This can also be seen at the Jewish Star
Parshat Vayera
Avraham has three visitors. Two of them go on to Sodom to destroy the city and save Lot.
When their presence in Lot’s house is discovered, the townspeople come, per their Sodomite way, to “take pleasure” with the unwanted guests (19:5). Lot defends his visitors and even goes so far as to offer his daughters to the mob in order to save them.
Lot’s counteroffer is abhorrent, and the visitors grab Lot, bring him inside (19:10), while the mob outside is struck with blindness so they can do no harm (19:11).
Why were the people of Sodom struck with blindness? This is Sodom — a city that is going to be overturned in a short while, at which time, everyone, including the newly blind, will die.
Why not just kill them now? Get them out of the way, avoid the confusion and make the message clear to Lot’s family that the visitors are on a serious mission..
There are a number of reasons we can suggest why the provocateurs were not struck down at Lot’s doorstep.
Homiletically, we can quote the rabbinic dictum that “blind is considered dead” (Nedarim 64b). This can immediately be rejected, however, because when a person is to be punished with death, blindness is never another option to make it “as if the person is dead.” Tosafot says that the categories of people who are “like dead” are those who have more difficult lives, regarding whom the rest of us need to beseech G-d for mercy on their behalf.
The blindness the Sodomites received was what they were meant to receive — which leads to our second suggestion. God’s modus operandi is “middah k’neged middah” — measure for measure. In this case, the people of Sodom looked at something they shouldn’t have: Lot’s guests. The people of Sodom then came to their abominable conclusion of how they’d treat Lot’s guests, and were punished by losing their sight, the sense that brought on their mob-mentality.
A third suggestion is that the blindness was incurred for a different reason of middah k’neged middah.
Sodomites were notorious for torturing those they considered “unwanted” before they died. The blindness the Sodomites suffered was torture before their death.
Perhaps the most suggestive perspective is that the Sodomites could not be killed because it was not yet their time to die. In other words, even in Sodom, even in a place that is doomed, every minute of life is precious.
The angels told Lot they could not overturn the city until Lot was safely out of it. Perhaps others might have had the opportunity to escape in this time, were they willing to contemplate the consequences of their staying put. Lot’s delay was a window for those on the fringes to be saved.
Perhaps for some people, teshuvah (repentance) was never taken off the table as a viable option, were they to merely consider it.
The people of Sodom, of course, could not change their ways. Their evil was too entrenched in their make up, too much a part of who they were, they could not imagine joining a normal society.
The blindness was indeed middah k’neged middah. A people who are so blind that they cannot see the evil of their ways will only merit blindness before the maelstrom hits.
At the same time, G-d’s ways are kindness. They were not meant to die yet. Because of this, their deaths did not come prematurely, at a moment when they were doing their final despicable act of immorality. It came the way it was meant to come, at the predetermined time, and not a moment earlier.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Waking from Slumber
This can also be read in the Jewish Star
Parshat Lekh Lekha
The word “Tardemah” — an unconscious state — appears only twice in the Torah: Bereishit 2:21 — when Chava is created from Adam, and 15:12, when Avram experiences the prophesy of the “Brit Bein Ha’b’tarim” — the Covenant Between the Pieces.
Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan’s translations in “The Living Torah” render the two experiences, respectively, “a deep state of unconsciousness” accompanied by sleep, and a “trance under which [Avram] was stricken by a deep dark dread.”
Adam’s sleep comes about after he has named every animal and has come to the realization that he has no partner opposite him. The most common interpretation, surprisingly, is that the original Adam was a Siamese-twin-like creature which contained both Adam and Chava in one body — which is why “he” could not find “her” — they were one and the same. As such, when God put Adam to sleep, it was for the purpose of separating him into two entities, and to close the flesh at the point of separation. (The “rib” interpretation has its sources — but it is by far the less preferred explanation of the creation of woman in rabbinic sources.)
In this sense, Targum Yonatan calls it a “deep sleep,” Sforno explains the purpose of the “tardemah” as a preventative to any anxiety or pain, like a general anesthesia for surgery.
Avram’s “tardemah” follows his conversation with God, and his preparation of the animals for the covenant. “The sun was setting, Avram fell into a trance, and he was stricken by a deep dark dread.” (15:12) As the sun’s position is described, Avram falls asleep. In contrast, God put “tardemah” on Adam.
In this state, Avram experiences prophesy that his descendants will be enslaved for 400 years, after which their oppressors will be judged and punished. For a man who does not yet have children, the prospects of these promises may seem farfetched, but the presence of the sun surrounding the revelation (15:12,17), which is perhaps a metaphor to Avram’s finally experiencing the “light” and “clarity” of his position with God and his future family, serves to strengthen the path Avram will take to see the promise come to fruition.
Many commentaries quote the midrash that the “deep, dark dread” that Avram experienced was a foreshadow of the different exiles his children would experience: Babylonia, Media, Greece and Edom (which most translate as Rome).
While the Midrash certainly makes sense for the time in which it was recorded, the Jewish people have been through many other exiles (expulsions and Holocaust-like events). To say Avram’s “tardemah” alluded to only four exiles is a fine example of Monday-morning-quarterbacking. If Avram’s experience was meant to be a prophesy about the future — beyond the one that is spelled out (the Egyptian exile), then more exiles should be referred to through textual hints and numbers of words.
However one looks at it, Avram’s “tardemah” put him in the mode to receive a unique prophesy about his direct descendants.
Two final comments are worth considering before the message becomes clear.
In defining “tardemah” as the “beginning of sleep,” Netziv (2:21) describes three kinds of “tardemah”s — one of sleep, one of prophesy, and one of marmitah (a kind of animal) — which likely refers to hibernation. In his estimate, the “tardemah” of sleep is lighter than sleep itself, while the “tardemah” of marmitah is deeper than sleep.
Avram’s tardemah was certainly one of prophesy. Which was Adam’s?
Toldot Yitzchak (2:21) says the fact that God put the “tardemah” on Adam is a lesson that a person (specifically a man, though it could be applied in all directions), should exhibit a sort of “out of consciousness” in his home — don’t be so strict, exhibit patience, a controlled temper, look the other way when things do not go according to “Daddy’s Master Plan.”
On the one hand, Adam’s “tardemah” may have been a hibernation — a medically induced coma, general anesthesia. On the other other hand, Adam’s “tardemah” may have been the first variety – the closest thing to sleep. Complete awareness of what is going on, with the drawback of having no say in the proceedings, all for the benefit of his wife and their relationship.
How will we employ and utilize the “tardemah”s we experience? Will we become more patient? Will we become more tolerant? Will we be receptive to getting the help we need? Will we be willing to hear the message and the word of God?
“Tardemah” is meant to prepare us for the best of the outcomes and the worst of them.
