Apr 20, 2016 | Torat Devorah
On the first day of Passover we read from the book of Exodus (12: 21-51) of the bringing of the Passover offering in Egypt, the Plague of the Firstborn at the stroke of midnight, and how “On this very day, G‑d took the Children of Israel “out of Egypt.”
In order to fully understand the 10th plague we must appreciate the hierarchy within Egyptian civilization. It was a society ruled by primogeniture. The first born had absolute power within the family unit. Pharaoh was the firstborn of the firstborn of the firstborn. It was from his birthright that he exercised his power.The attack against the first born was therefore a powerful polemic against the entire culture of Egypt. The eldest ruled the younger siblings. This is why having slaves was so important to the Egyptians. This gave the lower classes someone else to control and dominate. Pharaoh controlled the first born as first born of the firstborn; the firstborn controlled the other Egyptians, and the “plain” ordinary Egyptians controlled the slaves. The Netziv (Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin) in his commentary to Exodus explains this idea based on a fascinating observation concerning the song that was sung after the splitting of the sea. The verse reads: Then sang Moses and the people of Israel this song to the Lord, and spoke, saying, “I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider has he thrown into the sea.” (Exodus 15:1) …And Miriam answered them, “Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider has he thrown into the sea.” (Exodus 15:21) The main part of the song seems to be this idea of the “horse and the rider.” The Netziv explains that this verse encapsulates the defeat of Egypt: the philosophy of the “horse and the rider.”
Rabbi Ari Kahn elaborates: “As the rider rides on the subjugated horse, so must the rider listen to the officer, and that officer listen to the general, and that general listen to the commander in chief. According to the Netziv, this describes the horrors of the Egyptian society, a series of horse and riders, where the Jewish slaves became the bottom of the proverbial “totem pole” – the lowest horse supporting the entire structure. This is why the Egyptians were loath to release the slaves – the entire society would crumble without them. We now understand why the death of the firstborn was so essential to the Exodus, and why the splitting of the sea evoked such a powerful response. The horse and rider philosophy had sunk at sea, they were free. The death of the firstborn was the beginning of this final chapter, of the liberation. The leading “riders” were to die” … In Judaism the firstborn also has a special role – but it means added responsibility, not a privilege. The lineage of the Jewish people is the antithesis of Pharaoh, instead of firstborn after firstborn after firstborn, the spiritual legacy which we carry is of those who chose to serve God regardless of station, and at times despite modest ancestry. This is the significance of God’s resounding declaration that we are His firstborn. Others willing to serve in the future will likewise merit this status: Rabbi Natan said: “The Holy One, blessed be He, told Moses: ‘Just as I have made Jacob a firstborn, for it says: Israel is My son, My firstborn, so will I make the King Messiah a firstborn, as it says: I also will appoint him firstborn (Psalms 89:28). (Midrash Rabbah – Exodus 19:7) One day the Messiah himself will merit to be called a firstborn. He will help teach the world that being a child of God transcends lineage. And that being a firstborn of God is about how we lead our lives, it is the manifestation of the image of God within,not a question of sequence of birth. ”
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Apr 14, 2016 | Torat Devorah
This shall be the law of the metzora… he shall be brought to the Kohen (14:2)
The Lubavitcher Rebbe explains: Both the onset and the termination of the state of tzaraat are effected only by the proclamation of a Kohen. If suspect markings appear on a person, they are examined by an expert on the complex laws of tzaraat–usually, but not necessarily, a Kohen; but even after a diagnosis of tzaraat had been made, the state of ritual impurity does not take effect, and the metzora’s banishment is not carried out, until a Kohen pronounces him “impure.” This is why even after all physical signs of tzaraathave departed, the removal of the state of impurity and the metzora’s re-admission into the community is achieved only by the Kohen’s declaration. The Kohen’s function as a condemner and ostracizer runs contrary to his most basic nature and role. The Kohen is commanded by G‑d to “bless His people Israel with love”; our sages describe a “disciple of Aaron” as one who “loves peace, pursues peace, loves G‑ds creatures and brings them close to Torah.” But this is precisely the reason that the Torah entrusts to the Kohen the task of condemning the metzora. There is nothing more hateful to G‑d than division between His children. The metzora must be ostracized because, through his slander and tale-bearing, he is himself a source of divisiveness; nevertheless, the Torah is loath to separate him from the community. So it is not enough that the technical experts say that he marked by tzaraat. It is only when the Kohen–whose very being shudders at the thought of banishing a member of the community–is convinced that there is no escaping a verdict of tzaraat, that the metzora is separated from his people. And it is only when the one doing the banishing is suffused with loving concern for the banished person, that the penalty will yield a positive result–the repentance and rehabilitation of the metzora. There is another lesson here as well: it is not the fact of the tzaraat that renders the metzora impure, but the Kohen’s declaration of his impurity. In other words, no matter how terrible a persons state may be, to speak ill of him is more terrible still. The Kohen’s saying that he is impure affects his spiritual state far more profoundly than the actual fact of his tzaraat.
The Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 16:2) informs us that the word metzora is derived from motzi shaim ra (the Hebrew words for a slanderer), since the disease of tzora’as is a punishment for speaking against others. Because of the relationship between tzora’as and loshon hora, the Midrash on our verse relates the following incident: A peddler traveled from village to village in the area of Tzipori (in the Land of Israel) calling out, “Who wants to buy an elixir of life?” Rabbi Yanai heard the peddler and told him that he was interested in purchasing his wares. The peddler, however, told him, “You and people like you do not need what I am selling.” Rabbi Yanai, however, insisted that the peddler sell him the special elixir. Taking out a book of Tehillim (Psalms), the peddler showed Rabbi Yanai the verse: “Who is the person who desires life and loves days that he may see the good? Guard your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking deceit.” (Psalms 34) Rabbi Yanai exclaimed, “My entire life I have been reading this verse and never knew its full meaning until this peddler came and told me, ‘Who is the man who desire life…’ ” A question on this Midrash arises: What novel idea did Rabbi Yanai learn from the peddler? The peddler merely recited a familiar verse from Psalms without adding any new interpretations. The Ksav Sofer explained thus: Rabbi Yanai noted the peddler’s method of announcing he was selling something that would give a person long life. This aroused the interest and curiosity of people, and quickly a large crowd would gather around him. Only then did the peddler cite the verse, “Guard your tongue from evil.” From the peddler’s method, Rabbi Yanai concluded that King David, the author of Psalms, must have also gone from person to person posing the question, “Do you want long life?” Anyone asked this question would invariably reply. “Yes.” Then King David would say, “Guard your tongue.” Rabbi Yanai learned that it is not sufficient for a person to be careful with his own speech. He must also impress upon others the importance of refraining from loshon hora.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Apr 7, 2016 | Torat Devorah
The focus of this portion is upon tzora’as, a supernatural physical affliction sent to warn someone to refrain from speaking badly about others. The disease progressively afflicted home, clothes and then one’s skin — unless the individual corrected his ways and followed the purification process stated in the Torah.
“And it will be in the skin of his flesh the plague of tzora’as” (Lev. 12:2). In this verse the term vehaya (“And it will”) is used which denotes joy. Tzora’as is a very painful affliction, what possible joy can there be in having it? Rabbi Zelig Pliskin explains that pain can be viewed as meaningful or random. If pain has meaning — like the pain that accompanies giving birth — the pain is more bearable. If one appreciates that pain can be a wake up call to examine one’s life, an atonement for something one has done wrong or a challenge and opportunity to grow, then one can appreciate the pain and value its benefit. A person may wish he did not have the pain. He may hate the pain. However, with focus one can have an element of joy in appreciating its meaningfulness.
The sages taught that tzara’at was not a bodily disease, but a physical manifestation of a spiritual disease. They believed that it was a punishment for saying bad or untrue things about others. They said that the Hebrew word Metzora is a contraction of the words motzi rah which means “one who spreads slander.” The “treatment” or punishment for the metzorah (the one afflicted with tzara’at ) was being outcast for a period of time. During this time of isolation, the metzorah could reflect on the damage done by his or her words. Once the condition had been cured, the metzorah then offered a sacrifice including two birds: one to slaughter and one to set free. Rashi says that God wanted the metzorah to sacrifice birds in order to remind the person about the sin of chattering like a bird. The Midrash Shocher Tov says “The damage done by evil talk is compared to the piercing, irreparable destruction of an arrow. Why is the tongue compared to an arrow? An arrow cannot be called back once it has been shot, even if the marksman wishes to do so. Just as the victim does not know about it until it actually reaches him, so the effects of evil talk are not felt until the arrows of a wicked person pierce him.”
