Parshat Korach

Korach's main complaint against Moshe was that there should not be a single leader for the nation, "For all the congregation are holy." (Bamidbar 16; 3). He was against what he saw as a dictatorial theocracy, and instead claimed to be advocating equality for all. This, however, was only a pretext for his true motivation, which was to become the new leader of the nation. This is why he accepted Moshe's challenge that he and all those who joined his rebellion should bring an incense offering, and let G-d choose who the leader should be. Despite his claims of equality, Korach personified the famous line from ‘Animal Farm’ that "all animals are equal, but some are more equal than others".

Not only Korach, but all those who followed him also openly espoused equality, but in reality were aiming for personal political power. This is why the Mishna (Ethics of the Fathers 5; 17) states: "What is an example of an argument that is not for the sake of heaven? The argument of Korach and his congregation." Were his followers supporting Korach, the Mishna should have said the argument of Korach and Moshe. We see from here that there was more fighting between Korach and his followers than between them and Moshe, and this is because they each wanted to be in charge.

Maor VaShemesh explains the Talmud (Nedarim 39b) based on this idea. "When Korach confronted Moshe, the sun and the moon went before G-d and said, 'Master of the Universe, if you do justice for the son of Amram (Moshe) we will continue to shine. But if not we will cease to shine'". Maor VaShemesh asks why the sun and moon were particularly involved in this argument? He bases his answer on the Talmud (Chullin 60b) which relates that originally G-d created the sun and the moon both the same size, as the verse states "G-d made the two great luminaries" (Bereishis 1; 16). However the moon complained to G-d that two kings cannot both rule equally. Therefore G-d told the moon to make itself smaller, as the verse continues, "the big light and the small light". We see from here that G-d agreed fundamentally with the moon's claim that there can only be one ruler. Therefore, when Korach tried to claim that everyone was equal, and there was no need for a single ruler, both the sun and moon objected.

The Torah contains a story which deals with the inherent risks of having two equal leaders. Cain and Abel were originally the only two sons of Adam and Eve. The Torah states: "And Cain said to Abel his brother" (ibid. 4; 8). The Midrash (Bereishis Rabba 22; 7) explains that Cain's pretext for killing Abel was making a pact with him. Cain was to take the entire earth as his inheritance, and Abel was to have all the chattel. Cain would claim that the ground on which Abel was standing belonged to him, and Abel claimed that Cain's clothes belonged to him. Abel told Cain to remove his clothes, and Cain told Abel to fly in the air. Eventually Cain resolved the argument by killing his brother.

Korach hadn't learnt the lesson that it is not possible for two leaders to divide their kingdom. He continued to uphold the argument of Cain that everyone should have equal rights to govern. Therefore Moshe's challenge to Korach was the same as that of Cain and Abel. Just as they brought offerings to G-d, so too Moshe told Korach and his congregation to each bring an offering, and in that manner let G-d decide who should be the rightful leader. Moshe's prayer was "Do not turn to their gift offering", which is clearly a reminder of the earlier verse "G-d turned to Abel and his offering, but to Cain and to his offering He did not turn".

Rav Yonasan Eibeschitz in his book Tiferes Yonasan takes this idea to the point where he writes that Korach's soul was actually a reincarnation of the soul of Cain, and Moshe was a reincarnation of Abel. At this point in history the record is set straight, that ultimately righteousness, and serving G-d with a pure heart and good intentions, will triumph over might and egotistical power lust.

Parshat Nasso

Take a census of the sons of Gershon, as well, ..." (verse 22). Many commentators have asked about the seeming redundancy of the words "as well". Rav Moshe Feinstein explains that family of Gershon were charged with carrying the curtains and covers of the Mishkan, the external protective items. This is in contrast to their younger brothers, the family of Kehat, who were responsible for the actual utensils of the Mishkan. The Torah adds in the words "as well" to teach us that though their tasks are different from each other, and one seems more prestigious, both families and their respective functions are equally important.

The portion ends with the sacrifices of the twelve princes in the dedication service for the Mishkan. The Torah, which is normally so concise with words, repeats the details of the sacrifices for each tribe, though they are identical. Rabbeinu Bachaya (7; 84) explains that though each offering appears to us to be the same as the others, each of the leaders had totally different intentions in their gift. For example Yehuda, who was the tribe of kings, brought a silver plate, which symbolises the entire world over which Kings David and Solomon would rule. The tribe of Yissachar brought an identical plate, but to symbolise Torah, which was their domain, and which is likened to bread (Proverbs 9; 5). Zevulun, a tribe known for their seafaring trade, brought an identical plate to show their sphere of influence. And similarly for all the other tribes. We see from here that though each tribe had different abilities and skills, and though they were given individual tasks within the nation, they all brought the same sacrifice because they are all equally important.

One other main section of this portion is the laws of a Nazir. A person may decide, for various reasons, to take on a higher level of holiness in their lives. In order to do this the Torah forbids a Nazir from drinking wine, cutting his or her hair, and coming into contact with a corpse. The spiritual elevation of becoming a Nazir is incompatible with these activities. However, at the end of the duration of Nazirut (usually thirty days), the Nazir must bring a sin offering to the Temple. On the one hand, the Midrash Bamidbar Rabba 10; 28) says: "Since this person forbids himself from drinking wine and causes anguish to himself in order to keep away from sin [it is as if] G-d says, 'He is considered before me as a Cohen Gadol'". Contrasting this the Talmud (Nedarim 10a) says: "This person has only forbidden himself from wine [etc.] and is called a sinner (because he must bring a sin offering at the end of his time as a Nazir)". Though the Nazir strives for holiness, and in one aspect reaches the level of the high priest, because one's own personal task, which was to partake of the good things that G-d has put in the world, has not been fulfilled, that person is considered a sinner.

Following the laws of the Nazir, G-d commands Moshe to instruct the Cohanim with the text of the Priestly Blessing (verses 22-27). The Cohanim are to act as the conduits for G-d's blessing, both in the Temple and in the Synagogue. The ending of the blessings is 'Shalom', 'Peace', as the Sifra says, without peace any other blessings are worthless. The blessings are in the singular, showing that the path to peace is for each individual to play their role in the nation, and in so doing to bring out their own personal strengths. The ideal is not for everybody to be identical, but for everyone to fulfil their own unique potential within the nation.

The prerequisite for a person to be able to fulfil their role as part of the Jewish people is to recognise their importance as an individual. Without self-esteem a person will lack the strength and ability to play their part. This is the literal meaning of the name of the Parsha, Naso. In context it means to take a census, but it can also be translated as "elevate the head". Through defining the task of each person within the nation, a result of the census, each person gains self esteem and importance. Though their task may not be as prestigious as that of another, each individual plays an equally vital role in the well-being of the nation.

Parshat Behar

Behar

This week’s Torah reading contains the commandment of Sh’mita, allowing the land to lie fallow in the seventh year. The Midrash (Yalkut Tehillim 103) says about this mitzvah, “Bless the L-rd, you angels of His, you mighty ones who perform His bidding, hearkening to the voice of His word” (Tehillim 103; 20). Rav Yitzchak Nafcha says that this refers to those who observe the Sh’mita laws. The normal course of the world is for a person to perform a mitzvah for a day, or a week, or even a month; is it possible to keep something for a whole year? Yet these farmers watch their fields become destroyed, and their vineyards ruined, and they remain silent.

A person can refrain from something for a single day, with extra strength of character they can continue for a week or a month, but to remain observant of this law of Sh’mitafor an entire year, slowly watching years of hard work falling into ruin and seeing other people come in and treat the field as ownerless, is almost beyond the capability of a normal person. All of a person’s resolve and determination to observe this law is worn down day by day. Therefore the Midrash refers to such people as “angels, the mighty ones”.

The Talmud (Shabbat 88a) learns out from the same verse in Tehillim the greatness of the Jewish nation as they received the Torah. “At the moment that the Jews said ‘We will do’ before ‘We will understand’ a voice came out of heaven saying ‘Who revealed to My children this secret that the angels use, as the verse says, “… You mighty ones who perform His bidding, hearkening to the voice of His word”. First they obey, and then they understand. This ability to accept G-d’s will unquestioningly, and only afterwards to attempt to understand it, is the secret of the Jews’ strength as a nation. It is the phrase that they used at Mount Sinai, the phrase that the angels use, and it is also the only way that the nation can observe the commandment of Sh’mita. The people don’t ask how they will be able to eat in the seventh year; they first observe the commandment, and then have faith and trust that G-d will provide for them.

