Wednesday, May 30, 2018

The Levites Retire, But We Never Really Retire

Parshat B'haalotkha

by Rabbi Avi Billet

After officially inaugurating the Levites, and having them go through a unique purification process, God told Moshe, “This is [the rule] regarding the Levites: Beginning at the age of 25, they shall participate in the work force engaged in the Communion Tent's service. Then, when they are 50 years old, they shall retire from the work force and not serve any more. [During their duty period] they shall perform their appointed tasks, serving their brethren [the priests] in the Communion Tent. They shall not, however, participate in the divine service. This is what shall be done for the Levites as far as their appointed tasks are concerned.” (8:24-26)

In the previous two Torah portions, in chapter 4, we were told the Levites would work from ages 30-50.

Let us look at three questions.

  • First, why the discrepancy in the starting age, 25 v 30? 
  • Second, why forced retirement at 50? 
  • Third, is this rule applicable to all Levites – after all, as was so heavily emphasized in the previous parshas, the carrying job of Kehat may have been challenging, but the Ark famously carried itself; the carrying job of Gershon was mostly curtains – which were transported on wagons; the carrying job of Merari was beams – also transported on wagons! So even if the jobs have their difficulties, all also have a relatively easy side to them! 

Ibn Ezra compares the ages of 30 and 50 to numbers close to multiples of seven when he says “30 years is close to 4 ‘weeks,’ while 50 is 7 ‘weeks’ – at that point one’s strength begins to wane. The work we’re talking about here is the labor of carrying.”

Rabbi Yosef B’chor Shor echoes sentiments expressed by Ramban when he notes that “25 is when lighter work begins, including singing. At age 30, heavier carrying kicks in, as strength kicks in. (Based on Avot 5:21). The rabbis also taught that at 25 he begins his training, while at 30 he begins to serve.”

[This leads me to wonder what the Levite was doing until age 25? There is a tradition that the Levites were the teachers of Israel. Of course, they couldn’t all serve and help the Kohanim at the same time, so perhaps they were meant to be engaged in study and teacher training when not in regular duty and reserve duty to work in the Temple.]

These approaches at the very least indicate that the numbers are associated with a perceived ability in terms of strength. As we’re soon going to see however, the fact is that strength should actually be irrelevant in this consideration.

Many commentaries look at a debate which exists between Rashi and Ramban over what the Levites did when their time of service was over. Rashi indicates that the 50 year old would no longer bear the burden of carrying on the shoulder, but he returns to locking gates, singing and loading the wagons.

Ramban quotes the Sifrei that they could return to lock gates and to do the work of Bnei Gershon (loading curtains onto wagons), and that the Sifrei makes no mention of their returning to singing. This indicates that non-full-time-carrying-activities (such as loading up wagons) is not considered to be "Avodah."

Ramban indicates that they should have been counted from 20, because at that age they could sing, lock gates, and load wagons until they reached the proper age to do their “avodah” (he also distinguishes between their wilderness jobs and their permanent jobs when the Mihkan/Mikdash would be in a set place in the Land). He also indicates that the only work which would end is the carrying of the vessels (job of Kehat) and so perhaps Gershon and Merari should not be counted in this way as all of their work can also be done after turning 50!

His answer is that everything becomes based on the Bnei Kehat’s job, and therefore all are counted the same, from 30-50.

While there is no room to share their analyses here, both Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrahi and the Maharal (Gur Aryeh) come to Rashi’s defense after the great attack of Ramban in this issue.

But the truth is that the commentaries are heavily split over what is considered Levite work from which they were excluded at 50, and what they could continue to do after 50, most notably in the realm of singing. Was it considered Avodah (service) or was it something else?

Malbim, for example, distinguishes between “sherut” and “avodah” noting that while at 50 the Levi could no longer do avodah, he could do sherut.

Netziv and Chizkuni say singing is absolutely permitted after age 50. Meshekh Chokhmah makes a similar point as he distinguishes between song of the mouth (permitted after 50!) and song from instruments (though he doesn’t mention if they may play instruments after 50).

Netziv has a fascinating insight that helps us reframe the work of the Levites. When Kehat’s job is introduced to us in chapter 4, the Torah uses the words “Kol ba latzava” (4:3) – different from how Gershon’s jobs are introduced with “kol haba litzvo tzava” (4:23) and how Merari’s jobs are introduced with “kol haba latzava” (4:30). The difference the Netziv highlights is the missing “heh” in the word “ba” versus “haba.” That difference indicates that for Kehat, those who came were specifically worthy (as in Ezekiel 16:16). For Kehat’s job, only 30-year-olds who were worthy were chosen! Those who were not deemed worthy weren't even counted.

