Seven Complete Weeks - A Lesson in Quality Time

Shavuot

by Rabbi Avi Billet

 In Parshat Emor, the Torah tells us, “You shall then count for yourselves seven complete weeks after the day following the [Passover] holiday when you brought the omer as a wave offering.” (Vayikra 23:15)

 The term “seven complete weeks” is used by the Ta”z (R David HeLevi) and others as proof that Maariv (the evening prayer) on the eve of Shavuot is not to begin until after the stars have appeared. This delay is meant to assure that the Sefirat HaOmer period is over (the weeks are “completed”), so that the holiday of Shavuot can now commence.

 Is this a proper argument? Could the Torah’s terminology in this case be used to prevent the holiday from starting earlier? Shabbat often begins early. Sukkot begins early. Even Pesach may begin early, as the Shulchan Arukh states in 472:1: “One’s table should be set when it is still daytime, to be able to eat immediately when it gets dark… However, he should not say Kiddush until it is dark.” The Mishnah Berurah notes there, that one is not obligated to begin eating at nightfall, but if it helps the children stay up, the earlier one starts, post nightfall, the better. Obviously, if the meal can begin immediately at nightfall, Maariv will have been prayed a little earlier.

 While synagogues should certainly follow their customs, it is worthy to note that the Magen Avraham (R Avraham Gombiner) uses the same verse from Vayikra to teach us that just like at Pesach, “We do not say Kiddush until the stars have come out.” (Shulchan Arukh 494, Introduction)

 The debate is clear – either Maariv or Kiddush must wait until the stars have come out.

 But maybe the premise of the argument is based on an error. Or, to say it a little nicer, maybe the reading of the word “complete” is inaccurate.

 The Ktav V’hakabalah (Rabbi Yaakov Zvi Mecklenburg) notes that the word used in Vayikra 23:15 to describe the 7 weeks is “Temimot,” which more often means perfect or wholesome. The word the Torah does not use is “Shleimot,” which would more precisely mean “complete” or “full.” He defines “Temimot” as a qualitative form of completion, while “Shleimot” would be the proper term to be utilized for a quantitative assessment of completion. In other words, the way the Torah depicts the completeness of the 7 weeks, using the word “Temimot,” would more accurately be defined as an instruction to make the 7 weeks qualitatively whole.

 Quoting a Midrash (Vayikra Rabba Emor 28), the Ktav V’hakabalah suggests that what makes the 7 weeks perfect or wholesome has nothing to do with a timeclock that says the 7 weeks are full or complete only when the stars have come out at the end of the 49th day. The “Temimot” weeks are achieved when the Children of Israel use the time of Sefirat Ha’Omer to fulfill God’s will.

 While I personally think it is OK to rely on the Magen Avraham to have Maariv a little earlier as long as Kiddush is after nightfall, it is understood that others will follow the Ta”z and Mishnah Berurah and wait for Maariv to start that late. Certainly this year, with Shavuot starting at the end of Shabbat, it is likely most people would wait anyway.

 But let us not lose sight of the the very important lesson the Ktav ve’Hakabalah is teaching us. Our Sefirat Ha’Omer period was meant to be a time of introspection, of qualitative preparation for the celebration of Matan Torah, of reliving the experience of being given the gift of the Torah.

 Are we worthy? Did we do our jobs? Did we make the 7 weeks “Temimot,” wholesome and perfect? Do we live our lives yearning and aiming for this kind of completion – a qualitative one?

 Or are we living our Jewish lives trying to be “Shleimot?” Do we merely tick off checks and fill in boxes in the proverbial achievement chart of our lives?

 Do we measure our Jewish achievements in quantity, or in quality?

 Let us let the qualitative interpretation of Temimus be a charge to all of us to make every day count on a much higher level than “another day gone.”

 Quantity is easily measured. But quality is the hallmark of a meaningful life.

Respecting Others' (Jewish) Decisions

Parshat Tazria Metzora

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The primary topic of our double parsha focuses on the affliction of tzaraat, its diagnosis and prognosis. The attention is primarily on the kohen, who is given detailed instructions for how to detect what is or is not tzaraat. He is also given tremendous autonomy in deciding whether the mark he is examining is tzaraat.