We see that this commandment is almost beyond human capability to perform, being in the realm of the angelic. However, in the second of today’s readings the Torah describes a severe punishment for not keeping the mitzvah of Sh’mita. “Then the land will be appeased for its Sh’mitot during all the years of its desolation, while you are the land of your enemies. Then the land will rest, and it will appease for all its Sh’mitot” (Leviticus XXVI; 34). The Talmud derives from here that exile results from Israel’s failure to observe Sh’mita. Because of the seventy Sh’mitot that they had violated prior to and during the First Temple period, the Babylonian exile lasted for seventy years, during which time the land made up for the rest of which it had been deprived.

This shows the tremendous spiritual level of which the Jewish nation is capable of achieving. G-d demands that we achieve the status of angels, otherwise we are severely punished with exile and suffering. Being a nation like all other nations is not an option for the Jews; there is no middle ground. Either we reach almost inhuman spiritual heights, and receive the blessings detailed in Bechokosai, or we fail and incur the punishments and curses listed there.

Parshat Acharei Mos 2

There is a movie called “Sliding Doors” which shows how differently things could have turned out if the doors on a tube in London had closed a few seconds later. The movie simultaneously shows what the woman’s life could have been like had she arrived home a few minutes earlier, and what happened when she arrived on time. We find a similar concept in the beginning of the Torah reading, which details the order of service in the Temple on Yom Kippur. Two identical goats are taken; they must be the same age, the same size, the same colour, and have the same value. Yet we are given a glimpse of the two totally different outcomes that can happen. One of the goats is offered as a sacrifice on the altar, and is the only sacrifice to have its blood brought into the holy area of the Heichal, the other goat is sent out into the desert, and is pushed off a cliff, being smashed to pieces before it reaches the bottom. The imagery and contrast is striking.

Similarly, two seemingly identical people can end up with such totally different fates, based on which decisions they make in life. Not only two people, but as in “Sliding Doors”, a single person can have two radically different options in life. Sometimes a single decision can change a person’s life from one extreme to the other. This is the message for all those who were in the Temple courtyard on Yom Kippur to witness the service. They could see the importance of repentance, because the stakes were so high; on the one hand entering into the holiest place and a relationship with G-d, and on the other being cast out of the Temple into a barren desert to die.

Yet the way in which this decision is made by the Kohen Gadol seems as random as in the movie, when everything hinges on when the doors on the tube close. The Kohen Gadol reaches into a box with two lots in it, and snatches out two pieces of wood, one saying “To G-d”, the other “To Azazel”. How are we to exercise our free choice, if the decision between eternal life and death hinge on the luck of the draw?

Had the Kohen Gadolbeen the one to decide which of the goats was for G-d, and which for Azazel, we would never have seen that both of these goats had the potential to become holy or the opposite. We would have said that it had already been predetermined that the one on the right would be sacrificed on the altar. However, now that the decision is made through the casting of lots, it appears to us as though G-d has made the decision. Each of the goats had the same abilities and potential. Since animals do not have free choice, they are unable to choose for themselves what their outcome will be. Because G-d chooses through the lottery, He gives us the analogy that we must exercise our free choice to maximise our potential. By seeing what happens to the two goats, we see that there are extreme consequences for our actions.

Parshat Acharei Mos

There is an inherent contradiction in the way that G-d relates to the world. We describe Him in the “Thirteen attributes” and elsewhere as a G-d of mercy and forgiveness. After the sin of the Golden Calf G-d explained to Moshe the concept and process of repentance and revoking any harsh decree. Yet at the same time we state that G-d is just and truthful, punishing the wicked and rewarding the righteous. Surely these two attributes are in conflict - if G-d is prepared to forgive and overlook punishment, how is that meting out justice or being fair. On the other hand, if G-d were not merciful, the world would stand no chance of survival. From the very creation of mankind we have gone against the Divine will and only survived instant death because of His forgiveness and acceptance of repentance.

Atonement and forgiveness are central to this week’s Torah reading, dealing primarily with the laws and service of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Miraculously, through confessing our sins and by slaughtering some sacrifices, we are given a blank slate to begin again. Whatever happened to Divine justice - does each sin not need to be punished before atonement can be given?

The answer is that from our perspective, bound by the constraints of time, we cannot conceive of justice which is also forgiveness. G-d, however, is beyond any temporal constraints and perceives all of history as one instant. By introducing the dimension of time we can reconcile the apparent contradiction. Something which appears wrong in the present, can actually turn out to be the catalyst or preparation for the future. If a person resolves to repent and channel their energies back to serving G-d, then all those late nights spent watching television could turn out to be a preparation for all the late nights spent performing Mitzvoth. The mental arithmetic involved in keeping track of the football scores may be the same skills needed to fully grasp a page of Torah. Conversely, instead of punishing a sin severely at the moment it took place, that same justice can be meted out a little at a time, through several minor hardships in order to give that person another chance to make amends.

This is also shown in Judaism’s focus on process, the journey through time, rather than on results, which are momentary. The Omer, the days between Pesach and Shavuot are counted not as an end in and of themselves but showing us the importance of the process of spiritual growth. Each day only has meaning in relation to the days that came before it and those that follow.
All of this is encapsulated in a single word in this week’s Torah reading. The Kohen Gadol (High Priest) casts lots over two identical goats. One is offered as a sacrifice to G-d, its blood sprinkled opposite the Holy of Holies, while the other symbolically bears all of the sins of the Jewish nation and is lead out into the desert where it is sent over the edge of a cliff and dies. The Torah states “Aaron shall press both his hands on the live goat’s head, and he shall confess on it all the Israelite's sins, rebellious acts and inadvertent misdeeds. When he has thus placed them on the goat’s head he shall send it to the desert with an Ish Iti.” (Vayikra 16; 20-21). Ish Iti is translated (based on Rashi’s commentary) as “a specially prepared man”, but means literally “a man of the moment”. The sending of the goat comes to remind us of the concept of forgiveness and the importance of time. It is taken away by a man who is related in the text to a single moment in time. If we were to look only at the moment, we would have no possibility of repentance or pleading for repentance. We would be as the goat, thrown of the cliff to certain death. Only because of the future are we able to turn to G-d and ask Him to give us one more chance.

This is also the metaphor of the desert. The barren desolate wilderness is not only devoid of life, but is also a place where time stands still. The Halacha discusses the case of one who is lost in the desert and loses track of which day of the week it is, thereby not knowing when to observe Shabbat. This is because time is meaningless when confronted with an unending horizon of nothingness. Similarly the fledgling Jewish nation had to spend forty years in the desert after leaving Egypt. The total journey should have only taken three days, but time had to stand still in order to rid them of their Egyptian slave mentality.

By sending the goat into this desert at the hand of a “man of the moment” we show our commitment to a real and meaningful future, and accept the importance of process over time rather than the results of an instant.

Parshat Metzorah

In a case of Tzora’at of a house, the owner of the house must come to the Kohen and say “It appears to me as if there is something like a plague in the house” (Vayikra 14; 35). Rashi explains that he must not state definitively that it is Tzora’at even if he is learned and can recognise the discoloration for what it is, because that is the perogative of the Kohen. Furthermore, the Torah tells the Kohen to instruct the owner of the house to empty it of all its contents before he enters to look at the discoloration. This is so that if the discoloration is Tzora’at the contents of the house will not become Tamei. This clearly indicates that the declaration of the Kohen actually renders the house Tamei, and makes the discoloration into Tzora’at. He is not simply diagnosing, but actually creating Tzora’at.

To further highlight the Kohen’s role in defining Tzora’at, the Mishna (Negaim chap. 3, mishna 2) states that there are certain people who the Kohen should refuse to see if they have a discoloration on their skin which they think may be Tzora’at. For example, the Kohenmust not inspect a bride or groom before their wedding, but wait until after the first week of marriage in order that they should not have to spend the first week of their married life dwelling apart. In other words, despite all outward appearances to the contrary, a person does not become a Metzora until the Kohen has verbally declared him to be one.

Why should G-d choose to create a Tumah (impurity) that is contingent upon another person’s declaration? Does this not make a mockery of the whole thing? Will a Metzora not always seek a “second opinion”?

Following on from last week’s d'var Torah, we can explain the reason for the disease being dependent upon the words of the Kohen. We said (based upon the Talmud and other sources) that the main cause of Tzora’at is not physical, but rather as a result of a person speaking lashon hara (slander) about others. Tzora’at is a physical symptom of a spiritual disorder. Therefore it is appropriate that part of the disease should be dependent on the words of another.

