinking about their house, vineyard, fiancé and can’t do justice to the battlefield. Ibn Ezra suggests that in the heat of the battle, this person may run from the battlefield because his interests are back home and not in facing the enemy before him. This attitude would be more understandable, however, in a person who knows what he is missing because he is living in the house, knows how good his vineyard is, and truly loves his wife, and children, if he has children.
One might argue that the person who understands what he has on the line, what he stands to lose if the battle goes the wrong way may be better equipped to fight intelligently. The novice in homemaking, vineyard tending or marriage will have less of an idea of what is at stake, as each new life-project is merely a dream he hopes to live out, and thus he might be a little more foolish, and possibly dangerous to himself and others on the battlefield.
The Talmud claims the merits of the builder, planter, and betrothed are less than those of others, and in a war controlled by divine providence (overseeing natural events), they may be more prone to being killed. (Sotah 43a-b)
The odd thing is, though, that the only thing the three people have in common is their beginning a new project in life. The builder could be moving his family from a smaller house to a bigger house. The planter may have many fields, but this is a new vineyard to add to his multitudes. And the betrothed could be on the precipice of a second marriage, or perhaps even taking a second wife (in Biblical times polygamy was permissible – see Abraham, Jacob, Elkanah, many kings).
The Torah says the reason each one should not go out to war is not because of fear, nor because of a lack of merits, nor because of inexperience in battle. The person may very well have a family he is looking to protect, wealth he is otherwise looking to enjoy or make good use of, or he has been married (or currently is married to another woman). The reason is because “perhaps he will die and another man will [take his house, vineyard or fiancé for himself.]”
As any person who goes out to war may die, it seems that the number one concern is that another man may take his property, not death. Midrashic literature refers to this man as a “nokhri” – a stranger. Whether this stranger is a Jew he does not know or a non-Jew is unclear, but since the law is raised in the context of Jews living in the land of Israel, we can assume it refers to a Jew he does not know.
So what is so terrible? We know war is horrible, and the consequences in the human realm – death, maiming, permanent physical or emotional damage – are most undesirable. But it is a reality those who engage in warfare know they must face. Try as we might not to think about it, it happens. The outcome of death in battle is that a person is no longer around to protect his assets and interests. What makes this fear, losing one’s assets to a stranger, the cause for turning soldiers into workmen who repair roads and bring food to the fighters in lieu of fighting? (Mishnah Sotah 8:2)
The Talmud (Sotah 44a) suggests the order of people involved in new life endeavors who are exempt from war as presented is meant to teach a way of life. Build a home, then begin working and maintaining an income, then marry – in that order. For practical reasons, of course. This is an important lesson, but it does not answer our question.
For a person starting out, not being able to even embark on an adventure, losing one’s assets to a stranger, combine to give a person a tremendous sense of loss and depression. Of course if a person dies in battle, the person will not have such feelings. But if a goal of ours is to leave our mark on this earth so our life seems meaningful beyond our own mortal existence, humans need to feel, at the very least, “I started a project and brought it to its point of beginning. Not only did I build the house, I started to live in it. Not only did I plant the vine, I was able to benefit from its fruit. Not only did I meet the right person, I married and began to build a Jewish home.” Until we can feel that completion of the beginning of a new task, we can not comfortably go out to war.
We need to feel we have taken something beyond the base level to make the accomplishment our own. This is not something we want others to do.
“I introduced the couple and helped them talk to each other.” “I helped raise money for a cause, and personally delivered the check and watched the money be put to good use.” “I came up with the idea, got the ball rolling and set things in motion for the next person to take over.”
With this attitude prevailing, “My mission can be taken over by someone else for I have done my part and left it open for such change,” anyone can be comfortable going out to war.
Of course, we are left with a question - one for which I don't have a good answer. And sadly, it has been a reality too often in Israel's most recent wars. If the man who hasn't yet lived with his betrothed must go home, it stands to reason that if he has lived with her, he may go out to war. And if he should fall in battle - what then? He may have achieved his goal of getting his beginnings to move along, but what of his young widow? What becomes of her and her dreams, which have now been shattered to millions of pieces? I don't know...
Friday, September 2, 2016
From Zero to One to Double Joy on Holidays
Parshat Re'eh
by Rabbi Avi Billet
The end of Parshat Re’eh is one of the few times in the Torah that the holidays are presented. Quite noticeable is the instruction to be joyous on the holiday, a point noted once for Shavuot (16:11), and twice for Sukkot (16:14-15). Chagiga 1:2 (Jerusalem Talmud) says that this reference to rejoicing refers to the joy over peace offerings – a related note to how the Talmud elsewhere defines joy as the consumption of meat. Shlamim (peace offerings) are not brought on Pesach (Passover) because they include an offering of bread.
Which is all fine and good. But the fact of the matter is that even those who do not eat or who do not prefer meat are instructed to rejoice! So the command to be joyous on the festival should extend to Pesach as well!
I once heard an explanation that all of the preparation for Pesach is a burden, so there is nothing to be joyous about. But this explanation is silly for many reasons. Firstly it is not objectively true. Second, there are many people who love the preparation for Pesach. Third, there is a heavy emphasis on joy in other areas of our Pesach experience.
