O, man. Where art thou?

Parshat Devarim

by Rabbi Avi Billet

In the Midrash Rabba's introduction to Megillat Eichah (paragraph 4), Rabbi Abahu compares the experience of the nation of Israel in the land and being exiled to the experience of the first identified man in the Torah, Adam. "Like Adam, they violated the covenant."

Adam was placed in the garden, was commanded, he violated the command, was judged, expelled, and God lamented over his downfall. Israel had the same experience: brought into Israel, commanded, they violated the command, they were judged and expelled. God lamented over their downfall.

The lament in both cases is highlighted by the midrash with the same word – at least in its spelling. Alef Yud Kaf Heh - איכה. The difference between the two words is that in Adam's case, the word is pronounced "Ayekah," while the lament for the Israelite nation is pronounced "Eichah."

In essence, when Adam is hiding after having eaten from the Tree of Knowledge, and God calls out to him saying, "Ayekah" – "Where are you?" (Bereshit 3:9) – God is lamenting that Adam feels his newfound knowledge gives him the ability to hide from God.

With regard to the Israelites, "O how has the city that was once so populous remained lonely!" (Eichah 1:1) It's a lament for what could have been, had the Israelites only continued to keep God's word.

Yirmiyahu said in 16:11 that the exile happened because the people abandoned God and did not observe the Mitzvot. The Midrash here (Eichah Introduction, paragraph 2) quotes Rav Huna's expounding on this that "If only they had abandoned Me and did not abandon My Torah! because observing the Torah would have brought them around to God again."

The term "Eichah," which Moshe utilizes in our parsha when he says "Eichah Esa L'vadi?" (1:12) – how could I carry this burden myself – is a powerful term which expresses a longing for every ideal imaginable: time, circumstance, peers, community.

 In a sermon he delivered in 1964, Rabbi Norman Lamm argued that the intention behind paralleling Adam to Israel is the teaching that "Israel's exile issues from a human failing rather than a specifically Jewish weakness."

 The word "Eichah"'s chief connotation is one of doom and gloom. That could be Moshe's intent when talking about the burden of leading the people alone. It was certainly Yirmiyahu's intent. Was it also God's intent with Adam?

 Following Rabbi Lamm's understanding of the parallel in the Midrash, the word Eichah, in our Parsha, in the Haftorah this week, in Megillat Eichah, and indeed even in the Adam story, teaches us a powerful lesson in what it means to lament over the loss of an ideal.

The earlier of the two Midrashic paragraphs that have been quoted here (Intro:2) suggested that abandoning God might not have been so terrible as long as the Torah had not been abandoned. The argument was that the Torah is the true anchor to God.

 In other words, falling in love with God alone – without the Torah – is not our way. A Jewish life that is governed by Torah observance, first and foremost, according to the Midrash, is what brings a person back to God.

 It's a hard sell to a rationalist. Why would anyone observe the Torah without believing in God? Perhaps the Torah has universal truths which speak to people who want to be a part of it, but have difficulty with accepting an all-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful, invisible God.

 But this is the message of "Ayekah." No person who is committed to Torah can survive very long in the system without coming to some kind of epiphany that God plays an essential role in all of this. "Where are you, Adam? Where are you, Mankind?" Can you really hide forever? Do you think I won't find you? Torah comes first. Not God.

 The people, at the time of Temple's destruction, imagined that God could only be found in the Temple, but nowhere else.

 With this in mind, Rabbi Lamm proposed a few opposite-ended questions which may help us drive one of the important messages of Tisha B'Av into our systems.

 What makes you think that you can declare any place in the world out-of-bounds for God? May a man hate his brother, so long as he prays in the Bet Hamikdash? May he exploit his worker and drive his slaves, as long as he brings his sacrifices regularly to Jerusalem?

 "When you restrict God only to the Synagogue, then He refuses to dwell even in the Synagogue." Parallel statements about when we pick and choose the manner in which we observe Torah and Halakha are easily understood.

We dress one way in shul and school, and with no rules in other places. We keep separate dishes in our homes, but aren't careful about kosher standards outside the home. We would never go to places of ill-repute in our neighborhood, but on vacation or when no one knows us, all bets are off. We would never speak inappropriately, but we don't object to being around others who do. The list goes on.

The message of Eichah and Ayeka is a lament over where we could be. We need not pretend we can hide from God. We must strive to have our external and our internal lives match one another – to be the most wholesome people we can be.

Even Moshe's lament about his leadership is a poignant reminder that we in the Jewish community need not go about this alone. We have one another, and we must utilize one another, to create a system that helps us raise and better our lives and Jewish experiences to the exponential power we can achieve through unwavering personal and communal support for such efforts.

The "Pure" Menorah

After describing the appointment of Betzalel and Oholiab to be the prime architects of the Mishkan, the Torah proceeds to list all the vessels that will be constructed. In 31:8, and in sharp contrast to all other vessels, the menorah is strangely described as “HaMenorah ha’t’horah” — the pure menorah.

Commentaries are quick to jump on this bizarre terminology. From the fact that the menorah is described as being pure, are we to assume the other vessels were impure? (Siftei Chachamim)

Rashi quotes the Talmud (Menachot 29b) that says the “purity” refers to the essence of the gold — its being naturally refined and untainted by outside influences. The Maharal of Prague even explains that all the other vessels are certainly not impure and one should not imply from the verse that other vessels were impure

Chizkuni says the term “purity” is to be taken literally, as the menorah and the shulchan (table) are the only two vessels described as being pure (the shulchan is described as pure in Vayikra 24:6) because they are the only ones upon which no sacrifice’s blood is ever placed, in any context.

It is Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin (Netziv) who presents the most innovative approach to understanding the significance of the purity of the menorah in a comment where he directly disagrees with the approach of Rashi. The purity of the menorah has nothing to do with “pure gold,” he explains, it is purely a function of the menorah’s essence, not the essence of its only ingredient. Netziv explains that the light of the menorah can only shine when the generation itself is pure in its deeds. A generation which is itself impure will only merit to see the menorah become extinguished.

Since the purpose of the menorah is to serve as a metaphor for the light of the Torah, it lights the way for innovation in Torah learning, also known as the concept of Hiddushei Torah. (Netziv Shmot 25:31)

The Mishkan itself is replete with symbolism. Much of commentary on these parshas and the latter half of the book of Shmot, focuses on the hidden message embedded within the images we have in our heads of golden structures and holy vessels aimed at creating an edifice of spiritual pursuits.

What are we doing to achieve our own purity? Do we focus on the ingredients — the “frum-looking external deeds” a.k.a. pure gold — or do we focus on the purity of the totality of our existence?

It has been said before that more people ask their rabbi about the kosher status of food items and restaurants than about other aspects of their personal religious experience — such as whether it is appropriate to cut corners when declaring income for tax purposes. To use one example, a friend of mine who is a pulpit rabbi, who also teaches in high school, marvels over how he gets “emergency” calls of the status of pizza shops kosher certification while he is teaching.

Symbolically, the light of the menorah represents the light which shines in the darkness, aimed at setting us on the proper path in our Jewish lives. Let us focus, as the Netziv says, on the purity of the totality of our existence, rather than on the purity of the ingredients which may make us “look” more observant.

The essence of the good Jew is one who is “tocho k’bar’o,” whose inside is as honest and ethical and living the straight life as is the outside image he presents to the world.