Lashon Hara is usually not spoken maliciously, but rather because people simply do not pay attention to what the are saying. They don't realise the damage they can cause, and if they are rebuked by others their response is often “It is only words”, or in the words of the children’s rhyme “Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me”. This is a fallacy - words and names can do tremendous damage to others. Only when a possible Metzorah is dependent upon the words that the Kohen says does he or she realise the true importance of what they say, and how far reaching and damaging their speech can be. A person can lose his or her house, or be sent into isolation outside the city limits based on a few simple words. This alone should give them pause for thought, and cause them to think carefully before they speak.

The Talmud (Arachin 16b) states :
Rabbi Yochanan said in the name of Rabbi Yose ben Zimra, what is the meaning of the verse “What can He give you, and what can He add to you, O deceitful tongue?” (Tehillim 120; 2). G-d said to the tongue “All the limbs are upright, and you are lying horizontally. All the limbs are external, and you are internal, and not only that, but I have surrounded you with two walls, one of bone (teeth) and one of flesh (lips)”. What can He give you and what can He add to you, O deceitful tongue?.
Despite the fact that it is caged in, many people are still unable to control their tongue. To make matters worse, most of the time we gain no benefit from the lashon hara which we speak, and yet we persist:

Reish Lakish said what is the meaning of the verse “If the snake bites because it was not charmed, then what advantage is gained by the one who uses his tongue?” (Ecclesiastes X; 11). At some point in the future all the animals will gather together, come to the snake and say “The lion kills in order to eat, the wolf tears others apart in order to eat, but you - what benefit do you gain?” The snake will reply “Tell me - what benefit is gained by the one who uses his tongue (to speak lashon hara)?

How much damage can we cause without any gain from not paying attention to what we say? And how fortunate were the generations who were able to realise the importance of what they said by having Tzora’at as a reminder, and opportunity to make amends?

Parshat Tazria 1

Click on the link for a fantastic dvar Torah that I translated from Pri Tzadik Tazria

Here is a dvar Torah I wrote a few years ago (and in that year Tazria fell out after Pesach)

Last week's Torah reading ended with the laws of ritual purity and impurity caused by animals. This week continues with the laws about human purity and impurity. The Midrash notes that the order is the same as that of creation, where humans came after other life already existed:

"You [G-d] have created me after and before, and have laid Your hand upon me." (Tehillim 139; 4). Reish Lakish said, "After" refers to the last day of creation, "Before" refers to the first day. [where the verse hints to the human soul with the words], "The spirit of the L-rd hovered over the face of the water". If a person merits they say to them, 'You were created before everything else in existence', but if not they say to them, 'A mosquito was created before you'. Rabbi Simlai said, 'Just as humans were created after animals and birds, so too the laws [of purity] of people follow those of animals and birds'.

Reish Lakish's cryptic statement can be understood by recognising that a person is made up of two opposites, a spiritual soul and a physical body. These two are in constant conflict, each pursuing its own desires. The soul yearns for the spiritual delights of drawing close to G-d through performing mitzvot and studying Torah. The body wants physical pleasures, chasing after money, food and physical comforts. In certain areas of our lives the soul has control, in others the body. The point of intersection between the two is where we have free choice to follow either path.

Reish Lakish explains that though the physical body was not created until the end of the sixth day of creation, the soul was present from the first. Therefore if a person follows their spiritual urges seeking to draw closer to G-d, they are defined by their soul and to them it may be said, 'You were created before anything else...'. However, if a person's decisions are made by the body and its physical desires, the soul is less discernible, and therefore they are reminded that their body was created after even the insects.

The higher the spiritual potential of something, the greater is the risk of spiritual impurity. Minerals have no soul, and therefore do not impart impurity. The vegetable kingdom has a lowly form of soul, which allows growth and movement. Animals have a higher soul, which permits thought and instinct. Humans have the highest level of soul, which is described in Jewish literature as the level of speech.

The source of impurity is the body, which leads the soul away from G-d. A newborn baby is full of potential, but this is only realised over time as it is governed less by bodily urges and needs. Therefore birth, which is the completion of the physical body imparts impurity.

It is appropriate that we read this portion so soon after Pesach, the time of the birth of the nation. Similarly the counting of the Omer, of which we are in the midst, ties in with the concept of 'Before' and 'After'. The Jews in Egypt had reached the lowest level of spiritual impurity, to the point that had they remained there even a moment longer they would have lost their spirituality completely, and thus been unable to leave. Yet after counting seven weeks they had reached the level of spiritual perfection where they could experience the revelation of G-d at Mount Sinai. In a sense this self-perfection is the inverse of G-d's creation. G-d first created the soul, and then placed it within the body which draws it away from its true purpose. The Israelite nation elevated their physical bodies to the heights of spiritual perfection.

Each year we are able to relive this growth through the counting of the Omer. The Torah commands us to count from the "day after Shabbat", which refers to the first day of Pesach. Shabbat is both the beginning of the coming week, and the end of the previous week. It is the 'Seventh day' and yet within it we find the spiritual sustenance to get us through the next week. By calling Pesach 'Shabbat' the Torah is telling us that Pesach was both the starting point from which to grow to spiritual heights, and the goal for which we aimed. The Jews were involved in physical labour that gave them no opportunity for spiritual growth. Yet they witnessed G-d's hand in Egypt, the direct revelation that they were to experience again at Mount Sinai. They entire nation was as a newborn baby, full of as yet unrealised potential, redeemed by G-d in the merit of the spiritual heights that they would reach in the future.

Just as the nation experienced spiritual growth during these weeks, we can use this same time period for our own individual growth, in preparation for our personal acceptance of the Torah at Shavuot. We count each day and week to chart the incremental spiritual growth, leading to the fulfillment of our potential.

Parshat Tazria 2

The main topic of this week’s Torah reading is tzara’at, which is often mistranslated as leprosy. The belief that leprosy is a biblical Divine punishment has become so widespread that I was once speaking to a group of nurses, and was asked if Judaism allows treatment of lepers, or if we must leave it as a sign of G-d’s will. A careful reading of the text clearly shows that the plague of tzara’athas no connection with leprosy.

Firstly, though the Torah does mention a case of a person who is completely covered from head to toe with tzara’at (who is actually considered tahor - ritually pure), the more common case of tzara’at is limited to a small patch of skin or hair. Furthermore, after describing tzara’at which may afflict a person, the Torah goes on to describe tzara’at of clothing, and tzara’at which affects buildings. No one has yet diagnosed a case of leprosy of a house. Finally the Torah explicitly gives permission, and in fact mandates going to a doctor and searching for a cure for an illness, in the cases of tzara’at mentioned in the Torah portion, the afflicted person must go to a Kohen for diagnoses and for treatment.

The only common feature of leprosy and tzara’at is that the Torah commands one who is afflicted with tzara’at to be exiled alone outside the town in which he or she lives. This is similar to the quarantine of lepers which existed in earlier times, and even today in some parts of the world. But the reason for the isolation in the case of tzara’at is not because of fear of the disease spreading.

As the physical world reflects the spiritual world. Tzara’at is a physical expression of a spiritual malady. This is the reason that the healing process must be through a Kohen not a doctor, and why it involves immersing in a Mikva and bringing a sacrifice.

The disease of tzara’at is not contagious, but the sin which causes it is. The main cause of tzara’at is speaking lashon hara about another person. Lashon Harais often translated as slander. In fact it is the sin of embarrassing someone else by publicising certain information about them that they would not wish for others to know, even if that information is 100% true. This is one of the most serious crimes mentioned in the Torah, comparable to the crime of murder or idol worship. It destroys society and can cause untold suffering and loss, both financial and in terms of status.

Someone who has caused this much damage to society must be made to realise the consequences of his or her actions. In biblical times a person was given gradual warnings, signs giving them a chance to improve their behaviour. First their house was afflicted with leprosy. If this did not motivate them to change their ways their clothing was affected. If they still were unable to learn their lesson they themselves contracted tzara’at. The Torah commands that someone who has this tzara’at must dwell alone outside the camp. This is a punishment which is appropriate to the crime. This person had caused a breakdown in society, therefore they were temporarily removed from society and forced to dwell alone. They were given a week to think about their actions and to repent, and if that failed they were given a second week, until they repented from their lifestyle of lashon hara.

Why do we no longer have this disease nowadays? Surely we are no better than the Jews of former times who were punished with tzara’at? The answer is that if only one or two people are speaking lashon hara, they can be effectively punished, and given a chance to think about the damage they have caused. When the whole of Western society is predicated on the concept of free speech and freedom of the press, regardless of the pain and damage that causes, it is impossible to have tzara’at as an effective punishment. Especially in the current lead up to the elections, when the future of this country is going to be decided by how effective the lashon harais! One could argue that the public have the right to know issues are important to the way someone would or could run Britain, but surely we do not need to know about every bit of sleaze that can be dredged up about anyone in the public eye?