A story is told of the Chofetz Chaim who readily agreed when another prominent rabbi requested his help with a communal matter in another city in Poland. In the course of their trip the two rabbis stopped at a roadside inn to partake of a meal. They were happy to eat at this establishment as a Jewish woman who was well respected for her high standards of kashrut ran it. The two rabbis were seated at a special table and accorded every mark of honor. After they had finished the meal the proprietress came to their table to inquire how they had enjoyed the food. The Chofetz Chaim smiled politely and replied: “It was very tasty, and I enjoyed it very much. Thank you.” The other rabbi answered: “The meal was very good, thank you. Only, if I might say, the soup might have used a bit more salt.” When the owner left the table the Chofetz Chaim turned to his companion, and in an anguished voice said: “Unbelievable! All my life I have avoided speaking or listening to
lashon hara and here I am, going on a trip to perform a mitzva, and I have been put into a situation of having to hear you speak lashon hara! I deeply regret my involvement in this mission, for it cannot be a true mitzva. If it were, such a terrible thing would never have happened to me!” The other rabbi was shocked and upset by the Chofetz Chaim’s reaction. To him it seemed to be a perfectly innocent remark. “What was so terrible about my comment? I only mentioned that a little salt would help the food, which was otherwise very good.” The Chofetz Chaim began to explain himself. “You certainly don’t understand the power that words possess! Just see what a chain reaction your words have set off: I’m sure that the woman who owns the inn doesn’t do her own cooking; she probably employs some poor person to do it, maybe even a widow who depends upon this job for her living.
“Because of your thoughtless comment the employee will be reprimanded for not adding enough salt to the food. She will try to defend herself before replying that she certainly did put in enough salt, which will be a lie. Then the owner will accuse her of lying, since she will certainly take your word over that of the poor cook. This exchange will lead to an argument and the owner will, in her anger, fire the poor cook, who will then have no income with which to support herself and her family. The rabbi, who had listened closely to the Chofetz Chaim’s explanation, replied respectfully: “Reb Yisrael Meir, I simply can’t help but feel that you are overreacting to the whole incident. My few casual words couldn’t have created all that damage. I think that your scenario just isn’t realistic.” The Chofetz Chaim rose from his seat, still in an agitated state, and said: “If you don’t believe me, then follow me into the kitchen and you will see with your own eyes what has happened!” The two rabbis quietly entered the kitchen, and a sorry sight met their eyes. The proprietress was standing before an elderly woman and giving her a sharp tongue-lashing; while the woman stood there with tears streaming down her face. The shocked rabbi ran up to the cook and begged her to forgive him for all the pain she was suffering. He then turned to the owner of the inn and pleaded with her to forgive him and to forget that he had ever made a comment. He had never intended that it be taken so seriously. The proprietress of the inn, who was really a kind person by nature, had never actually intended to dismiss her elderly employee and was happy to accede to the rabbi’s request. She explained that she had merely wanted to impress upon the cook her responsibility to be more careful in the future. She assured the rabbi that the woman’s job was secured and he had no grounds for worry. The rabbi turned to the Chofetz Chaim with an understanding look. He had certainly acquired a new profound respect for the awesome power of words.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Mar 17, 2016 | Torat Devorah
This week we begin the book of Vayikra, or Leviticus, which is largely concerned with the laws of the priests and the priestly offerings. Sometimes the piles of rules seems rather arbitrary and technical, but the ancient (and not-so-ancient) rabbis tried to discern moral and spiritual principles behind even the smallest details.