Adam needed a life partner. Avram wanted a child. Both could enhance each one’s life significantly. For Adam, the wife brought about his fall from the Garden of Eden. For Avram, the children would eventually be enslaved for hundreds of years.
There is a positive side to each story — man walked away from the Garden with a real purpose in life. Work hard, take care of your family, and you’ll eventually find your way back to the Garden of Eden.
The slaves would one day be free, their oppressors would be punished, and they would receive a Torah and become the chosen people who have survived every attempt at their destruction until today, while every enemy of every previous generation has been defeated and no longer exists.
Even if the “tardemah” seems like a bad thing at the time, 20-20 hindsight helps us see what the future really held for these two men.
Let us hope and pray that the “tardemah”s we experience in our lives can be seen through the hindsight-glasses as we experience redemption from the unconscious states, and see how the Master Plan continues to work in our favor as we anticipate the Final Redemption — may we merit to see it speedily in our days.
Parshat Lekh Lekha
The word “Tardemah” — an unconscious state — appears only twice in the Torah: Bereishit 2:21 — when Chava is created from Adam, and 15:12, when Avram experiences the prophesy of the “Brit Bein Ha’b’tarim” — the Covenant Between the Pieces.
Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan’s translations in “The Living Torah” render the two experiences, respectively, “a deep state of unconsciousness” accompanied by sleep, and a “trance under which [Avram] was stricken by a deep dark dread.”
Adam’s sleep comes about after he has named every animal and has come to the realization that he has no partner opposite him. The most common interpretation, surprisingly, is that the original Adam was a Siamese-twin-like creature which contained both Adam and Chava in one body — which is why “he” could not find “her” — they were one and the same. As such, when God put Adam to sleep, it was for the purpose of separating him into two entities, and to close the flesh at the point of separation. (The “rib” interpretation has its sources — but it is by far the less preferred explanation of the creation of woman in rabbinic sources.)
In this sense, Targum Yonatan calls it a “deep sleep,” Sforno explains the purpose of the “tardemah” as a preventative to any anxiety or pain, like a general anesthesia for surgery.
Avram’s “tardemah” follows his conversation with God, and his preparation of the animals for the covenant. “The sun was setting, Avram fell into a trance, and he was stricken by a deep dark dread.” (15:12) As the sun’s position is described, Avram falls asleep. In contrast, God put “tardemah” on Adam.
In this state, Avram experiences prophesy that his descendants will be enslaved for 400 years, after which their oppressors will be judged and punished. For a man who does not yet have children, the prospects of these promises may seem farfetched, but the presence of the sun surrounding the revelation (15:12,17), which is perhaps a metaphor to Avram’s finally experiencing the “light” and “clarity” of his position with God and his future family, serves to strengthen the path Avram will take to see the promise come to fruition.
Many commentaries quote the midrash that the “deep, dark dread” that Avram experienced was a foreshadow of the different exiles his children would experience: Babylonia, Media, Greece and Edom (which most translate as Rome).
While the Midrash certainly makes sense for the time in which it was recorded, the Jewish people have been through many other exiles (expulsions and Holocaust-like events). To say Avram’s “tardemah” alluded to only four exiles is a fine example of Monday-morning-quarterbacking. If Avram’s experience was meant to be a prophesy about the future — beyond the one that is spelled out (the Egyptian exile), then more exiles should be referred to through textual hints and numbers of words.
However one looks at it, Avram’s “tardemah” put him in the mode to receive a unique prophesy about his direct descendants.
Two final comments are worth considering before the message becomes clear.
In defining “tardemah” as the “beginning of sleep,” Netziv (2:21) describes three kinds of “tardemah”s — one of sleep, one of prophesy, and one of marmitah (a kind of animal) — which likely refers to hibernation. In his estimate, the “tardemah” of sleep is lighter than sleep itself, while the “tardemah” of marmitah is deeper than sleep.
Avram’s tardemah was certainly one of prophesy. Which was Adam’s?
Toldot Yitzchak (2:21) says the fact that God put the “tardemah” on Adam is a lesson that a person (specifically a man, though it could be applied in all directions), should exhibit a sort of “out of consciousness” in his home — don’t be so strict, exhibit patience, a controlled temper, look the other way when things do not go according to “Daddy’s Master Plan.”
On the one hand, Adam’s “tardemah” may have been a hibernation — a medically induced coma, general anesthesia. On the other other hand, Adam’s “tardemah” may have been the first variety – the closest thing to sleep. Complete awareness of what is going on, with the drawback of having no say in the proceedings, all for the benefit of his wife and their relationship.
How will we employ and utilize the “tardemah”s we experience? Will we become more patient? Will we become more tolerant? Will we be receptive to getting the help we need? Will we be willing to hear the message and the word of God?
“Tardemah” is meant to prepare us for the best of the outcomes and the worst of them.
Adam needed a life partner. Avram wanted a child. Both could enhance each one’s life significantly. For Adam, the wife brought about his fall from the Garden of Eden. For Avram, the children would eventually be enslaved for hundreds of years.
There is a positive side to each story — man walked away from the Garden with a real purpose in life. Work hard, take care of your family, and you’ll eventually find your way back to the Garden of Eden.
The slaves would one day be free, their oppressors would be punished, and they would receive a Torah and become the chosen people who have survived every attempt at their destruction until today, while every enemy of every previous generation has been defeated and no longer exists.
Even if the “tardemah” seems like a bad thing at the time, 20-20 hindsight helps us see what the future really held for these two men.
Let us hope and pray that the “tardemah”s we experience in our lives can be seen through the hindsight-glasses as we experience redemption from the unconscious states, and see how the Master Plan continues to work in our favor as we anticipate the Final Redemption — may we merit to see it speedily in our days.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Maximizing Our Time
Parshat Bereishit (and a little about Noach)
From Adam until Noach, only two individuals do not reach the lofty age of 900 or its vicinity (Mahallel lived to 895). They are Hanokh and Lemekh (Noach’s father) who lived to 365 and 777, respectively. (5:23, 31) In a strange coincidence, the letters in both verses depicting their numbers of years have the same gematria (numerical value): 3022.
Is this really a coincidence?
The midrash goes into much detail about Hanokh’s short(er) life, but there are conflicting reports. Some say he was a great leader, devout, who became very close to God. Based on these accounts, one might be able to call him the first great Teshuvah leader. Other approaches, however, put Hanokh in a negative light — either that he was bad, or, as Rashi puts it, since he was about to become bad, God plucked him at the right moment.
Lemekh, on the other hand, is not viewed in quite the same manner. Rashbam begins his comment on 5:31 asking, “why do we need to count the years of the wicked?” While his answer focuses on the need to understand the passage of years from creation until the building of Solomon’s Temple, he first raises evilness in the context of speaking of Lemekh.