Nowadays our lifestyles are so imbued with speaking and listening to lashon hara that we don’t even pay attention to what we are saying most of the time. How many people are careful about what they say, and how many times are we afraid of who might be listening over our shoulder? This week’s Torah reading gives us an annual reminder to be as careful about what comes out of our mouths as we are about what we put into them.

Parshas Shmini

The opening events in the portion take place on the eighth and final day of the setting up of the Mishkan (Tabernacle), hence the name of the portion, Shemini (Eighth). The Mishkan resembled a giant tent, comprised of many parts that were fitted together, and it was designed to be assembled and taken apart for each of the journeys through the desert. As part of the inauguration process, Moshe was instructed by G-d to set up the Mishkan each morning for seven days, and dismantle it again each evening. The eighth and final day, when the Mishkan was finally erected and not dismantled, is the eighth day of our portion.

Elsewhere in the Torah however, the date given for the inaugural day of the Mishkan is the first of Nissan. The Midrash states that the first of Nissan of that year was ‘crowned’ with ten ‘firsts’. Why is this day of ‘firsts’ described to us now as the eighth day rather than the first day? And why did G-d require Moshe to spend the seven preceding days assembling and dismantling the Mishkan? Surely setting it up once should have been sufficient.

In fact, Rabbeinu Bachaya points out that the number eight was a dominant theme in the Mishkan and its utensils. The High Priest wore eight garments when performing the services, there were eight spices in the anointing oil and incense, and there were a total of eight carrying poles (two each in the Aron, the golden altar, the table and the earthen altar). The minimum age for an animal that could be sacrificed was eight days, and the Levites had eight different musical instruments to accompany the sacrifices.

What does the number eight represent? In the song that we sing at the conclusion of the Pesach Seder we state that eight are the days before the Brit (circumcision). This means that the deeper meaning of eight is contained within the concept of circumcision.

The commandment of circumcision was given by G-d to Avraham at the time that his name was changed from Avram (Genesis 17). The change of name signified that only now had he reached his full spiritual potential. It was also at this time that G-d told Avraham that he would have a son, Yitzchak, who would continue in his traditions of monotheism. Thus with the act of circumcision Avraham became spiritually complete. Before Avraham was circumcised he was unable to stand in the presence of G-d (Rashi ibid. 17; 3).

There is a blessing which women recite every morning, which men are unable to say. They thank G-d “She’Asani Kirtzono” who has created me according to His will. Men are formed spiritually imperfect, and only through circumcision do they conform to the Divine will.

The number seven always represents the natural, physical world. There were seven days of creation, and seven days in a week. There are seven colours in the spectrum, and seven notes in an octave. Seven symbolises the totality of the physical. There are also seven continents and seven heavens. Eight is the number of spiritual perfection. It denotes mastery not only over the physical realms, but also over the spiritual domain.

It is now clear why G-d commanded Moshe to set up the Mishkan for seven days, and only consecrate it on the eighth day. This was to show the world that its function was to complete the universe spiritually, and perfect the material world.

Parshas Tzav 2

The second verse of our Torah portion states: “Command Aharon and his sons … It is the elevation offering that stays on the flame, on the altar....” In the Torah scroll the Hebrew word for flame, Mokda is written with a small letter mem in the beginning. Why is this letter smaller than the others? The first task of the day in the Temple was to remove a shovelful of ashes from the altar and place them at the side of the ramp at the base of the altar (verse 3). Miraculously these ashes would be absorbed into the ground. This was not in order to keep the altar clean, or to prevent a build up of ashes, because the next verse states a separate command to remove the excess ashes outside the confines of the Temple, and to place them in an ash heap there. What purpose is served in symbolically removing the ashes each morning, and why was it necessary for a daily miracle to absorb them into the ground? Furthermore, why is Aharon mentioned at the beginning of this portion (“Speak to Aharon and his sons...”)? Surely such a menial task as cleaning out the altar from its ashes would
be better given to a younger Cohen, and should not be the domain of the High Priest.

One of the main Yeshivot in pre-war Europe was in Kelm. It was famed not only for the level of scholarship and Torah study, but also for its character training, and emphasis on mussar. Rav Eliyahu Dessler, founder of Gateshead Yeshiva, studied there as a young boy. He writes that in the Yeshiva, menial tasks such as cleaning the floor or cleaning and lighting the lamps were never entrusted to servants; they were considered privileges, to be apportioned amongst the better students according to merit. Rabbi Dessler related that when he first came to Kelm he was considered too young to be given the much coveted task of sweeping the Yeshiva floor. His task was to go once a week to the post office to buy postage stamps for the whole Yeshiva. This philosophy that the menial tasks should be given to the betterstudents derives from our portion, that Aharon should be the one to clean out the burnt ashes from the altar.

Traditionally the world is composed of four elements, water, wind, fire and earth. The Vilna Gaon (Even Shleima 1;1) explains that these four also represent the four main character defects in a person. Water represents physical desires, wind is speech, fire is anger and pride, and earth is laziness. Just as fire always strives upwards, so too pride will cause a person to continually strive to elevate themselves, until they finally topple over. Fire also consumes every flammable thing in its path. Similarly a conceited person will tread on anyone beneath them in order to climb higher on the ladder. However, the gains made in such a fashion are illusory. The Talmud (Eruvin 13b) states, “Anyone who chases after greatness, greatness flees from him.”

Unfortunately, the greater a person is, the greater the temptation to become proud, and conceited. With the other three defects, a person can improve themselves by striving for perfection. However with pride, this is the cause of the sin, not the solution. Therefore a person in an important position needs to take drastic measures to prevent themselves falling into the trap of pride. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 7b) relates that when Rav would se a crowd escorting him to the court where he judged, he would recite the following verse to himself “Though his excellency shall mount up to the heavens, and his head reach the clouds, yet he shall perish for ever like his own dung” (Iyov 20; 6-7).

This is the reason that the Torah prefers that the cleaning of the altar be done by the High Priest. Because of his exalted position it is only too easy for him to succumb to the dangers of pride. Therefore the first action that he should perform each morning is to remove the ashes from the altar. To do so he must remove his fine garments, and change into plain clothes, so that his finery not become soiled. If all the other Cohanim see that the High Priest acts thus, they too will remember their place, and not become haughty. This is the symbolism inherent in the ashes sinking into the ground; the priests need this miraculous reminder that even the sacrifices on the altar eventually sink into the ground, and that they should not consider themselves important. This is also the reason for the small mem in the Torah. When it comes to fire, the metaphorical image of pride, one must make oneself small in order to escape its dangers.

Parshas Tzav

Though they both speak about korbanot, sacrifices, there is a sharp distinction between last week’s Torah reading, Vayikra, and this week’s Tzav. Rashi explains that the word Vayikra is a term of endearment, as evidenced by the fact that the angels use it when they begin their praises of G-d, as it says “Vayikra Ze El Ze”, “They called one to another” (Yishayah 6: 3. We also recite the phrase daily in the Kedushaprayer, imitating the angels’ praise of G-d). On the other hand, “Tzav” means “command”, and carries with it connotations of inducing and encouraging someone to perform an action that they are not keen to do.

The portion of Vayikra contains instructions to the Jewish people as to how to bring the sacrifices. The Hebrew word “Korban” is closely related to the word “Kiruv”, “closeness”. This is because the purpose of any sacrifice is to draw close to G-d. The two main types of sacrifice are those which are brought to attain atonement for an inadvertent sin, and a voluntary offering thanking and recognising the good that G-d has performed for us. Both of these bring us closer to G-d. Atonement breaks down the barriers of sin with which we have surrounded ourselves, strengthening our relationship with our Creator. Voluntary offerings are our way of showing our total dependence upon G-d, and that He is the source of all our success and prosperity.

Rav Dessler explains that the way to foster love towards someone is to give to them. The classic proof of this is our children. When they are born they are total takers, incapable of returning even a smile by way of thanks. But this enables the parents to give totally to their children, and thus foster a close bond of love. Stories of children separated from their parents show that the relationship is weakened if the parents have not had the opportunity to give and to look after their children. Similarly, G-d in His mercy commanded us to bring sacrifices to Him. Though by definition He lacks nothing, through the sacrifices He gave us an opportunity to ‘give’ to Him as a means of fostering love and closeness.
Therefore G-d calls to Moshe, and instructs him to tell the people about sacrifices using a term of endearment. The concept and purpose of sacrifices can only be achieved through a desire to draw close and express affection.