The Midrash Rabba points out that fewer than a third of counted Kehatites were between 30-50 (2750 out of 8600), unlike Gershon who had over a third between those ages (2630 out of 7500), and Merari who had over half its population between those ages (3200 out of 6200)!

Kehat was different because the service of carrying the Ark assumed a certain risk. And even though they were counted before their jobs were assigned, those who were deemed unworthy of this task were not assigned to the typical Kehathian service, and were not counted in the 30-50 census (Netziv makes a similar argument about those unfit for war not being counted in the general 20 and up national census – which would suggest the population was significantly higher than 600,000 males ages 20 and up).

It seems that loading and unloading wagons is not a kind of “service” that is dependent on the strength that comes with age. The Levites are essentially being told, life comes in stages, and every stage has a role for you. Sometimes there is overlap in what you can do through life-stages, sometimes there is not.

Guarding the Torah might not necessarily be a physical burden (honestly it is more difficult to lift the beams onto wagons than it is to “carry” the Ark), but as Netziv notes in 7:9, there is a kind of intention (Kavvanah) that is most necessary, and most difficult to achieve, that becomes a kind of burden, without which the carriers could face certain death. And so the burden is not as much a physical one, as it is a mental one.

Which suggests that our mental capacities and abilities to concentrate need extra efforts past a certain age. May we be blessed to defeat the natural decline that may come with age, and find new strength to concentrate on our tasks of being guardians of the Torah.

Friday, May 25, 2018

How Was the Mishkan Transported?

Parshat Naso

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The conclusion of Parshat Bamidbar leads into Parshat Naso with the description of the specific and detailed jobs of each family of Levi. Kehat’s job was to carry the most important vessels of the Mishkan. Gershon’s job was to carry the curtains, hangings, drapes, tapestries. Merari’s job was to carry all of the beams, poles, stakes, sockets, rings.

How did they all do this?

The end of Parshat Bamidbar indicates that the holiest and most important vessels somehow carried themselves, and the families of Kehat were meant to symbolically walk alongside/under the vessels to indicate to others that they were carrying, even though in reality they were not.

As far as the Gershonites and Merarites, the text inform us in our parsha that “The princes of Israel, who were the heads of their paternal lines, then came forward. They were the leaders of the tribes and the ones who had directed the census. The offering that they presented to God consisted of six covered wagons and twelve oxen. There was one wagon for each two princes, and one ox for each one. They presented them in front of the Tabernacle…Moses took the wagons and oxen, and gave them to the Levites. He gave two wagons and four oxen to the descendants of Gershon, as appropriate for their service. To the descendants of Merari, he gave four wagons and eight oxen. [Both were] under the direction of Itamar, son of Aaron the priest.” (7:2-8)

The Torah continues, informing us why the Kehatites did not need wagons, as explained above.

As the Kehatites’s job is described as being largely symbolic, and relatively easy to accomplish because of the nature of the items they were responsible for, I don’t have a question as to whether the supplies they were given – or, more accurately, were not given – was sufficient. They didn’t need help!

But for the others, the number of wagons seems insufficient for the amount of material that needs to be carried. Once we add the fact that they were not likely traveling on a paved road, and didn’t have modern wheels and tires, how could the weight of the beams not cause the wagons to be unable to move?

It certainly is possible that in that era the area on which they traveled was not sandy. “Midbar,” after all, means “wilderness” more than it means “desert.” Nevertheless, the fact remains that items of that volume and weight will not be a cinch to shlep. So how could they possible manage it with the materials described here?

Very few of the classic commentaries address this question in this way. This may suggest that I am a man of little faith. It may also suggest that they just didn’t think about this.

Seforno says Moshe needed to be told to accept the wagons because he originally thought all families of Levi would get the same gift Kehat got, that their role would be largely symbolic because the items would carry themselves. Rashi, Chizkuni, Rabbenu Bachaye and others note that the Gershonites were granted fewer wagons because their jobs were lighter and easier (carrying curtains) than that of the Merarites, who carried beams and poles.

It still seems insufficient.

Comes Chizkuni with the saving insight. “If they needed to add they’d add (wagons and oxen) because 12 cattle could not possibly pull 48 beams, and all of the sockets and poles and pillars that comprised the other structure components of the Mishkan."

It almost sounds like any construction project. How often do we hear the phrase “Construction finished early and under budget?” Never.

There are plans and then there is reality. In the case of the Mishkan, it could be that the princes thought 6 wagons would suffice. And then they actually had to take down the Mishkan and see how transport would work. And perhaps they discovered that it wouldn’t work.