“And if his means do not suffice for two turtledoves or two pigeons, he shall bring as his offering for that of which he is guilty a tenth of an ephah of choice flour for a sin offering; he shall not add oil to it or lay frankincense on it, for it is a sin offering.. . . .” (Vayikra/ Leviticus 5:11)
Sefer Ha-Hinnuch posits two reasons for the ban on oil in the flour-offering of the penitent as described above. First, it points out that oil is a symbol of luxury and wealth in ancient times- that’s why anointing with oil was a symbol of priesthood and kingship. Yet this atonement offering should be one that evokes humility, contrition and introspection, and thus in this case, adding oil to it would be mixing messages, as it were.Secondly, the Sefer Ha-Hinnuch assumes that the verse above applies to a poor person, as it occurs in a section which explicitly states that the mitzvah is to bring a large animal- unless one didn’t have enough money for a large animal, then bring a small one, and if that’s still too great a burden, then just bring some flour. So, if the verse already assumes that the only person who would bring the flour offering is a poor person, it makes sense to forbid the use of oil or spices, lest the penitent feel pressured to spend beyond their means in adding to a small offering. Rabbi Neal Joseph Loevinger explains: “I learn two larger points from this commentary on the flour-offering. First, how we perform a spiritual practice affects the result of that practice. The offering was meant to be one of repentance, so it should be offered in a humble and plain way. Similarly, if we want to have spiritual experiences which transform us in joy, or humility, or gratitude, or reverence, or any other aspect of religious growth, we have to enter our prayers, practices, rituals and celebrations with the right framework to get us there. For example, if you want to have a joyful Shabbat- make your dress, table, house, songs and prayers celebratory and inspiring. If you want to be inclined towards great reverence and introspection on Yom Kippur, prepare yourself accordingly, inside and out. To put it another way- we need kavannah [intentionality or mindfulness] to do mitzvot, but it’s also true that doing the mitzvot brings us to kavannah. Finally, note that the ritual we’re discussing involves bringing a handful of flour, which our commentary assumes that even the poorest penitent could afford. In other words, the most ancient form of Judaism had at its very heart- the Temple offerings- an ethic of radical inclusion, at least in terms of socioeconomic status. The Temple- the place of the Divine Presence- was a place for rich and poor equally. The rich person’s big offering didn’t earn them any more atonement that the poor man’s flour offering; it only mattered that each brought something real and significant in their own sight.”
“If a person sins, and commit a betrayal against G‑d, and lieS to his fellow (5:21)” The Lubavitcher Rebbe asks: “How is the offender also defrauding G‑d? On the most basic level, he is defying the Supernal Author of the command, “You shall not steal.” Another explanation is that although it may be that not a single earthly soul knows what really happened between the litigants, G‑d is the omnipresent witness to their dealings; so in addition to lying to his fellow, he is lying in face of the all-knowing “Third Party to their dealings.” A deeper understanding of the defrauder’s crime against G‑d can be derived from another saying by Rabbi Akiva, in which he speaks of how G‑d “acquired and bequeathed His world” to man (Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 31a). Chassidic teaching explains this to mean that the concept of human “property rights” over the resources of G‑d’s the world is divinely ordained, and is integral to the divine purpose in creation: in order for man to be able to develop his environment into a “home for G‑d,” thereby making the world a true divine “acquisition,” each individual’s proprietorship over the portion of creation he is charged to develop must be defined and safeguarded. Hence G‑d’s “bequest of His world” to man is at the very heart of His own ownership–this is the manner in which the Creator Himself desired that His “acquisition” of creation be realized. Thus the Torah says: “If a person… commits a betrayal against G‑d, and lies to his fellow.” You have not only lied to your fellow–you have betrayed the “Third Partner”, depriving Him of His ownership of His world as He Himself defines it.”
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Mar 10, 2016 | Torat Devorah
The building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle) was a process through which mankind used various earthly elements to create an edifice in which G-d’s Divine presence would dwell. Our Sages expound upon the lessons derived from the myriad steps and details incorporated in this process. They serve as direction for the fulfillment of our ultimate mission in this world as Jews: How we create a greater awareness of G-d in the world, and how we come closer to Him.