The portion of Tzav however contains primarily instructions for the Cohanim as to how they should perform the sacrifices. They do not gain personally from offering the sacrifices. In fact they lose their own identity. The Talmud explains that Cohanim perform a dual function, they are emissaries of G-d when they bless the people, and they are messengers of the people when they offer the sacrifices. They are merely performing actions on behalf of others, but do not benefit personally from the sacrifices which they offer.

Therefore G-d instructs Moshe to “command” them about the sacrifices. Rashi adds, “Rabbi Shimon says, the Torah especially needs words of encouragement where there is a monetary loss involved”. At first glance this seems backwards; the Cohanim are not losing out financially by offering the sacrifices. It would have seemed more appropriate to place this command at the beginning of Vayikra before commanding the people to spend their money buying animals for sacrifices. But having looked deeper, we can see that any amount of money is worth paying in order to bring a sacrifice. Who can put a price on drawing close to G-d, and who would not willingly pay whatever that costs. On the other hand, the Cohanim are merely acting on behalf of another. They do not gain anything personally from their hard work, but spend all day working for others. It does not cost them directly, but they are not gaining from their time spent working. It must be tempting for them to give up their role as priests and go out to get a paying job like everyone else. Therefore G-d needs to give them an extra push of encouragement by using the word “Tzav” to get them to perform their tasks.

Parshas Vayikra 2

This week we begin a new book of the Chumash, Vayikra. The book is predominantly about the sacrificial rites of the Temple and Tabernacle so the English name seems more appropriate than the Hebrew. Leviticus indicates that the book deals with the work of the Levites (priests). How is the Hebrew name of Vayikra apt for this section?

The book begins, “He called (Vayikra) to Moshe, and G-d spoke to him from the tent of meeting, saying...”. Rashi’s opening comment on this portion is: Each time G-d spoke to Moshe, told him something, or commanded him, He first called to him. This is a word denoting love and closeness, as we find with the ministering angels, “They call one to another...” (Yishaya 6; 3). However, when G-d speaks to non-Jewish prophets He appears to them ‘incidentally’, as the Torah states, “The L-rd happened (Vayikar) upon Bilam”.

Since G-d called first to Moshe before every prophecy, why did Rashi not make this comment until now? And what difference does it make if G-d calls first before speaking to a prophet, or just appears to them? We would have expected the message of the prophecy to be important, but not necessarily whether G-d first gives the prophet a warning or not. Ohr Gedaliyahu (Vayikra) explains that when G-d called to Moshe it was as if He was saying ‘Prepare yourself to come near to Me’. This is what Rashi means by calling Vayikra a term of closeness, that it gave Moshe an opportunity to prepare himself and draw near to G-d. The Midrash (Rabba, Devarim Ki Tavo 7-9) finds a hint to this from the way G-d gave the Torah to Moshe. The verse states “G-d called to Moshe to the top of the mountain - and Moshe elevated himself” (Exodus 19; 20). In a similar vein, when a man comes up to read from the Torah, he must first be ‘called up’.

We see therefore that through calling G-d gives a person an opportunity to prepare themselves to come close to G-d. In this way the Torah that they will receive will not be merely tangential to them, but they will be able to absorb it, to make it part of themselves. This is the opposite of what happened with Bilam. G-d came to him ‘incidentally’, without calling to him first. Though Bilam received a message through prophecy, we see that this fact had no effect on Bilam’s personal conduct. He still remained greedy, cunning, and steadfast in his hatred of the Jews.

The main topic of Vayikra is sacrifices. The Hebrew word for sacrifice is Korban, which comes from the root Karov, meaning closeness. Though the whole concept of sacrifices, and the mechanism through which it works seems very strange and foreign to us now, we can accept the principle that bringing an animal to the Temple is a symbol of giving something to G-d. Particularly nowadays, that prayer has replaced sacrifices, we understand that this gives us a chance to give of ourselves to G-d, and through this draw close to Him.

We believe that G-d lacks nothing, and since He created us we would not have expected that there is anything that we could possibly give to him. However, Rabbi Dessler (Michtav Me’Eliyahu - Kuntrus HaChessed) writes that the only way to truly come to love someone is through giving to them (which is perhaps the opposite of the way we normally view things). If we were not given any opportunity to give to G-d we would also not be able to come to love Him. Therefore in His kindness He commanded us to bring certain sacrifices, and nowadays prayers in their place, to offer to Him. In this way we can elevate ourselves, and come to love G-d. With this understanding we see that the commands about the sacrifices are analogous to G-d’s calling before revealing Himself to a prophet. It gives the opportunity to turn G-d’s unilateral love into a relationship, and enables humans to attach themselves to G-d.

Parshas Vayikra 1

The English (Greek) name for this book of the Bible is Leviticus, which is appropriate because the book is predominantly about the Temple services, and the role of the Levites. In Hebrew, however, the name of both the book, and this first Torah reading is Vayikra, meaning “He called”. This name is taken from the first word, but how is it appropriate to the content of Leviticus?

Rashi’s first comment on this book is: “Each time that G-d spoke to or commanded Moshe, He preceded it by calling to him, which is a form of affection ....”. This is contrasted to the way in which G-d appeared to Bilam, the non-Jewish prophet, with the phrase “Vayikar” (Numbers 23; 4), which means “happened upon”. G-d did not want to enter into the same relationship with Bilam that he had with Moshe, and with later Jewish prophets. Why does the Torah single out this time to tell us that G-d called to Moshe?

Calling someone or something by their name expresses its inner essence. For example, Adam called names to the animals (Genesis 2; 19-20). G-d gave Adam this task because he was able to perceive the true qualities that define each creature. Similarly we find G-d calling names to objects during the days of creation, “G-d called the light day, and the darkness He called night ...” (ibid. 1; 5). If these names were merely a convention to enable reference to objects there would be no need for the Torah to mention that these names are part of the structure of creation. Rather the naming of an object denotes its role in creation. It is for this reason that Rashi explains G-d’s calling to Moshe as a sign of affection. He is defining Moshe’s role as one who can speak to G-d.

How is the book of Leviticus the most appropriate definition of who Moshe and the Jewish nation are? Why does the Torah give us this sign of affection at this point? Rambam writes (Hilchot Me’ila 8; 8), “Mishpatim (laws) are those commandments for which the reason is obvious, and the benefit of observing them is well known, for example the prohibitions on stealing and murder, and honouring parents. Chukim (statutes) are those commandments for which the reason is not known … for example the prohibitions of eating pig, or meat and milk, … and the red heifer. … All the sacrifices are in the category of Chukim.”

Why should we be obligated to keep commandments which make no sense to us? Surely Judaism is a rational religion, yet we are commanded to abide by statutes which are impossible for us to fathom. How can we justify such blind faith? This can be answered with an analogy. There are many things in science which we cannot prove empirically, for example, until very recently certain quarks (sub atomic particles) could not be detected. Even without direct proof, scientists believed that they existed, and were able to describe their properties. This is not blind faith, physicists were convinced of their existence because they were necessary to explain other properties of the universe which had been observed.

So too with the Chukim. Having experienced G-d directly at Mount Sinai the Jews knew that the Torah was Divine, and that it contained the blueprint of the universe. Furthermore, after the Exodus from Egypt it was clear that G-d was working in the Jews’ best interests. Therefore it follows that the laws which He gave are also in our best interests, and even without knowing how or why they work we can accept them as binding. In addition many of the commandments are understandable within a social context, and none of them go against our logic (though many are beyond the grasp of our understanding). So the Chukim demonstrate our conviction of belief even more than those laws which we can understand.

This is why this time G-d began with the word Vayikra. Though He called to Moshe before every encounter, G-d wanted to stress the affection inherent in the sacrifices, as the largest body of Chukim. Observance of these statutes shows our total devotion to G-d, even with regard to laws that we would not have come to make based solely on our logic. Similarly by commanding us with these Chukim G-d shows His affection for us, giving us the keys to the universe that are not accessible to humans through logic alone.

By opening the book with the word Vayikra, G-d also shows that this is the true essence of the Jewish nation. He defines our role in the world as a people who follow G-d’s commands devotedly, even when we are unable to understand them. This explains the reason that the whole book which details the Levitical rites and the sacrifices is known by this name which describes the mutual affection between the Jews and G-d.