Certainly God did not take us out of Egypt and smite the biblical Egyptians so that we can spend $50,000 on a Pesach program. But if that’s what makes people happy, no absence of the word “simcha” in the Torah is going to get in anyone’s way of doing just that.
There is an approach to the concept of Simcha on the holidays which is outlined by some of the commentaries. Using the ideas of R’Yosef B’Chor Shor, the Hadar Zekenim and Baal HaTurim, we’ll create a full picture of how to define Simcha relative to the holidays.
The holiday of Pesach is largely focused on remembering the exodus from Egypt and all the miracles associated with that event. However, at Pesach time we do not yet have the joy that comes from bringing in the wheat. Even though there may have been contributions to the poor from the barley crop – a point of joy – the joy remains incomplete.
When Shavuot comes, and the wheat has been harvested, there is an automatic joy which is not present at the incomplete circumstance of Pesach’s work. So God says “now you can rejoice because the winter crop is complete.”
However, the wine is still in the grapes – the completion of one’s crop pre-winter is not yet done. There is still what to look forward to. But once Sukkot is upon us, and the fruits of the trees are ready and already gathered into the home, and one’s work is truly done for the season, then a person can sit back and truly enjoy – doubly enjoy the fruits of one’s labors.
It seems therefore that it isn’t a matter of an inherent simcha associated with one holiday over the other. There is a progression which follows the seasons of the year, the agricultural cycle, and the completion of work, which contribute to a person’s joy.
This experience is lost on we who do not live in an agrarian society. But maybe as the holidays come upon us at their appointed times in our calendar, we can find a way to feel “my work is done. I can enjoy the holiday.” Joy should not be a feeling we reach or achieve only because we have a commandment. Though, perhaps for some, the only way they can come to joy on a holiday, through all the stress of life, is because there is a commandment.
Remember that in 28:47, in the big rebuke of Parshat Ki Tavo, we are told that one of the main reasons for the curses to come upon us is “on account of your not having served God with joy.”
Whether we are bringing in harvests, big cash payouts, or simply a steady and adequate paycheck, we should be able to find joy at every holiday because “my work is done” and I can enjoy the holiday with my family, and with those in my life that help make every day meaningful and special.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
The end of Parshat Re’eh is one of the few times in the Torah that the holidays are presented. Quite noticeable is the instruction to be joyous on the holiday, a point noted once for Shavuot (16:11), and twice for Sukkot (16:14-15). Chagiga 1:2 (Jerusalem Talmud) says that this reference to rejoicing refers to the joy over peace offerings – a related note to how the Talmud elsewhere defines joy as the consumption of meat. Shlamim (peace offerings) are not brought on Pesach (Passover) because they include an offering of bread.
Which is all fine and good. But the fact of the matter is that even those who do not eat or who do not prefer meat are instructed to rejoice! So the command to be joyous on the festival should extend to Pesach as well!
I once heard an explanation that all of the preparation for Pesach is a burden, so there is nothing to be joyous about. But this explanation is silly for many reasons. Firstly it is not objectively true. Second, there are many people who love the preparation for Pesach. Third, there is a heavy emphasis on joy in other areas of our Pesach experience.
Certainly God did not take us out of Egypt and smite the biblical Egyptians so that we can spend $50,000 on a Pesach program. But if that’s what makes people happy, no absence of the word “simcha” in the Torah is going to get in anyone’s way of doing just that.
There is an approach to the concept of Simcha on the holidays which is outlined by some of the commentaries. Using the ideas of R’Yosef B’Chor Shor, the Hadar Zekenim and Baal HaTurim, we’ll create a full picture of how to define Simcha relative to the holidays.
The holiday of Pesach is largely focused on remembering the exodus from Egypt and all the miracles associated with that event. However, at Pesach time we do not yet have the joy that comes from bringing in the wheat. Even though there may have been contributions to the poor from the barley crop – a point of joy – the joy remains incomplete.
When Shavuot comes, and the wheat has been harvested, there is an automatic joy which is not present at the incomplete circumstance of Pesach’s work. So God says “now you can rejoice because the winter crop is complete.”
However, the wine is still in the grapes – the completion of one’s crop pre-winter is not yet done. There is still what to look forward to. But once Sukkot is upon us, and the fruits of the trees are ready and already gathered into the home, and one’s work is truly done for the season, then a person can sit back and truly enjoy – doubly enjoy the fruits of one’s labors.
It seems therefore that it isn’t a matter of an inherent simcha associated with one holiday over the other. There is a progression which follows the seasons of the year, the agricultural cycle, and the completion of work, which contribute to a person’s joy.
This experience is lost on we who do not live in an agrarian society. But maybe as the holidays come upon us at their appointed times in our calendar, we can find a way to feel “my work is done. I can enjoy the holiday.” Joy should not be a feeling we reach or achieve only because we have a commandment. Though, perhaps for some, the only way they can come to joy on a holiday, through all the stress of life, is because there is a commandment.
Remember that in 28:47, in the big rebuke of Parshat Ki Tavo, we are told that one of the main reasons for the curses to come upon us is “on account of your not having served God with joy.”
Whether we are bringing in harvests, big cash payouts, or simply a steady and adequate paycheck, we should be able to find joy at every holiday because “my work is done” and I can enjoy the holiday with my family, and with those in my life that help make every day meaningful and special.
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