This may not be a proof in either direction of Lemekh’s integrity, but Lemekh stands out in another way as well. In 5:29, when his first son is born, the Torah tells us that Lemekh named his son Noach, on account of the need he felt for a new child to “bring us relief from our work and the anguish of our hands, from the soil that God has cursed.”
The language is similar to that employed by God when punishing Man for eating from the Tree of Knowledge (3:17) “The ground will therefore be cursed because of you. You will derive food from it with anguish all the days of your life.”
What is the connection between Man’s fall from the Garden of Eden and the birth of Noach? Is Hanokh connected to any labyrinth that ties together the souls of ancestors and descendants over a thousand years?
When one looks at the generations from Adam to Noach, we find that only three of the men listed in the Torah died before Noach was born — Adam, his son Shet, and Hanokh. Shet is described in 5:3 as being “just like Adam,” so, for our purposes we will just group them in the same category. After the death of Adam, Noach is the next link in the chain to be born. Perhaps Noach’s father felt there was comfort in the curse against Adam ending with his death, and that his (Lemekh’s) new son would carry evidence of the new freedom in his name.
Let us make no mistake: the Torah makes it easy to remember how long Hanokh and Lemekh lived; the number of days in the solar calendar and a repeated digit number (triple-7) respectively. And it is not just because in their own ways each fell out of the routine and the rote of the long generations, producing children and becoming noticeably different.
Whether Hanokh was good, bad, or about to turn bad, his years remind us of the cycle of the solar calendar. Every day of the year we are all confronted with opportunities to make decisions — some more important and some less. Each of us has the potential to make good choices, bad choices, or to get help before we actually make a bad choice. Perhaps Hanokh’s death at this age is meant to remind us to think of the precious value of each and every day. Relative to the people of the times he lived in, Hanokh lived a short life. But what did he accomplish through utilizing every day to its maximum potential? Think about the Arizal, Rabbi Nachman of Breslov and, more recently, Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan — men who all accomplished so much but returned to their Maker much sooner than their followers were ready to part with them.
When we think of Lemekh’s years, we see the number seven, we may even think of Rabbenu B’chayei who suggests Noach’s name should have been Menachem (following the grammer of Lemekh’s logic in naming the boy).This leads us to think about Shabbos, and resting, and comforting.
If Noach’s birth was a comfort for the sins of man, then Lemekh, who noticed this and made a permanent mark on the world by specifically giving his son a name that commemorated man’s journey from sin to eventual comfort, is a person we want to remember as well. Being different, even through naming one’s child, can be a cause célèbre, a reason to be remembered. Did it really matter if he lived 777 or 900-plus years? Not at all. What’s a hundred years when you’re living for 700?
But if your death reminds people that not everything is about sweat and hard labor, that there is a day of Shabbos, that there is a child whose name means “rest” even though it’s supposed to mean “comfort,” you leave behind a legacy of real value, of real importance.
I think Hanokh and Lemekh are singled out and united — by dint of their verses of equal numerical value — because of what their legacy is meant to teach us. Either through the way they lived or the way they died, we learn that we have opportunities every day to make good choices and become better people, as we are reminded that our lives revolve around the Shabbos, a day of recuperation, rest, relaxation, comfort, and drawing closer to God.
From Adam until Noach, only two individuals do not reach the lofty age of 900 or its vicinity (Mahallel lived to 895). They are Hanokh and Lemekh (Noach’s father) who lived to 365 and 777, respectively. (5:23, 31) In a strange coincidence, the letters in both verses depicting their numbers of years have the same gematria (numerical value): 3022.
Is this really a coincidence?
The midrash goes into much detail about Hanokh’s short(er) life, but there are conflicting reports. Some say he was a great leader, devout, who became very close to God. Based on these accounts, one might be able to call him the first great Teshuvah leader. Other approaches, however, put Hanokh in a negative light — either that he was bad, or, as Rashi puts it, since he was about to become bad, God plucked him at the right moment.
Lemekh, on the other hand, is not viewed in quite the same manner. Rashbam begins his comment on 5:31 asking, “why do we need to count the years of the wicked?” While his answer focuses on the need to understand the passage of years from creation until the building of Solomon’s Temple, he first raises evilness in the context of speaking of Lemekh.
This may not be a proof in either direction of Lemekh’s integrity, but Lemekh stands out in another way as well. In 5:29, when his first son is born, the Torah tells us that Lemekh named his son Noach, on account of the need he felt for a new child to “bring us relief from our work and the anguish of our hands, from the soil that God has cursed.”
The language is similar to that employed by God when punishing Man for eating from the Tree of Knowledge (3:17) “The ground will therefore be cursed because of you. You will derive food from it with anguish all the days of your life.”
What is the connection between Man’s fall from the Garden of Eden and the birth of Noach? Is Hanokh connected to any labyrinth that ties together the souls of ancestors and descendants over a thousand years?
When one looks at the generations from Adam to Noach, we find that only three of the men listed in the Torah died before Noach was born — Adam, his son Shet, and Hanokh. Shet is described in 5:3 as being “just like Adam,” so, for our purposes we will just group them in the same category. After the death of Adam, Noach is the next link in the chain to be born. Perhaps Noach’s father felt there was comfort in the curse against Adam ending with his death, and that his (Lemekh’s) new son would carry evidence of the new freedom in his name.
Let us make no mistake: the Torah makes it easy to remember how long Hanokh and Lemekh lived; the number of days in the solar calendar and a repeated digit number (triple-7) respectively. And it is not just because in their own ways each fell out of the routine and the rote of the long generations, producing children and becoming noticeably different.
Whether Hanokh was good, bad, or about to turn bad, his years remind us of the cycle of the solar calendar. Every day of the year we are all confronted with opportunities to make decisions — some more important and some less. Each of us has the potential to make good choices, bad choices, or to get help before we actually make a bad choice. Perhaps Hanokh’s death at this age is meant to remind us to think of the precious value of each and every day. Relative to the people of the times he lived in, Hanokh lived a short life. But what did he accomplish through utilizing every day to its maximum potential? Think about the Arizal, Rabbi Nachman of Breslov and, more recently, Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan — men who all accomplished so much but returned to their Maker much sooner than their followers were ready to part with them.
When we think of Lemekh’s years, we see the number seven, we may even think of Rabbenu B’chayei who suggests Noach’s name should have been Menachem (following the grammer of Lemekh’s logic in naming the boy).This leads us to think about Shabbos, and resting, and comforting.
If Noach’s birth was a comfort for the sins of man, then Lemekh, who noticed this and made a permanent mark on the world by specifically giving his son a name that commemorated man’s journey from sin to eventual comfort, is a person we want to remember as well. Being different, even through naming one’s child, can be a cause célèbre, a reason to be remembered. Did it really matter if he lived 777 or 900-plus years? Not at all. What’s a hundred years when you’re living for 700?