Pekudei 2

Each Torah portion takes its name from its first or second sentence. Yet the name also represents the theme or essence of that reading. Pikudei, the name of this week’s Parsha,is translated in this context as reckonings, or accountings, but we find elsewhere in the Torah that the verb Poked also has several other meanings. When Sarah conceives Yitzchak (Isaac) the Torah says “V’Hashem Pakad Es Sarah Ka’asher Amar”, “G-d remembered Sarah as He had said [that He would]” (Genesis 21; 1). The Torah uses the word when Yosef is appointed, first as head of Potiphar’s household, later as head of the jail, and finally when he appoints others to oversee the storing of grain before the famine (ibid. 39; 4. 40; 4. 41; 34). After the sin of the Golden Calf, G-d says “Uv’yom Pokdi Ufakadti Aleihem Chatasam”, “On the day when I grant special providence to the people, I will take this sin of theirs into account” (Exodus 32; 34). Most importantly, the code phrase that Yosef (Joseph) gives to the Jews before his death, the promise that G-d will redeem them from Egypt, is “Pakod Yifkod Elokim Eschem”, “G-d will surely remember you” (Genesis 50; 24). This is the same phrase that G-d tells Moshe to use when he returns from Midian to redeem the Jews, “Pakod Pokadti Eschem” (Exodus 3; 16). Finally, a Pikadon means a deposit for safekeeping (Leviticus 5; 21). How are all of these meanings connected, and what is their relevance to today’s Torah reading?

The common denominator in most of these quotations is that they involve a special providence; G-d changes the normal order of things in order to influence the future history of the Jewish nation. Under normal circumstances a ninety year old post-menopausal woman does not conceive. Yet miraculously G-d intervenes and causes Sarah to conceive, in order that she should have a descendant to continue the work that she and Avraham had begun. Though Yosef is the son of Ya’akov, thus a prince in his own right, the Egyptians think that he is a slave. Therefore his rise to prominence is truly remarkable; G-d is making provisions for the exile in Egypt in order to create a unified nation out of the small family of Ya’akov. When the Jews built the Golden Calf, they deserved to be annihilated for their sin. . Because of Moshe’s prayers, and those of the whole nation, G-d created history and punished them a little at a time. In this way they achieved a complete atonement, without being destroyed. Each calamity that befalls the Jewish nation throughout time contsind within it a part of the original Pekida of the Golden Calf, and therefore clearly shows His intervention in the normal course of history.

Of course, the time when the world most clearly beholds G-d’s changing of the natural order for the sake of the Jews, is the Exodus. All of the plagues, the splitting of the Reed Sea, and the other miracles that we relate each year in the Hagadda, are an eternal reminder of G-d’s love for us, and His willingness to override nature for our benefit. Before his death, Yosef promises the Jews that the hardship of the slavery in Egypt is also part of the Divine plan. Who knows better than Yosef that even the most difficult injustices are also a sign of G-d’s love for us, and His intervention in history. Pakod Yifkod becomes the phrase which enables the Jews to endure the severest pain of their suffering. They know that it is an open sign of G-d’s concern for them, despite appearances to the contrary.

The reason for Pekida is because the Jews are a Pikadon entrusted to G-d’s safekeeping. In the Covenant Between the Pieces G-d promised Avraham “Look at the sky and count the stars. See if you can count them. That is how your descendants will be... To your descendants I have given this land...”. At that time, G-d promised to ensure the future of Avraham’s descendants and to involve Himself directly in history to fulfil this promise. All of the future generations are a surety to Avraham that G-d will keep this promise.

The completion of the Mishkan in Pikudei is the final step in the spiritual redemption from Egypt. It indicates a return to the level of our forefathers, in that G-d gives a constant indication of His dwelling in our midst. This is the pinnacle of the Pekida that was promised to Avraham and conveyed through Yosef. Ultimately, the setting up of the Mishkan was a necessary consequence of the slavery in Egypt. Thus it was appointed from the time of the covenant with Avraham. In fact the mystics say that the building of the Mishkan was appointed from the very beginning of creation. It was erected “Bayom HaSh’mini”, “On the eighth day”, the natural culmination of the seven days of creation.

Thus the accounting of the materials of the Mishkan also shows G-d’s involvement with the world, and the special providence which He grants the Jewish people. The reason the Jews deserve this special providence is because they are a surety for the promises made to Avraham. Together with the fact that the Mishkan was constructed at a time appointed from the time of creation, this is a fitting ending for the book of Exodus, retrospectively showing how all the pieces of history fit together.

1Often mistranslated as “The Red Sea”
2The first Rebbe of the Gerrer Chasidim, early 1800s
3Singer Siddur p. 725/378
4An anonymous text attributed to Rabbi Aharon HaLevi of Barcelona first published in 1523. In it the author lists the 613 Commandments in the order of the Torah readings, and gives reasons and explanations for them.

Pekudei 1

The Ba’al HaTurim (commentary on Exodus 40; 33) points out the seemingly redundant repetition of the phrase, “As G-d commanded Moshe” after each item for the Mishkan was constructed. He explains that as a reward for Moshe’s pleading for the Jews after the sin of the Golden Calf, when he said, “Please erase me from your book”, G-d constantly repeats Moshe’s name in this portion.

The Ba’al HaTurim notes further that the phrase “As G-d commanded Moshe” appears eighteen times in this portion, corresponding to the eighteen blessings of the weekday Amida. The phrase, “As G-d commanded, so they did” appears once, and corresponds to the additional nineteenth blessing against heretics. How are these three ideas - Moshe’s pleading, the Amida, and the construction of the Mishkan - related?

The Talmud (Berachot 28b) asks what the eighteen blessings of the Amida correspond to. Several answers are given: Rabbi Hillel son of Rabbi Shmuel says they correspond to the eighteen times G-d’s name is mentioned in Havu LaShem B’nei Eilim (Psalm 29), Rav Yosef says that they are in place of the eighteen times G-d’s name is mentioned in the Shema and Rav Tanchum says in the name of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi that they correspond to the eighteen vertebrae in the spine.

It seems understandable to relate the blessings of the Amida to mentions of G-d’s name, since the purpose of prayer is to create a connection with G-d. However, what is the connection between the Amida and the spine? The Talmud hints at the answer to this with another statement of Rav Tanchum in the name of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, that one should bow during the Amida to the extent that the vertebrae stick out. For Rav Tanchum it seems that the essence of the Amida is subjugation to G-d’s will, evidenced through bowing. Elsewhere (Bava Kamma 16a) the Talmud states that a person’s spine transforms into a snake after seven years if they do not bow during Modim. We understand the metaphor of the Talmud, if a person refuses to show humility before G-d, and does not bow in thanksgiving, they come to resemble the snake of the Garden of Eden, who also rebelled against its creator.

This self-nullification in the presence of G-d is what Moshe did on Mount Sinai. After the sin of the Calf, Moshe was prepared to sacrifice himself in order to save the nation. The Rashbam (commentary on ibid. 32; 32) explains that “Erase me from Your book” refers to the book of life. Moshe was prepared to give up his role in this world and the next in order to save the nation. This is the ultimate in subjugation and humility. Moshe felt that he did not deserve any merit in his own right, but that his only value was as the leader of the people. Therefore if they were to be wiped out, he would forfeit his share of both worlds.

The construction of the Mishkan involved months of skilled and difficult work. Though everyone brought donations for the Mishkan, only a few people had the requisite skills to fashion the materials according to the Divine blueprints. Eventually, when Moshe assembled everything and the nation saw the beauty of the structure, with its gold, silver and precious gems, along with colourful woven tapestries, it would have been natural for those involved in the construction to take a certain satisfaction and pride in their work. However, this would have negated everything that the Mishkan represented. How can a human being using their body, which is a gift from G-d, to fashion the materials which were created by G-d, according to a plan given by G-d, take any personal pride in their accomplishments? This is similar to the statement of Pirkei Avos (2; 9), “If you have learnt much Torah, do not claim credit for yourself, since you were created for this very purpose”.

Therefore the Torah repeats the phrase, “As G-d commanded Moshe” eighteen times, to show that the Mishkan was constructed with the same selflessness which Moshe embodied. The only purpose was to fulfill the will of G-d. Similarly, in prayer, we should strive for this commitment to serving G-d. We do not make requests of G-d for our own pleasure, but so that we will be better able to perform the will of our Creator.

Vayakhel 2

Vayakhel

Betzalel ben Uri ben Chur, of the tribe of Yehuda did all that G-d commanded Moshe” (28; 22). Rashi quotes the Talmud (Brachot 55a): The Torah does not say “That which Betzalel was commanded”, but rather “All that Hashem had commanded Moshe”. This implies that even with regard to matters which Moshe did not tell him, Betzalel’s mind was in accord with that which had been said to Moshe at Sinai. For Moshe commanded Betzalel to make the furnishings first, and afterwards the Mishkan. Betzalel said to him, “The common practice is to first make a house, and afterwards to put furnishings in it”. Moshe said to him, “Thus as you said I heard from the mouth of G-d, perhaps you were in G-d’s shadow (a play on the name Betzalel, B’tzel - El, in the shadow of G-d), for indeed that is what G-d commanded me [first the Mishkan and then the furnishings].