Interestingly, there is no mashgiach monitoring to see that what the kohen declares is "correct." He makes the call.

One can argue that even the Torah hints to the kohen's autonomy when it tells us how the kohen examines the tzaraat mark. 14 times the Torah says "V'ra'ah hakohen" - and the kohen sees it, yet only 5 times it says, "V'ra'ahu hakohen," and the kohen looks at it/him. The suffix "hu" added to the "V'ra'ah" leaves open the suggestion that the kohen not only examines the mark, but he also examines the person.

What is the circumstance? Has the person already learned the requisite lesson? Can the person afford to be away from home for a week? For an additional week?

Perhaps the kohen is allowed to make a diagnosis in this fashion due to the unique nature of the spiritual malady. Tzaraat is not like strep throat, where you either have it or you do not. (My mother often compares being honest to being pregnant – you either are or you are not.) Despite any markings on the flesh, you only have tzaraat if the kohen says you have it. And perhaps that determination is made based on factors beyond the textbook definition of a "nega" – a mark that looks like it might be tzaraat.

In this period of Sefirat Ha'Omer, when many people take upon themselves the custom of certain mourning practices in memory of the students of Rabbi Akiva, the feeling in the air often boils down to the question: are we guilty of the same arrogant behavior which the Talmud ascribes to his ill-fated students (Yevamot 62b)?

Let us take the Kohen case as an example. Imagine there were a Temple in Jerusalem, and people were afflicted with tzaraat symptoms and needed a kohen diagnosis to determine the status of the flesh marks in question.

How many kohanim, who are declared by God to be fit, on account of their DNA, to serve as kohanim, will now be called unfit by those who view themselves as 'holier than thou?' Of course every individual has the right to go to whichever kohen one prefers. But would people start ranking kohanim based on perceived levels of frumkeit? Would we call into question the decision of the kohen, claiming we know better what is and what is not tzaraat?

Ironically what we think or even what we know does not matter when it comes to tzaraat. The call belongs to the kohen alone, without the input of a non-kohen. How many of us recall stories of a bygone era, when our grandparents or great-grandparents would take a chicken, bring it to the shochet (slaughterer) and then to the rabbi to see if it was slaughtered correctly? After all, it is the shechita that makes the bird kosher (fit to eat) – not its merely being a chicken.

And how many of us can recount stories of a rabbi who looked not at the chicken but at the poor woman, sometimes a widow, who the rabbi knew could not afford to lose this chicken, and he declared with tears in his eyes that the chicken was kosher?

What would some of our brethren say today about such a rabbi? That he wasn't frum enough? That he was an 'am haaretz' (ignorant simpleton)? That he was unfit to be a rabbi?

Or perhaps he knew a lot more about Torah and Chesed, and about being "noheg kavod zeh lazeh" (respecting one another) than Rabbi Akiva's students knew, and than those of us who seek to criticize other Jews all the time know.

No one is perfect. We all klop "al cheit" on Yom Kippur. But it is time for all factions of the Jewish people to respect the fact that we are different and have different ways of serving God. Some are committed to Halakha, some are not.

Among those who are committed to halakha, some choose to follow a straightforward understanding, or even a liberal understanding of halakha – with basis in what is written in the Shulchan Arukh and its commentaries. Others choose to be more stringent for themselves, based on more stringent commentaries and poskim. Both approaches are admirable for the individuals who choose these routes for themselves.

The problem arises when people try to dictate for others how they should live. Every Jew who is a member of a shul, or who has a rabbi s/he turns to for halakhic guidance, demonstrates an acceptable halakhic authority figure that serves as the spot where the buck so-to-speak stops.

Just as the kohen did not need a mashgiach looking over his shoulders, our communities need to find a way to stop looking over others' shoulders or scaring people to submit to things they don't believe in because they must look over their shoulders to see who is watching.

Live and let live. Mind your own business. Grow in your Jewish experience, and let others grow in theirs' at a pace that works for them.