But if your death reminds people that not everything is about sweat and hard labor, that there is a day of Shabbos, that there is a child whose name means “rest” even though it’s supposed to mean “comfort,” you leave behind a legacy of real value, of real importance.
I think Hanokh and Lemekh are singled out and united — by dint of their verses of equal numerical value — because of what their legacy is meant to teach us. Either through the way they lived or the way they died, we learn that we have opportunities every day to make good choices and become better people, as we are reminded that our lives revolve around the Shabbos, a day of recuperation, rest, relaxation, comfort, and drawing closer to God.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
"Sukkot" or "No Sukkot" - That is the Question
This can also be seen in the Jewish Star
Judgment and Rejoicing
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In Vayikra 23:34, Parshat Emor, the Torah tells us that “on the 15th of the seventh month, we will celebrate the festival of Sukkot for seven days.” In Bamidbar 29:12, Parshat Pinchas, the Torah tells us that, “on the 15th day of the seventh month you’ll have a sacred holiday when no mundane work may be done. You shall celebrate a festival to G-d for seven days.” In Parshat Pinchas, the Torah’s discussion of the holidays focuses on the korbanot (sacrificial offerings) that are unique to each holiday. It also is the source for our Maftirs throughout the chag.
Why is the holiday referred to as “the festival of Sukkot” in one place, and only as a “festival” in a different place with the holiday name of “Sukkot” being left out?
The Netziv explains that the difference between the two Torah portions is the context in which the festival appears and the surrounding imagery of the festival. In essence, there is much symbolism invoked in the context of the description of the holiday in Parshat Emor (Vayikra), where an individual’s offerings are mentioned, along with the obligation to take the Four Species. The symbolic goal of the Four Species is to inspire us so we will ultimately be deserving of rain.
The Talmud (Rosh Hashana 16b) tells us that it is during the holiday of Sukkot that the world is judged for water. This judgment is reminiscent of the judgment of Rosh Hashanah, when the books of life and death are open before G-d and our lives hang in the balance.
Thus we are left to compare the times when Rosh Hashanah and Sukkot are mentioned together. We may begin with the verse “Tik’oo bachodesh shofar ba’kesseh l’yom cha’geinu“ — “Sound the shofar on the New Moon, on the appointed time for the day of our festival” (Tehillim 81:4).
While the day of the New Moon clearly refers to Rosh Hashanah, which takes place on the first of Tishrei, every indication is that the festival referred to is the holiday of Sukkot. Rosh Hashanah, after all, is never called a “chag” (festival) in the Torah.
The unanswered question is what does the word “bakesseh” mean? One approach suggests that it comes from the word “kissui” which means “to cover.” “Sound the Shofar on the New Moon to cover the festival” would be the unclear meaning of the verse. More likely, “bakesseh” means “in preparation” for the coming festival. In simple terms, when you sound the shofar on Rosh Hashanah, the day when people are judged, it sets the stage for the days when the world is judged for water, which in turn predicts the sustenance of the entire world.
In a different series of verses in which both Rosh Hashanah and Sukkot are mentioned, the prophet Hosea says, “They will not bring wine-libations of wine to G-d, their sacrifices will not be pleasing to Him. For them it will be like the bread of mourners: whoever eats it becomes impure. Let their food be for themselves, it should not come into the house of G-d. What will you do on the appointed day and on the day of G-d’s festival?” (Hoshea 9:4-5) In other words, now that the offerings are not being accepted, what will you do at the appointed day, meaning for Rosh Hashanah? Here too, G-d’s festival (Chag Hashem) refers to Sukkot.
Simply put, Rosh Hashanah is mentioned along with Sukkot when Rosh Hashanah acts as an introduction to Sukkot and plays a role in making Sukkot a memorable experience for the Jewish people. In Parshat Pinchas, however, the holiday is mentioned in the context of the 70 offerings which are brought as a tribute to the 70 nations of the world (Talmud Bavli Sukkah 55b). Since their success is not dependent on the behavior of the Jewish people on Rosh Hashanah, the names of the holidays need not be mentioned.
Perhaps the question is better than the answer. But there is a deeper lesson we can apply here as well. Rosh Hashanah may or not be connected to the way Sukkot plays out in terms of how the world is judged water-wise. But the holiday of Sukkot certainly fits into the category of “being what we make it.” In our times one can make the argument that the offerings of the holiday of Sukkot no more serve the nations of the world than they do us. After all, we don’t bring them because there is no Beit Hamikdash.
But when we celebrate the holiday for ourselves, we have the option to inject the extra “simcha” (joy) that comes Biblically mandated with the holiday, or reject it. We can seek out the celebrations, or we can sit at home every night and pass chol hamoed as if it is just another weeknight.
Will we cash in on the success of Rosh Hashanah for Sukkot? Or will we let it ride itself slowly out the door until Cheshvan shuts the door of Tishrei forever, accepting our fate as it is?
The stakes are too high. We need to rejoice, we need to see how the name of the holiday of Sukkot is forever connected to Rosh Hashanah.
Judgment and Rejoicing
by Rabbi Avi Billet
In Vayikra 23:34, Parshat Emor, the Torah tells us that “on the 15th of the seventh month, we will celebrate the festival of Sukkot for seven days.” In Bamidbar 29:12, Parshat Pinchas, the Torah tells us that, “on the 15th day of the seventh month you’ll have a sacred holiday when no mundane work may be done. You shall celebrate a festival to G-d for seven days.” In Parshat Pinchas, the Torah’s discussion of the holidays focuses on the korbanot (sacrificial offerings) that are unique to each holiday. It also is the source for our Maftirs throughout the chag.
Why is the holiday referred to as “the festival of Sukkot” in one place, and only as a “festival” in a different place with the holiday name of “Sukkot” being left out?
The Netziv explains that the difference between the two Torah portions is the context in which the festival appears and the surrounding imagery of the festival. In essence, there is much symbolism invoked in the context of the description of the holiday in Parshat Emor (Vayikra), where an individual’s offerings are mentioned, along with the obligation to take the Four Species. The symbolic goal of the Four Species is to inspire us so we will ultimately be deserving of rain.
The Talmud (Rosh Hashana 16b) tells us that it is during the holiday of Sukkot that the world is judged for water. This judgment is reminiscent of the judgment of Rosh Hashanah, when the books of life and death are open before G-d and our lives hang in the balance.
Thus we are left to compare the times when Rosh Hashanah and Sukkot are mentioned together. We may begin with the verse “Tik’oo bachodesh shofar ba’kesseh l’yom cha’geinu“ — “Sound the shofar on the New Moon, on the appointed time for the day of our festival” (Tehillim 81:4).
While the day of the New Moon clearly refers to Rosh Hashanah, which takes place on the first of Tishrei, every indication is that the festival referred to is the holiday of Sukkot. Rosh Hashanah, after all, is never called a “chag” (festival) in the Torah.