This raises several questions. Firstly, how could Moshe have misunderstood what G-d told him regarding the construction of the Mishkan? Was he not referred to by G-d as his “trustworthy servant” (Shabbat Mincha)? Secondly, how could Betzalel dare to question Moshe about what he heard at Mount Sinai. If Moshe said to first make the furnishings why was Betzalel so brazen as to question him? Finally, it seems so obvious that one should build a house before making the fittings and furnishings for it. Why does Moshe praise Betzalel so highly for his understanding, which seems so basic that anyone should have spotted it?

Elsewhere (Exodus 35; 30) Rashi tells us that Chur, Betzalel’s father, was the son of Miriam, Moshe’s sister. Normally the Torah only describes a person by their name and the name of their father. Perhaps the Torah is telling us here that Betzalel was following in the footsteps not only of his father, but also of his grandfather and his great grandmother, that in some way he had the same qualities that Miriam possessed.

Miriam was always the realist. It was she who persuaded her father to remarry his wife despite Pharaoh’s decree that all male children be thrown into the Nile. Miriam was able to see that Amram’s decree was harsher than that of Pharaoh, in that it would have ensured that there were no Jewish children at all, whereas Pharaoh only decreed on the males. She watched over Moshe as he was placed in the Nile to see what would become of him, and she arranged for her mother to be Moshe’s wet nurse. Miriam passed on this ‘sensible’ approach to life to her great grandson Betzalel, so that he was the one chosen by G-d to oversee the construction of the Mishkan.

Moshe was the spiritual leader of the people, and as such was continually treading a fine line between total spirituality and communication with G-d, and being the spokesperson for the nation. To Moshe there was no such thing as independent reality, only G-d’s will which was to be obeyed, and taught to the Jewish people.

The Mishkan was no ordinary building. Each part of it was imbued with spiritual qualities and metaphysical meaning. Moshe saw that the Mishkan was beyond human logic and understanding, and therefore anything that G-d told him he conveyed to the builders without question. Betzalel, however, understood that though the Mishkan was to be the dwelling place of the Divine, nevertheless it was physical and as such could not contradict human logic.

Just as Descartes could only believe in his own existence because of his belief in a good G-d who would not give people logic that had no relationship to reality, so too Betzalel knew that though the Mishkan could be beyond human comprehension it could not by illogical. For G-d to dwell within the constraints of the finite world He must limit Himself to abiding by the laws of this world.
Furthermore, the primary value of the Mishkan was that it provided a paradigm for human interaction with G-d. If the Mishkan had been built contrary to the reality of the world, we would have had no way of bringing G-d into the world, except within the very defined bounds of the Mishkan. Betzalel understood that for the Mishkan to have meaning it must conform to normal human behaviour.

Now we can answer the three questions with which we began. When G-d commanded Moshe about the Mishkan, He left the order in which the items were to be built open to two interpretations, in order that we should realise that the Torah does not contradict our logic, and that people are able to interpret the Torah based on the more logical option. It was this point that Betzalel was questioning, not what Moshe actually heard on Mount Sinai.

Betzalel claimed that G-d would not command us to build a Mishkan which went against our logic. He was telling Moshe that the main function of the Mishkan was to facilitate interaction between people and G-d, and as such it had to be comprehensible. Moshe immediately acknowledged that this was G-d’s purpose, and conceded that he had misinterpreted G-d’s instruction. This does not imply that Moshe misunderstood anything else that he learnt on Mount Sinai, but rather that G-d gave him the opportunity to learn from Betzalel the importance of remaining in touch with the normal way of the world.

Vayakhel 1

Vayakhel is a Parsha dealing with the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle). It begins, however, with three verses about observing Shabbat. The Rabbis learn from this juxtaposition that the activities which are prohibited on the Sabbath are those activities that were necessary to construct the Mishkan. They also learn from this that keeping Shabbat takes precedence over the building of the Mishkan. Despite the importance of the work, the Jews in the desert were not permitted to desecrate Shabbat in order to complete it quicker.

What is the connection between Shabbat and the Mishkan that enables us to learn that only the activities used in its construction are prohibited? Perhaps there are other, or different, actions that we should not perform on Shabbat. Also, why does the Torah need to tell us that we may not build the Mishkan on Shabbat? Isn’t it obvious that we cannot desecrate Shabbat for any Mitzvah, regardless of its importance. What is it about the Mishkan that may have led us to believe that its construction takes precedence?

There are many parallels between the construction of the Mishkan and the creation of the universe. The Talmud (Megilla 10b) states that on the day when the Mishkan was erected, G-d showed the same happiness as the day on which the world was created. The world is a “dwelling place” for G-d, where His presence can be perceived by His creations. Likewise, the Mishkan was the focal point for G-d’s presence on earth. G-d is called Shaddai because when the world was being created it was unrolling like thread from a loom until G-d said “Dai”, enough (Talmud Chagiga). Similarly, the people brought so many donations for the Mishkan, that the workmen were forced to say “enough” (Exodus 36; 7). On a Kabbalistic level, the world was created with the three highest sefirot (spheres), chachma, bina and da’as, i.e.,wisdom, understanding and knowledge. Similarly, the Mishkan’s prime architect was Betzalel, who is described (ibid. 35; 31) as “filled with wisdom, understanding and knowledge” (which explains the meaning of his name Betzalel, in the shadow of G-d).

The Mishkan is a symbolic map of the spiritual reality of creation. It is also the ultimate fulfilment of the purpose of creation (v. Ramban’s introduction to his commentary on the book of Exodus). Therefore those activities needed for its construction are a representation of the same activities that G-d used in creating the universe. Obviously G-d doesn’t do “work” in any physical sense, in fact the creation of the world was through G-d’s “utterances” rather than through actions (v. Ethics of the Fathers, chapter 5); but the Hebrew word for “word”, davar is the same as the word for “thing”. At some level the essence of everything is G-d’s word made physical. So if we could understand the deepest meaning of words, we could understand the nature of things, and similarly if we look at the physical activities involved in creating something, we can understand its name and essence.

Shabbat is described as a testimony that G-d created the world in six days, and that on the seventh day He rested from all His Melacha (creative activity). The Melacha that G-d did in creating the world is exactly the same Melacha that was used to build the Mishkan. It is not coincidental that the prohibited activities on Shabbat are the same as those involved in building the Mishkan, because both are the activities of the creation of the world. We acknowledge G-d’s creation of the world, and His mastery over it, by abstaining from those creative activities that G-d rested from when He created the world, which are revealed to us through the building of the Mishkan.

This also explains why the Torah needs a specific instruction not to build the Mishkan on Shabbat. Since both are an acknowledgement of G-d’s creation of the world, one may have made the erroneous assumption that building the Mishkan could serve as a substitute for observing Shabbat. Therefore the Torah needs to tell us that this is not so. Shabbat is an eternal reminder, and cannot be replaced, even by another form of acknowledging G-d’s sovereignty.

Parshat Ki Tissa 3

The Soul of the Torah

The difference between the two sets of tablets that Moshe brings down from Mt. Sinai represent the two completely different spiritual levels that the Jews are on at the time they receive them. The first tablets are described (Shemot 32;15) “They were tablets written on both sides, with the writing visible from either side. The tablets were made by G-d and written with G-d’s script engraved on the tablets”. In contrast, the second tablets are made by Moshe. “Carve out two tablets for yourself, just like the first ones. I will write in those tablets the same words that were on the first tablets that you broke.... Moshe carved out two stone tablets like the first”.

Writing is described as the soul of a book. It needs a physical form, e.g. a scroll or book, to contain it, but it is the words that give inner meaning and purpose to that form. So too with the tablets. Before the sin of the Golden Calf, B’nei Yisrael (Children of Israel) had attained the highest spiritual level. In the forty nine days from the Exodus until Mt. Sinai, they rose up through the forty nine levels of spirituality to reach the level of Adam and Eve before their sin. It was as if their bodies had been directly created by G-d, like those of Adam and Eve. They were therefore able to receive the tablets that had been hewn by G-d Himself. At this level the inner light of the soul permeates the body so thoroughly that it is clearly visible. So too the tablets - the words are visible from either side.

After the episode of the Golden Calf, B’nei Yisrael descended to the level that we remain on today. Our physical bodies are all that we perceive. The only way that we can make the inner light of the soul shine through, is by constantly working on controlling our physical drives and desires, thus elevating our bodies to become a pure vehicle for the soul. This is analogous to the second tablets, which were man made.

