Not Responsible for "Lies"

Parshat Vayetze

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The first Pirates of the Caribbean film spent a few moments discussing the "honesty" of pirates. The lead character cheats in a duel and is this accused, "You cheated!" He responds, "Pirate!" as if to say, "I don't follow conventional rules."

            

One of the more memorable moments is when the female protagonist demands, in exchange for a precious medallion, that the pirates who are currently attacking Port Royal "leave and never come back."

When they agree, they begin to set sail with her on board, leading her to exclaim, "Wait! You have to take me to shore." And she is told, "Your return to shore was not part of our negotiations nor our agreement so I must do nothing…"

            

The way of the sneaky and tricky is to make deals using vague language and to deny responsibility for any wrongdoing, when the honest person gets burned.

            

Consider Lavan's approach to Yaakov when Yaakov seeks to marry Rachel. Yaakov tells Lavan, "I will work for you for seven years [to marry] Rachel your younger daughter." (29:18). Lavan's response is, "It's better for me to give her to you than to another man, so stay with me."

            

He never said, "After seven years of working, I promise you will marry Rachel." And so, sure enough, after seven years, Lavan gives Leah to Yaakov.

            

When Yaakov asks why he's been tricked, Lavan explains, "That's not the way it is done in our place – to give the younger one before the older one [is married]. Finish the 7 day (celebration), and we will give you the other daughter in exchange for the work you'll do for 7 more years."

            

The terms "our place" and "we will give" are striking – almost funny when you know who we're dealing with. Rachel is Lavan's daughter, and yet he pins all the rules on whether she may marry on everyone else's consent. "The people" won't allow such a wedding. "The people" will give Rachel away. It's not Lavan's fault. His hands are tied.

            

Ramban claims this is the way of Lavan – to deny all responsibility. He is honest. He is pure. He keeps his word. He meant what he said and he said what he meant. 100 per cent.

            

We live in a world in which there are very few people who fulfill and keep what was once called a "gentleman's agreement." If two honest people make a deal – in which they both know exactly what they're talking about – and they shake on it, they both have to keep their respective ends of the deal.

Nowadays, however, contract writers fill up pages and pages of legal jargon to make sure that every "i" is dotted, every "t" crossed, and there are no loopholes in the language that can be misunderstood or misinterpreted. And of course, they want to cover themselves from legal action. How many people really read all the "Terms of agreement" when signing up for something on a website, or all the fine print in contracts?

Most people don't have the time or don't understand all the language.

And the same is true for politicians – who don't read bills before they sign them.

The Lavan story teaches us that there are people who may smile and may come across as "nice guys" who will stab you in the back and tell you they're giving you a massage. They'll say things that sound nice. But when judgment day comes, they'll be able to say, "I never promised. And even if it sounded like I was promising – I wasn't. And besides, you should know that my promise is meaningless."

Like Lavan, they deny responsibility, they blame everyone else for the havoc they wreak and the misery they cause – whether to individuals, groups, or an entire nation.

No one likes to admit having been wrong. Most people want to be liked and respected and admired.

But if a person uses the same tactics as Lavan, whether a family member, a co-worker, a boss, or a President, we now understand the type.

A wholesome person is honest, keeps his or her word, doesn't pull the wool over others' eyes.

And when a person deliberately lies over and over, and ultimately denies responsibility, or tries to spin reality to fit an agenda, it is the responsibility of all honest people to call him on it and effect the kind of change that is best for everyone.

  

A Prophet Like Me

Parshat Shoftim

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The shofar sound this past Sunday began the wake-up call of the month of Elul that reminds us that Rosh Hashana will soon be upon us. As I look back at notes from previous years, I have found that the commentary of Rabbenu Bachaye on these coming parshas has found an important place in my own Elul and Teshuvah-focused experience. This week we will look at one of his important teachings.

           

In the context of reminding the Israelite nation not to follow the influence of the necromancers of the nations that surround you, a seemingly uncharacteristic comment escapes Moshe's lips: "A prophet from among you, from your brethren, such as myself, will be whom Hashem your God establishes for you – listen to him [the prophet]." (18:15)

In Hebrew, the "comment" is all of one word: "Kamoni," or "such as myself."