The unanswered question is what does the word “bakesseh” mean? One approach suggests that it comes from the word “kissui” which means “to cover.” “Sound the Shofar on the New Moon to cover the festival” would be the unclear meaning of the verse. More likely, “bakesseh” means “in preparation” for the coming festival. In simple terms, when you sound the shofar on Rosh Hashanah, the day when people are judged, it sets the stage for the days when the world is judged for water, which in turn predicts the sustenance of the entire world.
In a different series of verses in which both Rosh Hashanah and Sukkot are mentioned, the prophet Hosea says, “They will not bring wine-libations of wine to G-d, their sacrifices will not be pleasing to Him. For them it will be like the bread of mourners: whoever eats it becomes impure. Let their food be for themselves, it should not come into the house of G-d. What will you do on the appointed day and on the day of G-d’s festival?” (Hoshea 9:4-5) In other words, now that the offerings are not being accepted, what will you do at the appointed day, meaning for Rosh Hashanah? Here too, G-d’s festival (Chag Hashem) refers to Sukkot.
Simply put, Rosh Hashanah is mentioned along with Sukkot when Rosh Hashanah acts as an introduction to Sukkot and plays a role in making Sukkot a memorable experience for the Jewish people. In Parshat Pinchas, however, the holiday is mentioned in the context of the 70 offerings which are brought as a tribute to the 70 nations of the world (Talmud Bavli Sukkah 55b). Since their success is not dependent on the behavior of the Jewish people on Rosh Hashanah, the names of the holidays need not be mentioned.
Perhaps the question is better than the answer. But there is a deeper lesson we can apply here as well. Rosh Hashanah may or not be connected to the way Sukkot plays out in terms of how the world is judged water-wise. But the holiday of Sukkot certainly fits into the category of “being what we make it.” In our times one can make the argument that the offerings of the holiday of Sukkot no more serve the nations of the world than they do us. After all, we don’t bring them because there is no Beit Hamikdash.
But when we celebrate the holiday for ourselves, we have the option to inject the extra “simcha” (joy) that comes Biblically mandated with the holiday, or reject it. We can seek out the celebrations, or we can sit at home every night and pass chol hamoed as if it is just another weeknight.
Will we cash in on the success of Rosh Hashanah for Sukkot? Or will we let it ride itself slowly out the door until Cheshvan shuts the door of Tishrei forever, accepting our fate as it is?
The stakes are too high. We need to rejoice, we need to see how the name of the holiday of Sukkot is forever connected to Rosh Hashanah.
Friday, September 17, 2010
A Yom Kippur Retrospective
Mesirat Nefesh for the Sake of God
by Rabbi Avi Billet
A very experienced rabbi once told me that for the Neilah period, the last chapter of Yom Kippur – the final prayer, the setting sun, the last grab at the straw of life for the coming year – it is important to focus the attention of the mitpal’lim (those who are praying) in a direction that may help answer the questions we might not necessarily speak about on the holy day: were my prayers answered? Will my commitments to change work? Will G-d accept my teshuvah? How will I know what I need to do to actualize the things I’ve prayed for and personally committed to do in this coming year?
I heard this idea from Rabbi Avner Kavas, a renowned speaker in Israel.
There is a gemara which was made famous by Yossi Green, who put it to music, and Avraham Fried, who recorded it and sung it around the world. On Brachot 7a, the Talmud records “Rabbi Yishmael ben Elisha (the High Priest) said, ‘Once when I entered the holy of holies to burn the k’toret (on Yom Kippur), I saw Akasriel – G-d sitting on His lofty throne. He said to me, 'Yishmael, my son. Bless me!' I said to him, 'May it be Your will that your mercy should overcome Your anger, and your mercy should overcome all of your attributes as you practice mercy towards your children…' And he responded to me with [a nod of] His head.'”
Can you imagine G-d saying to a human being – “Bless Me?” Is there anyone who would not want to give birth to a child who, one day, will be asked by G-d to bless Him? How does one merit to be blessed with such a child?
There are midrashic accounts of Rabbi Yishmael’s parents – Otzar Midrashim (Niddah, page 400), and in the Or Zarua (Volume One, Alpha Beta, on letters zayin and chet). Elisha, Yishmael’s father, was very careful to go to the mikvah regularly. Originally, however, every child born to Elisha and his wife did not survive. His wife asked him, “Why do all these other righteous people have children, and we do not even have one?” He answered, “Because they and their wives are very careful about going to the mikvah – they observe it with their lives on the line.” She said, “We too will observe this as if our lives depend on it.” They accepted upon themselves to do so.
Let us take a pause and remember that the mikvahs in those days were not like the heated, filtered, beautiful mikvahs we have today. They were either murky and gross, or it was a natural spring, river or lake that was very cold. In some cases in history, particularly in Europe, Jewish women would have to break the ice in order to do their requisite monthly dunking. Men who went daily had similar trials, except in the morning rather than at night.
Returning to our tale: Once when Elisha's wife went to the mikvah, after she emerged she encountered a pig - a ritually impure animal. So she went again. Upon emerging, she encountered a metzora (a person afflicted with the spiritual ailment called "tzara'at"), so she went again. 40 (it may be an exaggeration, but nonetheless a large number of) times she went through this ritual until G-d told the angel Gavriel to descend and stand before this righteous woman who had been through enough; she will become pregnant tonight with a boy who will become Yishmael Kohen Gadol.
When she emerged, instead of an impure encounter, she came across the angel Gavriel, who appeared to her in an image that looked like her husband - a welcome change from all the impure encounters she had experienced. After she returned home, she became pregnant and eventually gave birth to a son who was blessed with the true countenance of the angel Gavriel - like every mother's dream to have her son look like an angel.
In the laws of Tevillah (dunking in the mikvah), a woman who sees something which is tameh (ritually impure) does not need to go back to the mikvah after she has immersed. Given the state of the mikvah in those days, each return to the mikvah was almost like putting her life in the hands of G-d.
But she went back, perhaps 40 times, to do the mitzvah right.
This is what we call mesirat nefesh — being able to do something right, even though it is difficult. To have the fortitude to say, “I am going to sacrifice myself for the sake of G-d.”
In the case of Elisha and his wife, they merited a son who was asked by G-d to bless Him.
If we commit to literally be mosair nefesh, to sacrifice of ourselves in body and spirit, for the sake of G-d, what kinds of merits will we have coming to us? Maybe the answer to this question is the answer to our original questions: Were my prayers answered? Will my commitments to change work? Will G-d accept my teshuvah? How will I know what I need to do to actualize the things I’ve prayed for and personally committed to do in this coming year?
If we are willing to sacrifice our hearts and souls for G-d, we’ll be moving in the proper direction. How do we achieve that?