We see from this that the way that we are able to receive the Torah is totally dependent upon who we are. In the world of physics it is obvious that a vessel must be suitable for its contents; Pouring boiling hot coffee into a thin plastic cup will melt and destroy the container. What is less obvious is that the same rule also applies in the spiritual realm. For someone to receive Torah at a higher level than that which they themselves are on is destructive. Therefore G-d made the Torah compatible with the spiritual level of the people.

This rule is equally applicable now as it was 3300 years ago when the Torah was given. The Torah is ready and waiting for anybody who cares to seek it. When an individual delves into Torah learning, he or she relives the experience of Mt. Sinai. This is shown in the Halacha regarding the weekly Torah reading. The Shulchan Aruch (Orech Chaim 146;4) states “One doesn’t need to stand while the Torah is being read”, and the Rama adds “There are those who are stringent to stand, and this is what the Maharam did”. The Mishna Brura explains “Even the Maharam agrees that there is no legal obligation to stand, but he holds that it is appropriate to go beyond the letter of the law and stand, because when a person hears the Torah being read he should feel as if he has just received it from Mt. Sinai, and at Mt. Sinai all of Yisrael were standing.”

However, we must make sure that we are suitable vessels to contain the Torah that we learn. If we are not constantly “carving out” our physicality to prepare it as a slate for the Torah to be written on, we run the risk of not being able to contain the Torah that we try to absorb.

Parshat Ki Tissa 2

Real Leaders

One of the most difficult things for a spiritual leader is to remain in touch with his or her people. It is so easy to become drawn into the spiritual realm and leave the physical, material world behind. However in so doing, a leader may become inaccessible and no longer able to relate to others. This was the fear of the people which led to the building of the Golden Calf. “The people gathered themselves together around Aharon, and said to him, “Make us a god who shall go before us, for Moshe, the man, who brought us out of the Land of Egypt, we know not what is become of him.” (Exodus 32; 1-2). The people were not abandoning G-d, but thought that Moshe had become lost to them.

They wanted an idol, not as a false god, but to lead them. They saw Moshe enter into the fiery darkness of Mount Sinai and they were afraid that he was no longer able to relate to them as mortals. The Talmud (Shabbat) states that with each utterance of the Ten Commandments the souls of the people would depart, and they had to be revived by angels, and yet Moshe went to speak directly to G-d. The people were concerned that they had lost their intermediary, and no longer had any means of communicating with G-d. Therefore they created a new figurehead for themselves, “to go before them”.

We see that G-d was also concerned that Moshe was losing touch with the physical world, thus becoming unsuitable as a leader. “And G-d spoke to Moshe, ‘Go down, for your people… have become corrupt’” (ibid. 7). Rashi explains that G-d told Moshe to go down from his exalted position, because his eminence is only due to his being the leader of the people. If he is unable lead them he is no longer able to remain before the Divine Presence.
The people chose to make a calf, a domestic beast, because they were looking for a leader to whom they could relate, one who can translate their normal lives into a spiritual experience. A calf is trained to work in the fields, to do the most mundane tasks. That is the sort of leader that the people want and need.

The Torah hints to us why Aharon was the most suitable person to build this intermediary. He was the leader who retained his connection with the material world, despite his exalted spiritual status. The Torah describes Moshe as judging the nation “from morning until evening” (ibid. 27; 13). The Talmud comments on this that though he was not literally judging from morning until night, the Torah ascribes this to him to teach that anyone who judges a case fairly and honestly is considered a partner with G-d in creation, which was also created with day and night.
The S’fas Emes points out that Aharon is also considered a partner in creation. He is to light the Menorah from evening until morning (ibid. 37; 20). However there is a fundamental difference between Moshe’s creation and Aharon’s. Moshe takes the day, the clear revelation of the Torah and the Divine Presence, and brings in down to the level of night, the darkness and confusion of everyday life. Aharon’s function is the opposite; to elevate the world, in the chaos of night, and bring it to the level where it can hear the message of Divine Light. This is why Moshe sits in judgement, dispensing the truths of the Torah to the daily realities of life, whereas Aharon lights the Menorah, elevating the physical and turning it into light.

This is why the people asked Aharon to make the idol for them. They were able to relate better to his method of relating to the physical world and elevating it. They were not afraid that he would forget what it is to be human. Therefore he is the high priest of the idol also. Moshe the man has gone, the nation cry out for a new leader whom they can relate to, to bring them G-d’s message. Aharon is the one with whom they can speak, and the calf represents the physicality of the world, and the baseness of human existence, whereas Moshe represented spirituality. Thus the calf had to be destroyed in order to allow the people to attain the spiritual heights shown to them by Moshe. Though they were not on the same level as Moshe, they had the potential to be so and in order to do this the calf had to be destroyed as it held them back spiritually.

Parshat Ki Tissa

Sorry this was not posted before Shabbos. For a translation of exerpts from Tosefet Beracha on Ki Tissa follow this link.
Tosefet Bracha on Ki Tissa

Idolatry and Yosef HaTzaddik

In this week’s Torah portion we read about the sin of the Golden Calf. Many questions can be asked on this topic; how could the nation who heard G-d’s voice and accepted the Torah only a few weeks earlier suddenly rebel against Him and begin to worship idols? However, I want to address the issue of why, of all the idols they could have made, they built a calf. (Look in the Ramban’s commentary to this section for a kabbalistic idea). The simple answer is that they had seen the Egyptians worshipping cows, and were merely imitating the rituals of their former masters. However, it seems strange that having seen what happened to the Egyptians, and knowing that G-d was greater than any of their gods they would chose to revert back to that form of idolatry.

If we look at the words of the Torah we find that the original intent of the Israelites was not to build an idol in place of G-d, but rather in place of Moshe: The people gathered around Aharon and said to him, “Rise up and make for us gods that will go before us, for we know not what has become of this man Moshe who brought us up from the land of Egypt” (Exodus 32; 1). The word Elokim which is translated here as gods is also often used to mean judges, and thus the simple interpretation of this verse is that they want another leader in place of Moshe, who has disappeared. Only after the calf was built did some of the people begin to say that it was in place of G-d.

Moshe had been the one to lead them through the desert, meld them into a nation, and provide them with the Manna (which according to the Talmud fell in the merit of Moshe). When they looked for a suitable substitute they remembered Yosef, who had been the viceroy in Egypt, made Egypt into the superpower of the ancient Middle East, and provided food for the people through his careful planning and storing. He seemed like the perfect person to take over in place of Moshe. The only problem was that he had been dead for over 200 years. However, they were carrying his coffin with them, and they remembered the blessing that Ya’akov had given to Yosef on his death bed. “A charming son is Yosef, a charming son to the eye; the girls stepped the see the rising ox” (Genesis 49; 22). Yosef is associated with the image of an ox. When Moshe wanted to find where his coffin was buried in the Nile, he threw in a piece of parchment containing the words “arise ox” and his coffin rose to the surface. That same piece of parchment was used when they built the Golden Calf to bring it to life. (Midrash Shir HaShirim 1; 11).

However, there was also another side of Yosef that the people tried to capture in their idol, that of youthfulness. He is described several times in the Torah as a na’ar, an adolescent. Yosef throughout his life retained qualities of youthfulness, such as a desire to maintain physical beauty, a belief that nothing is impossible, and the naiveté and honesty which led him to be sold by his brothers in the first place. When Pharaoh elevated Yosef to power he tried to turn him into an ‘adult’ by giving him a new name and identity. Yet as we see from the verse above the girls were still after him, and he retained his charming youthfulness.

The people who built the Calf wanted these qualities in their new leader. Idols often take the form of youthful heroes, with invincible powers. The Talmud also tells us that the main motivation for the Jews to build the Golden Calf was to permit to themselves the sexual liaisons that had been forbidden by the Torah and Moshe. Therefore, they didn’t build an ox as their god, but a calf. The proof that the people were primarily interested in the youthful qualities of the Calf is from the Midrash (Tanchuma 8, quoted in Rashi v. 22) regarding the laws of the red heifer (which we read today as our special Maftir). Symbolically the ‘Cow’ came to atone for the sin of the ‘Calf’ as if to say let the mother come and clean up the mess left by her child. The Calf is the young child, created by the young nation, in their quest to escape from the confining laws they had received at Sinai.

The irony of the situation is that Yosef himself went to great lengths to prevent the Egyptians themselves from worshipping cows. The Midrash (Bereishis Rabti 712) explains that when Yosef told the Egyptians to “Bring your cattle (as payment for the grain)” (Exodus 47; 16) his intent was to wean them from their idols. However, his plan backfired on his descendants, who themselves began to worship the very idol that Yosef had removed from the Egyptians.