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.

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:

“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.’”

“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.”

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.

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.”

What was Tzlafchad's Sin?

A few years after writing this, I revisited Tzlafchad's sin over here
Parshat Pinchas

by Rabbi Avi Billet

“Our father died in the desert” (27:3) claim the daughters of Tzlafchad as they build their case to earn his portion in Canaan. Why would they use this as their opening statement when, after all, an entire generation died in the desert?

Chizkuni’s quick solution is that Tzlafchad was under twenty at the time of the spies incident and was not supposed to die on account of that decree and thus died from some other sin.

In the same verse, his daughters continue, “He was not among the members of Korach’s party who protested against G-d, but he died because of his own sin…” This claim could imply that the Korach rebellion either coincided with or preceded his death. Had he died before Korach, they would have said he “was not part of a previous group who had sinned” – such as the spies.

Furthermore, it would stand to reason that the deed for which he was punished was an objectively innocent one, as opposed to a deliberate and purposeful direct affront to G-d. Were he a real sinner, could his daughters use his sin as leverage to grant them their father’s inheritance? Can you imagine Datan’s and Aviram’s children saying “Our fathers died – but we want their inheritance?”

So what was his sin?

Rashi quotes the Gemara Shabbat 96b-97a and Sifrei 113 which record the opinion of Rabbi Akiva that Tzlafchad was the wood gatherer of Bamidbar 15:33 who was stoned for deliberately violating Shabbat in public. Since his daughters say “Our father died in the desert” and the Torah there says “When the Israelites were in the desert, a man was found gathering wood” the two stories are equated.

Rabbi Yehuda ben Beteira (same gemara) is troubled with Rabbi Akiva’s attempt to identify the wood-gatherer when the Torah deliberately left him anonymous. How could this crime be pinned on Tzlafchad? He suggests Tzlafchad was one of the Ma’apilim, who tried to invade and conquer the land in the immediate aftermath of the spies, after the generation was told they’d die in the desert.

Many commentaries suggest he had a private sin, one in which he did not cause others to follow his lead.

The Zohar on Parshat Balak (Volume 3, page 205) uses a number of hints and nuances to create a different picture.

Tzlafchad was a leader – a “rav” (not a rabbi) – but he was not eligible to be a prince of his tribe because he was an “am haaretz” – not knowledgeable in Torah. When the Torah tells us “An ‘am rav’ died” on account of the snake bites in Parshat Chukat, it refers to an individual “am haaretz” who was a “rav” in his Israelite family.

When his daughters said, “Our father died ‘bamidbar’ – in the desert” the word “bamidbar” could be read to mean “b’dibbur” – on account of his speech, or complaints.

Taking nothing for granted, the Zohar offers a final proof, noting that the cantillation mark on the word “avinu” – our father – is a serpent-shaped zarka, which indicates that ‘our father’ was the lone person to die from a serpent bite in that incident.

The snakes were sent because those with gripes about manna spoke ill of G-d and Moshe. Objectively speaking, complaining is not necessarily sinning, because many complaints in the Torah do not result in punishment. It is compelling to suggest only one person died, as four verses earlier when the Canaanites took prisoners-of-war, commentaries say they only took one maidservant captive. Furthermore, unlike in other cases of plague where corpses are left behind for the counting (as opposed to when they’re swallowed by the ground ala Korach and company), we are given a tally of the dead. With the snakes, we are not given a number – which points to it being a small number such as “one.”

After telling Rabbi Akiva it is unfair to pin a sin on Tzalfchad, Rabbi Yehuda ben Beteira does so himself, effectively ignoring that part of his own argument. The Torah gives us a number of examples of anonymous individuals who sinned – they remain so because their sin is not worthy to gain them infamy.

But in the case of Tzlafchad, the Torah retroactively pardons him and allows his daughters to inherit his property? Why?

There are times when people deliberately sin and give every indication of their inherent evil. And there are times when people make mistakes: something bugs them, and they take it to an extreme.

Rabbi Akiva takes a person who violates a fundamental tenet of the Torah and gives him a pardon through his daughters. Rabbi Yehuda ben Beteira takes one individual out of a group of many, and focuses on him to say he alone deserves to live on in perpetuity, despite the fact that he was part of a group.

The Zohar argues that he acted alone, did not involve others, was not objectively rebelling against G-d, and he was punished on the spot for his mistake. But that does not mean that his name needs to be driven through the mud, forgotten and punished forever. Sometimes death is indeed a “kapparah” (a source of forgiveness for the soul), which allows the family to move on, while still being accepted and generally involved in the community.