The answer to this question can only be provided by each individual about his or her self.
Let us contemplate this thought during Neilah, to inspire ourselves for the coming year.
by Rabbi Avi Billet
A very experienced rabbi once told me that for the Neilah period, the last chapter of Yom Kippur – the final prayer, the setting sun, the last grab at the straw of life for the coming year – it is important to focus the attention of the mitpal’lim (those who are praying) in a direction that may help answer the questions we might not necessarily speak about on the holy day: were my prayers answered? Will my commitments to change work? Will G-d accept my teshuvah? How will I know what I need to do to actualize the things I’ve prayed for and personally committed to do in this coming year?
I heard this idea from Rabbi Avner Kavas, a renowned speaker in Israel.
There is a gemara which was made famous by Yossi Green, who put it to music, and Avraham Fried, who recorded it and sung it around the world. On Brachot 7a, the Talmud records “Rabbi Yishmael ben Elisha (the High Priest) said, ‘Once when I entered the holy of holies to burn the k’toret (on Yom Kippur), I saw Akasriel – G-d sitting on His lofty throne. He said to me, 'Yishmael, my son. Bless me!' I said to him, 'May it be Your will that your mercy should overcome Your anger, and your mercy should overcome all of your attributes as you practice mercy towards your children…' And he responded to me with [a nod of] His head.'”
Can you imagine G-d saying to a human being – “Bless Me?” Is there anyone who would not want to give birth to a child who, one day, will be asked by G-d to bless Him? How does one merit to be blessed with such a child?
There are midrashic accounts of Rabbi Yishmael’s parents – Otzar Midrashim (Niddah, page 400), and in the Or Zarua (Volume One, Alpha Beta, on letters zayin and chet). Elisha, Yishmael’s father, was very careful to go to the mikvah regularly. Originally, however, every child born to Elisha and his wife did not survive. His wife asked him, “Why do all these other righteous people have children, and we do not even have one?” He answered, “Because they and their wives are very careful about going to the mikvah – they observe it with their lives on the line.” She said, “We too will observe this as if our lives depend on it.” They accepted upon themselves to do so.
Let us take a pause and remember that the mikvahs in those days were not like the heated, filtered, beautiful mikvahs we have today. They were either murky and gross, or it was a natural spring, river or lake that was very cold. In some cases in history, particularly in Europe, Jewish women would have to break the ice in order to do their requisite monthly dunking. Men who went daily had similar trials, except in the morning rather than at night.
Returning to our tale: Once when Elisha's wife went to the mikvah, after she emerged she encountered a pig - a ritually impure animal. So she went again. Upon emerging, she encountered a metzora (a person afflicted with the spiritual ailment called "tzara'at"), so she went again. 40 (it may be an exaggeration, but nonetheless a large number of) times she went through this ritual until G-d told the angel Gavriel to descend and stand before this righteous woman who had been through enough; she will become pregnant tonight with a boy who will become Yishmael Kohen Gadol.
When she emerged, instead of an impure encounter, she came across the angel Gavriel, who appeared to her in an image that looked like her husband - a welcome change from all the impure encounters she had experienced. After she returned home, she became pregnant and eventually gave birth to a son who was blessed with the true countenance of the angel Gavriel - like every mother's dream to have her son look like an angel.
In the laws of Tevillah (dunking in the mikvah), a woman who sees something which is tameh (ritually impure) does not need to go back to the mikvah after she has immersed. Given the state of the mikvah in those days, each return to the mikvah was almost like putting her life in the hands of G-d.
But she went back, perhaps 40 times, to do the mitzvah right.
This is what we call mesirat nefesh — being able to do something right, even though it is difficult. To have the fortitude to say, “I am going to sacrifice myself for the sake of G-d.”
In the case of Elisha and his wife, they merited a son who was asked by G-d to bless Him.
If we commit to literally be mosair nefesh, to sacrifice of ourselves in body and spirit, for the sake of G-d, what kinds of merits will we have coming to us? Maybe the answer to this question is the answer to our original questions: Were my prayers answered? Will my commitments to change work? Will G-d accept my teshuvah? How will I know what I need to do to actualize the things I’ve prayed for and personally committed to do in this coming year?
If we are willing to sacrifice our hearts and souls for G-d, we’ll be moving in the proper direction. How do we achieve that?
The answer to this question can only be provided by each individual about his or her self.
Let us contemplate this thought during Neilah, to inspire ourselves for the coming year.
Yom HaZikaron - Remembering What
This can also be read in the Jewish Star
A Rosh Hashana Message
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Arguably the most enigmatic of the names of Rosh Hashanah is Yom Hazikaron. It is the concluding phrase of most of the blessings unique to the day, and it is also the inserted phrase in Yaaleh V’yavo and kiddush.
What is being remembered and who is remembering?
When one reads through the selichot, particularly those of the Aseret Y’mei Teshuvah, you can’t help notice the constant mention of the Akeidah story, which also is the Torah reading for the second day of Rosh Hashanah, as well as an oft-repeated shout-out to the “Bris Avraham.”
In essence, it seems, the Day of Remembrance is for G-d to recall why He loves us so much. He loves the Jewish people because He loved our forefathers: Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov. He committed to a special relationship with them and their descendants.
The story of the Akeidah, the binding of Yitzchak, is also something we want G-d to recall on this holy day. Recall the ultimate sacrifice of the most devout Jew who ever lived. The Gemara (Sanhedrin 111a) recalls one of G-d’s laments when He is confronted by Moshe. G-d says “How I miss those who are gone but not forgotten!” Translation: Avraham and the other forefathers took my instruction and never complained about anything. With Avraham, the first of the lot, there were no questions asked. Avraham was willing to give up the son he had yearned for his entire life in order to serve G-d.
Yitzchak too underwent tremendous stress in order to achieve his maximum potential. Sacrificing yourself is not easy, but he was ready to do it in deference to what seemed to be G-d’s will. We ask G-d to remember that as well when He considers our fates on this day.
We ask G-d to remember the forefathers, so He will look upon us favorably. When you love someone because you loved their parents first, it is easy to see past their flaws and to recognize that their flaws are not so terrible, because you know from whose stock they emerged.
On a different note, the Gemarah (Brachot 29a) tells us “On Rosh Hashana, Sarah, Rachel and Chana were remembered.” This rounds out the greater picture of the Torah and Haftarah readings of the day. The first day’s Torah reading demonstrates Sarah’s joy over the birth of her son Yitzchak. The first day’s Haftarah reading is the story of Chana. The Haftarah relates how Rachel cried for her children, and how Ephraim, her “chosen” grandson, will be remembered by G-d.
However, the story lines blur when we actually compare the stories. Sarah yearned for a child for many years, and eventually gave Avraham her maid as a spouse so a child could be brought into the family. Rachel brought Bilhah into the relationship with her husband for a similar anticipated outcome.