It’s the classic case of “Man plans and God laughs.” You thought transfer would be easy. Think again.

The Chizkuni’s simple comment is a reminder that we need not go with the flow, but we need to be cognizant of the flow. Nothing is perfect, nothing will be perfect, and when we need to adjust to circumstances, we should do what is necessary (legally and appropriately, of course) to get the job done.

May we be blessed with nachas and success!

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Being a "Shomer Torah" Means Being a Pleasant Person

Shavuot

by Rabbi Avi Billet


When I was in ninth grade, Rabbi Cohen trained our class to respond to the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” with the answer of “an Eved Hashem.” (One who serves God) 

Once when I was hired by a non-Sabbath-observing family to be their son’s mohel in an Orthodox synagogue in Manhattan, I got a call from someone at the synagogue, doing due diligence in maintaining the synagogue’s standards, and he asked me “Are you a shomer Torah U’Mitzvos?” (One who observes the Torah and commandments) My response at the time, in a nod to the human imperfection we all share, was that “I do my best.” 

I was thinking about these two anecdotes this past weekend when I came across a comment of Or HaChaim on the rebuke of parshat Bechukotai, in which he gives 42 explanations for what the opening words of that segment can mean – “If you go in my laws.” His 4th interpretation utilizes the verse from Mishley 3:6, “In all your ways you should know Him.” He describes how every behavior a person undertakes should be channeled through the lens of being an “oved Hashem” (one who serves God).

It’s one thing to speak in general hyperbole, but he actually gives examples: when you eat, when you drink, when you speak, etc. 

My thought jumped to the verse we say often, such as when we replace the Torah in the Ark, from later in that chapter in Mishlei, 3:17, “Its ways are ways of pleasantness.” 

As this week we celebrate the giving of the Torah on Shavuot, and as the last chapter of Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers) is studied this week in synagogues and Jewish homes, perhaps a new idea of what it means to be a “servant of God” and what “the Torah’s ways are pleasantness” means is in order. 

There are different ways to classify mitzvot: Bein Adam Lamakom (as concerns Man’s direct relationship with God), and Bein Adam LaChaveiro (as concern’s Man’s relationship with one’s fellow man). We can certainly argue over which are easy, which are difficult. But I would argue that it is relatively easy to fulfill most of the former kinds of commandments. They don’t impact anyone else, in most cases they don’t cost very much, and God is forgiving when we don’t fulfill, and when we make a commitment to do better. 

Our commandments between man and man, on the other hand, are somewhat more difficult. It’s hard to pay damages, it’s hard to love someone “as I love myself,” it’s hard to not carry a grudge, it’s hard to not hate some people in my heart. 

Mitzvot may or may not refine our character. Some mitzvot – those related to caring for others – are supposed to refine our character. Most mitzvot between Man and God do not specifically aim to refine our character. Shaking a lulav, eating matzah, posting a mezuzah – all important mitzvot, but while they may demonstrate a reverence for God, they do little to advance character refinement. 

But the Torah, in its totality, is meant to be a guide towards pleasantness. The 6th chapter in Avot demonstrates this idea in many ways. 
“Rabbi Meir would say: Whoever studies Torah for Torah's sake alone, merits many things; not only that, but [the creation of] the entire world is worthwhile for him alone. He is called friend, beloved, lover of G d, lover of humanity, rejoicer of G d, rejoicer of humanity. The Torah enclothes him with humility and awe; makes him fit to be righteous, pious, correct and faithful; distances him from sin and brings him close to merit… He becomes modest, patient and forgiving of insults. The Torah uplifts him and makes him greater than all creations.  
“Such is the way of Torah: Bread with salt you shall eat, water in small measure you shall drink, and upon the ground you shall sleep; live a life of deprivation and toil in Torah…  
“Do not seek greatness for yourself, and do not lust for honor. More than you study, do. Desire not the table of kings, for your table is greater than theirs, and your crown is greater than theirs… 
“Torah is acquired with forty-eight qualities…[which include] minimizing talk, minimizing gaiety, slowness to anger, good heartedness, faith in the sages, acceptance of suffering, knowing one's place, satisfaction with one's lot, qualifying one's words, not taking credit for oneself, likableness, love of G d, love of humanity, love of charity, love of justice, love of rebuke, fleeing from honor, lack of arrogance in learning, reluctance to hand down rulings, participating in the burden of one's fellow, judging him to the side of merit…” 
It would be dishonest to ignore some of the passages in the Torah which promote violence. However, at worst they were a one-time commandment of God pursuant to a goal which is beyond our comprehension today. 