Many commentaries suggest that this comment refers to the previous word "me'achekha" – from your brethren – that Moshe is saying any prophet you will have will be from the Israelite nation. Not only that, but unlike some of the "prophets" who were discussed last week (Chapter 13), he will teach you the ways of God and will not steer you in the direction of idolatry or the occult, "kamoni" – meaning "along the lines as I have properly led you."

            

Rabbenu Bachaye points out, for example, that one might think "Achekha" includes a prophet from the children of Eisav or Ishmael. This is another reason why Moshe is clear to say "Kamoni," only from a direct Israelite lineage.

            

All these disclaimers are nice, but the fact remains that if Moshe needed to bring an example, he could have just as easily used his brother's name, or he could have pointed at Yehoshua as he did in Bamidbar 27 and Devarim 1 and 3 saying, "A prophet… such as Yehoshua who will be taking over when I am gone." Why did he say what seems like a hubris statement – "You'll want a prophet like me"? After all, if we know Moshe was the humblest of people (Bamidbar 12:3), certainly this comment is out of character!

            

Not one to miss an opportunity, the Baal Haturim notices that "Kamoni" (כמוני) has the same numerical value as "Anav" (humble) (ענו) (both equal 126). Moshe does not want to say "I am humble." But he does want to suggest, in code, what is a good quality of a leader.

Humility is not defined as thinking you are a nobody. Humility means knowing who you are, and not making a big deal about it. It means understanding your role, as you understand that you are a nobody in comparison to God. Most importantly, a humble leader knows that circumstances have brought him or her to a position that commands respect or is an inspiration to others, but it's the position which is respected before the person filling it earns the respect – based on one's deeds.

            

Rabbenu Bachaye explains Moshe's word-choice as follows. "The prophet should be like me, meaning he should follow my precedent. He should not add nor subtract or uproot a single mitzvah from the Torah, unless he is an established prophet and the specific circumstance warrants it (eg Elijah bringing sacrifices on Mt Carmel during the time of the Temple). Ours is not a religion in which we believe in Moshe as prophet and leader on account of the signs and wonders he did. It is all on account of our having heard God's word directly from Him [at Sinai], as did Moshe. We know it, we were witnesses to it, as it says (Shmot 19:9), 'Behold I am coming to you in a thick cloud so that the nation will hear when I speak with you, and they will believe in you [as My chosen leader] forever.'"

            

Rabbenu Bachaye quotes Maimonides (Foundations of the Torah Chapter 8) as the source for his position, and Maimonides continues the point saying every sign Moshe did was to get them to follow him to Sinai. But every sign also gets people thinking "Maybe this guy is a magician." The Sinai experience changed all of that forever.

            

When Moshe says, "God will appoint a prophet Kamoni," he is saying "It will be so clear in your eyes who is a true prophet, because he stands for Torah, is guided by the Torah, and doesn’t change the Torah." He needs to use himself, and not Aharon or Yehoshua, as an example, because it was Moshe who was on Sinai. This is not arrogance. This is knowing and understanding what his role was, is and remains forever.

            

Judaism has always been a religion in which the Written and Oral Torahs are sacrosanct. In different circles, and across a large spectrum, it has become about many other things. Chumras, how "frum" you are, what clothes you wear, how you look, where you send your kids to yeshiva/school, social action, social justice, right wing politics (more common in observant communities), left-wing politics (more common in non-observant communities), and "tikkun olam."

            

The shofar and Elul remind us, as does Moshe, that we need to look to and follow the examples of leaders and leadership that help us maintain our focus – a Jewish experience that follows the model set at Sinai, of a commitment to and observance of God's word, in which nothing (beyond certain social changes as fitting to the world in which we live) is added to or subtracted from the Torah.

Because It's the Truth

This is an essay I wrote a few months ago. I was thinking of sending it to a Jewish newspaper, but whatever. The topic has been bugging me for a while, so I share with you in hopes it will reach someone who can relate.

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Sometimes coincidental occurrences over a short period of time relegate me to thinking that my life consists of monthly themes. One month my focus and thought will be on a particular question related to a Torah narrative. Another month I'll be preoccupied with an educational philosophy question. A fascinating book might occupy the better part of a few weeks' conversations, as messages and lessons gleaned from the book are consistently raised in the course of daily dialogues I'll engage in.

Of late, I've had a number of people, particularly parents in the 38-48 year-old range, approach me to talk about their children. The story is more or less the same. "My kid is a teenager. Judaism has no meaning to her/him. S/he has no interest in davening. How can I get this to change?"