In a different parallel, Rachel had to sit and watch while her rival wife, her sister Leah, gave birth to child after child. Chana, also the preferred wife in a polygamous marriage, similarly watched her rival wife Peninah give birth to 10 children.
It could not have been easy for Chana or for Rachel. Yet they both took matters into their own hands when they realized their husband would be of no help in their attempts to reach their goal of motherhood, of creating life.
Chana offered the anticipated child to G-d and promised that his hair would never be cut. Rabbi Yaakov Medan points out that Yosef, Rachel’s son, is called a “N’zir echav” (Bereishit 49:26) and may have also been a product of a prayer and a promise to not have his hair cut, for him to be dedicated to G-d.
Whether it is a lesson of how to pray, or a lesson of complete devotion and dedication to G-d and doing His will, on Rosh Hashanah we are meant to learn from these great fathers and mothers of our people. It is not “only” the fathers or “only” the mothers; both men and women play a pivotal role in how this day turns out for themselves and for our collective people as a whole.
Let us pray that this Rosh Hashanah be a successful one for all of us. May the merits of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov, and Sarah, Rachel and Chana stand as a merit for us all. May G-d remember us the way He remembered them, and fulfill our hopes and dreams for the good in this coming new year.
Finally, may He bless and guard over the people of the State of Israel, our brothers and sisters, who need His protection most of all. May He give their leaders keen insight to know what to do to respond to terrorism and to carry the country of the Jewish people into a peaceful safety for the future.
A Rosh Hashana Message
by Rabbi Avi Billet
Arguably the most enigmatic of the names of Rosh Hashanah is Yom Hazikaron. It is the concluding phrase of most of the blessings unique to the day, and it is also the inserted phrase in Yaaleh V’yavo and kiddush.
What is being remembered and who is remembering?
When one reads through the selichot, particularly those of the Aseret Y’mei Teshuvah, you can’t help notice the constant mention of the Akeidah story, which also is the Torah reading for the second day of Rosh Hashanah, as well as an oft-repeated shout-out to the “Bris Avraham.”
In essence, it seems, the Day of Remembrance is for G-d to recall why He loves us so much. He loves the Jewish people because He loved our forefathers: Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov. He committed to a special relationship with them and their descendants.
The story of the Akeidah, the binding of Yitzchak, is also something we want G-d to recall on this holy day. Recall the ultimate sacrifice of the most devout Jew who ever lived. The Gemara (Sanhedrin 111a) recalls one of G-d’s laments when He is confronted by Moshe. G-d says “How I miss those who are gone but not forgotten!” Translation: Avraham and the other forefathers took my instruction and never complained about anything. With Avraham, the first of the lot, there were no questions asked. Avraham was willing to give up the son he had yearned for his entire life in order to serve G-d.
Yitzchak too underwent tremendous stress in order to achieve his maximum potential. Sacrificing yourself is not easy, but he was ready to do it in deference to what seemed to be G-d’s will. We ask G-d to remember that as well when He considers our fates on this day.
We ask G-d to remember the forefathers, so He will look upon us favorably. When you love someone because you loved their parents first, it is easy to see past their flaws and to recognize that their flaws are not so terrible, because you know from whose stock they emerged.
On a different note, the Gemarah (Brachot 29a) tells us “On Rosh Hashana, Sarah, Rachel and Chana were remembered.” This rounds out the greater picture of the Torah and Haftarah readings of the day. The first day’s Torah reading demonstrates Sarah’s joy over the birth of her son Yitzchak. The first day’s Haftarah reading is the story of Chana. The Haftarah relates how Rachel cried for her children, and how Ephraim, her “chosen” grandson, will be remembered by G-d.
However, the story lines blur when we actually compare the stories. Sarah yearned for a child for many years, and eventually gave Avraham her maid as a spouse so a child could be brought into the family. Rachel brought Bilhah into the relationship with her husband for a similar anticipated outcome.
In a different parallel, Rachel had to sit and watch while her rival wife, her sister Leah, gave birth to child after child. Chana, also the preferred wife in a polygamous marriage, similarly watched her rival wife Peninah give birth to 10 children.
It could not have been easy for Chana or for Rachel. Yet they both took matters into their own hands when they realized their husband would be of no help in their attempts to reach their goal of motherhood, of creating life.
Chana offered the anticipated child to G-d and promised that his hair would never be cut. Rabbi Yaakov Medan points out that Yosef, Rachel’s son, is called a “N’zir echav” (Bereishit 49:26) and may have also been a product of a prayer and a promise to not have his hair cut, for him to be dedicated to G-d.
Whether it is a lesson of how to pray, or a lesson of complete devotion and dedication to G-d and doing His will, on Rosh Hashanah we are meant to learn from these great fathers and mothers of our people. It is not “only” the fathers or “only” the mothers; both men and women play a pivotal role in how this day turns out for themselves and for our collective people as a whole.
Let us pray that this Rosh Hashanah be a successful one for all of us. May the merits of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov, and Sarah, Rachel and Chana stand as a merit for us all. May G-d remember us the way He remembered them, and fulfill our hopes and dreams for the good in this coming new year.
Finally, may He bless and guard over the people of the State of Israel, our brothers and sisters, who need His protection most of all. May He give their leaders keen insight to know what to do to respond to terrorism and to carry the country of the Jewish people into a peaceful safety for the future.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Hypocritical Thinking
This also appears in the Jewish Star
Parshat Nitzavim-Vayelech
Repentance: heart and soul
By Rabbi Avi Billet
This Saturday night, the Ashkenazic communities begin to say Selichot in preparation for Rosh Hashana. Sephardim have been saying them since Rosh Chodesh Elul. I’ll never forget the first night of Selichot in my yeshiva in Israel, when Rav Yehuda Amital, z”l, who passed away less than two months ago, would lead the yeshiva in his unique style of presenting the traditional melodies.
I am sure I was not alone with the eerie sensation I’d feel up my spine as the hairs on the neck would stand up as the collective voice of the students of the yeshiva filled with awe and trepidation as they responded to the kaddish.
It could be that yeshiva students go through the motions really well. And it could be that, as Israelis, the percentage of people who understood every word they were saying shattered the percentages of every group with whom I’d experienced selichot before that.
One could easily be inspired to feel the need to do “teshuvah” – literally to return to G-d as much as possible in the waning hours of the final days of the year leading into Rosh Hashana.
Our parsha speaks of the day when “You will return to G-d… with all your heart and with all your soul.” (30:2) This phrase is reminiscent of the commandment to love G-d with all your heart and soul (Devarim 6:5) as well as other similar commitments to G-d (4:29, 10:12, 26:16, 30:10). The commentaries talk about the greatness of teshuvah (repentance), mostly quoting the Talmud (Yoma 86a-b) which includes a number of qualities of teshuvah: “It brings healing to the world, it reaches the Throne of Glory, forgives violations, brings the redemption close, purposeful sins are judged like accidents (Resh Lakish says they are viewed as merits!), it lengthens a person’s days.”