It would certainly be exceedingly difficult to find any Jewish teacher or leader who advocates any kind of violence against any group of people, accepting in the case of self-defense and self-preservation, the two natural rights associated with taking up arms against others. 

With all of this, I posit that a person who is observant of the laws of the Torah can certainly claim to be a “Shomer Mitzvot.” But until Torah has achieved the goal of refining a person’s character, until all of us are pleasant, as per the Torah’s teachings which are meant to refine character, we can not completely classify ourselves as “Shomrei Torah.” 

If our goal in life is to be an “eved Hashem” and a “shomer Torah U’mitzvot” then a pleasant demeanor towards all we encounter is essential in fulfilling that goal.

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

The Parnassah Pendulum

Parshat Behar-BECHUKOTAI

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The opening comments of Midrash Rabba on Parshat Bechukotai address the Torah’s promise that those who follow the ways of God’s laws will be rewarded. King David was concerned for his own well being, despite his constant running to the house of study, and was promised goodness if he would simply follow God’s laws.

Quoting a verse in Mishlei (Proverbs 8:32) the Midrash notes that the idea that one’s children will listen to him refers to our forefather Yaakov who made a vow with the Almighty as to what his life (and family) would look like after spending time at Lavan’s house.

Some suggest Yaakov was really asking about his bottom line. He wanted assurances that he would be financially successful and independent. And yet the Midrash notes that of all the things Yaakov did ask of God, the promise of “parnassah” (financial stability) was not addressed by the Supreme Being.

Rav Asi in the Midrash suggests that God even gave a promise to Yaakov for Parnassah in the verse (Bereshit 28:15) “For I will not abandon you” which he defines to mean “I will not leave you without income.”

Based on a statement of Rabbi Hoshaya that “praised is the person who hears such a promise from his Creator,” Rabbi Chanina bar Pappa taught, “Praised am I and praised are you when all the conditions that were set are fulfilled.”

The Midrash concludes with an almost rhetorical question: “What conditions are we talking about? ‘If you follow my laws…’”

We live in a time in which the fealty to God spans a very large gamut in religious communities of all religions. On one extreme there are people who will dictate their way through the sword. Others are dogmatic extremists, preaching their belief system louder and louder, thinking such an approach will convince the uninitiated and uninformed. Others are more quiet about their views in public, but are similarly zealous within their own community, trying to get their co-religionists on the fringes of observance to repent and return from their sinful ways. Still others are more tolerant, happy to live and let live. Some use their religion as a source for their particular political views, while others refuse to mesh church and state, suggesting there are different hats we wear, and our religious hat should not mix with our mundane hat.

While I have no way to verify, I am sure that the approaches of people from different religions probably spanned similar gamuts throughout history, as it is simply a reflection of how diverse humans really are, viewing things through their particular lens, perhaps influenced by their own humanism which was able to overcome the strictures of certain religious practices.

And yet I can’t shake the idea that at the core of it all, despite the pervasive cynicism of our day, and the impertinence directed towards people who identify as religious, that people who seek to find meaning in life do indeed find value in rules and systems that guide our behavior, especially in the realm of ethics, when the ethics are clear, unencumbered by the contradictions and dilemmas life will sometimes raise.

And this is where the idea of “Im Bechukotai Teileichu” comes in. At the very least, most of the humans of the world would like to live in dignity, with food, clothing, shelter available, and the ability to make my life a little better, ideally through the sweat of my brow, but also with the knowledge that I have a home to return to, while I take personal responsibility for the direction in which my life is headed.

The Midrash is reminding us that those of us who are Jewishly God-fearing have a very simple formula: Follow the laws, don’t violate the negative commandments, do your part, make your effort (what some call a “hishtadlut”) and the parnassah will come.

It is most evident from the attendance at synagogue on Yom Kippur that we have not arrived. We all know that we fail, regularly, and with a degree of embarrassment before the Almighty that looks something like this: “God, I knew what I had to do! Your will! You laid it out so simply, and yet I continue to succumb to my inclinations that turn me away from my goals!”

This leads to the inevitable attempts at repentance and the commitments to improve. But let the practitioner beware! We all have our litmus tests of how and when we know and feel that God is most directly swinging the Parnassah pendulum in our direction.

May we merit to take better hold of our desires and controls, to fulfill the dictum of “Observe My laws,” so we may merit the gift of Parnassah, which is a gift directly apportioned by the Almighty to those who are most deserving.*
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*It is not ours to determine who is deserving and who is not deserving, but certainly the Torah indicates and promises an incredible life to those who follow its ways. What that means in practical terms is in the hands of God to decide.