The most simplistic way of looking at teshuvah is considering there are two ways one can sin: against G-d and against one’s fellow man. Teshuvah, therefore, consists of repairing those relationships and committing to do things that will indicate you are sticking with the promise of the new you.
I call this “hypocritical thinking.” I heard a story that the Gaon of Vilna would pay someone to tell him in what way he needs to improve. Who would otherwise criticize the Vilna Gaon?
Recognizing that we all need reminders now and then, and acknowledging that I am guilty of a number of these myself, here are a few questions for consideration, offered free of charge.
Are we careful to wash, but forget to bentch?
Are we careful to make sure there is a mashgiach in a kosher restaurant? And then do we allow ourselves to eat a soup or salad in a non-kosher restaurant – where there is surely no mashgiach?
Do we admonish others who say lashon hara about us? But don’t admonish ourselves when we participate in similar conversations about others?
Do we raise our eyebrows at those who come late to shul, but don’t back it up with coming on time ourselves?
Do we facilitate growth in learning and spirituality – giving our spouses the chance to attend the classes they want to or need to attend?
Do we spend our spare time catching up on missed TV shows? Do we spend any spare time catching up on Torah study (parsha, daf yomi, halakha learning)?
Do we send our kids to yeshiva, complaining about tuition, and then make $50,000 bar mitzvah bashes, or six figure weddings?
Do we scream about modesty and the need to dress a certain way, and then forget about the same rules when they’re inconvenient for us? (The story of the woman with the bikini and the tichel on Miami Beach during Pesach vacation always struck me as ironic.)
Do we use the computer for learning and for business, but also for…?
Do we set aside time for learning once a week? Do we set aside time for poker once a week? Do we learn and play poker together within the same hour and a half? (Perhaps there are merits. On the other hand, maybe Talmud and poker are contradictory to one another.)
A thought for all the roshei yeshiva and rabbis – can we learn to say things that are permitted and to teach the “way we do things” as opposed to focusing on all the things that are “assur,” prohibited?
Do we judge people favorably, giving them the benefit of the doubt? Or do we focus on their negative qualities and make all kinds of assumptions about them?
Do we honor and respect our children as much as we expect them to honor and respect us?
Living a purely honorable existence is near-impossible. Never doing anything wrong is impossible. But we ought to give it the best shot we can. As human beings, we are capable of more; we are capable of being better. We are capable of living to the beat of a more consistent drum.
Let us take these thoughts to mind and heart, and commit to doing teshuva, with all our heart and with all our soul.
Parshat Nitzavim-Vayelech
Repentance: heart and soul
By Rabbi Avi Billet
This Saturday night, the Ashkenazic communities begin to say Selichot in preparation for Rosh Hashana. Sephardim have been saying them since Rosh Chodesh Elul. I’ll never forget the first night of Selichot in my yeshiva in Israel, when Rav Yehuda Amital, z”l, who passed away less than two months ago, would lead the yeshiva in his unique style of presenting the traditional melodies.
I am sure I was not alone with the eerie sensation I’d feel up my spine as the hairs on the neck would stand up as the collective voice of the students of the yeshiva filled with awe and trepidation as they responded to the kaddish.
It could be that yeshiva students go through the motions really well. And it could be that, as Israelis, the percentage of people who understood every word they were saying shattered the percentages of every group with whom I’d experienced selichot before that.
One could easily be inspired to feel the need to do “teshuvah” – literally to return to G-d as much as possible in the waning hours of the final days of the year leading into Rosh Hashana.
Our parsha speaks of the day when “You will return to G-d… with all your heart and with all your soul.” (30:2) This phrase is reminiscent of the commandment to love G-d with all your heart and soul (Devarim 6:5) as well as other similar commitments to G-d (4:29, 10:12, 26:16, 30:10). The commentaries talk about the greatness of teshuvah (repentance), mostly quoting the Talmud (Yoma 86a-b) which includes a number of qualities of teshuvah: “It brings healing to the world, it reaches the Throne of Glory, forgives violations, brings the redemption close, purposeful sins are judged like accidents (Resh Lakish says they are viewed as merits!), it lengthens a person’s days.”
The most simplistic way of looking at teshuvah is considering there are two ways one can sin: against G-d and against one’s fellow man. Teshuvah, therefore, consists of repairing those relationships and committing to do things that will indicate you are sticking with the promise of the new you.
I call this “hypocritical thinking.” I heard a story that the Gaon of Vilna would pay someone to tell him in what way he needs to improve. Who would otherwise criticize the Vilna Gaon?
Recognizing that we all need reminders now and then, and acknowledging that I am guilty of a number of these myself, here are a few questions for consideration, offered free of charge.
Are we careful to wash, but forget to bentch?
Are we careful to make sure there is a mashgiach in a kosher restaurant? And then do we allow ourselves to eat a soup or salad in a non-kosher restaurant – where there is surely no mashgiach?
Do we admonish others who say lashon hara about us? But don’t admonish ourselves when we participate in similar conversations about others?
Do we raise our eyebrows at those who come late to shul, but don’t back it up with coming on time ourselves?
Do we facilitate growth in learning and spirituality – giving our spouses the chance to attend the classes they want to or need to attend?
Do we spend our spare time catching up on missed TV shows? Do we spend any spare time catching up on Torah study (parsha, daf yomi, halakha learning)?
Do we send our kids to yeshiva, complaining about tuition, and then make $50,000 bar mitzvah bashes, or six figure weddings?
Do we scream about modesty and the need to dress a certain way, and then forget about the same rules when they’re inconvenient for us? (The story of the woman with the bikini and the tichel on Miami Beach during Pesach vacation always struck me as ironic.)
Do we use the computer for learning and for business, but also for…?
Do we set aside time for learning once a week? Do we set aside time for poker once a week? Do we learn and play poker together within the same hour and a half? (Perhaps there are merits. On the other hand, maybe Talmud and poker are contradictory to one another.)
A thought for all the roshei yeshiva and rabbis – can we learn to say things that are permitted and to teach the “way we do things” as opposed to focusing on all the things that are “assur,” prohibited?
Do we judge people favorably, giving them the benefit of the doubt? Or do we focus on their negative qualities and make all kinds of assumptions about them?
Do we honor and respect our children as much as we expect them to honor and respect us?
Living a purely honorable existence is near-impossible. Never doing anything wrong is impossible. But we ought to give it the best shot we can. As human beings, we are capable of more; we are capable of being better. We are capable of living to the beat of a more consistent drum.
Let us take these thoughts to mind and heart, and commit to doing teshuva, with all our heart and with all our soul.
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