Different components of the Mishkan were built from different types of donated materials. While most of the construction material was from voluntary donations dependant upon the will and means of the donor, there was an additional mandatory donation incumbent upon all males of 20 years and older at the time of the census. This donation demanded an identical sum from each Jew, regardless of means. “The silver of the census was one hundred talents (of 3,000 shekels each) and 1,775 shekels in the sacred shekel; a beka for every head, a half shekel in the sacred shekel for everyone who passed through the census takers…The hundred talents of silver were to cast the sockets of the Sanctuary and the sockets of the Partition; a hundred sockets for a hundred talents, a talent per socket.” (Shemos/Exodus 38:25-27) The silver was used to make the sockets that held together the beams of the Mishkan’s walls. These sockets essentially served the foundation of the entire Mishkan. Rabbi Moshe Feinstein explains that the foundation upon which our personal, internal Mishkan is built is our Emunah (faith in G-d). The use of this silver in the casting of the sockets for the foundation of the Mishkan – silver that was donated in like amounts from throughout the Jewish people – teaches that our Emunah must be employed equally in all precincts of our life experience. Emunah is not only an expression of dedication to the Divine in the synagogue or study hall, it is a statement of G-d consciousness in all activities: how we conduct our business, how we interact with our family members, how we choose to recreate. Rabbi Shlomo Jarcaig adds to this idea: ” Furthermore, each socket was the product of 6,000 donations. No part of the foundation could be the gift of one man alone; each Jew contributed an equal portion. We learn that, as Jews, we need to value the input and contributions of others. To truly accomplish and build stable structures, we need to work as a cohesive unit. If the foundation is strong in some areas but weak in others, the Mishkan will not stand. Only by helping another reach his potential can we develop the necessary foundation upon which the Mishkan can stand.”
Our Sages mandated that we make at least one hundred blessings every day. Making blessings helps to remind us constantly of all the blessings that surround us: The ability to see, to think, to enjoy the smell of fruit and flowers, the sight of the sea or great mountains, new season fruit, or seeing an old friend for the first time in years. When we surround ourselves with blessings, we surround ourselves with blessing. The Hebrew word beracha (blessing) is linked to the word beraicha, which means a pool of water. G-d is like an Infinite Pool of blessing, flowing goodness and enrichment into our life. Amongst other things a beracha must include is the Hebrew word which means “Lord”, which comes from the root Adon. In the Chidushei HaRim it explains:
“In the construction of the Mishkan, there were exactly one hundred “sockets.” These sockets were called adonim.What is the connection between the hundred adonim and the hundred times that we call G-dby the name Adon in our daily blessings? Just as the adonim were the foundation of the Mishkan through which G-d bestowed his Holy Presence on the Jewish People, so are our daily blessings the foundation of holiness in our lives.”
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Feb 25, 2016 | Torat Devorah
The Israelites, a mere 40 days after the greatest revelation in history, have made a golden calf. G-d threatens to destroy the Israelites. Moses confronts both in turn. To G-d, he prays for mercy. Coming down the mountain and facing Israel, he smashes the tablets, symbol of the covenant. He grinds the calf to dust, mixes it with water, and makes the Israelites drink it. He commands the Levites to punish the wrongdoers. Then he re-ascends the mountain in a further prolonged attempt to re-establish the shattered relationship between G-d and the people.
Moses makes a strange appeal: ‘And Moses hurried and knelt to the ground and bowed, and he said, “If I have found favour in your eyes, my Lord, may my Lord go among us, because [ki] it is a stiff-necked people, and forgive our wickedness and our sin, and take us as your inheritance.”
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks asks: ‘How can Moses invoke the people’s obstinacy as a reason for G-d to maintain his presence among them? What is the meaning of Moses’ “because” – “may my Lord go among us, because it is a stiff-necked people”? There are many interpretations and different readings of this verse, but Rabbi Sacks brings forth an explanation from Rabbi Yitzchak Nussbaum. The argument he attributed to Moses was this: Almighty G-d, look upon this people with favour, because what is now their greatest vice will one day be their most heroic virtue. They are indeed an obstinate people. When they have everything to thank You for, they complain. Mere weeks after hearing Your voice they make a golden calf. But just as now they are stiff-necked in their disobedience, so one day they will be equally stiff-necked in their loyalty. Nations will call on them to assimilate, but they will refuse. Mightier religions will urge them to convert, but they will resist. They will suffer humiliation, persecution, even torture and death because of the name they bear and the faith they profess, but they will stay true to the covenant their ancestors made with You. They will go to their deaths saying Ani maamin, “I believe”. This is a people awesome in its obstinacy – and though now it is their failing, there will be times far into the future when it will be their noblest strength.
The fact that Rabbi Nissenbaum lived and died in the Warsaw ghetto gives added poignancy to his words.
“Forgive them because they are a stiff-necked people” said Moses, because the time will come when that stubbornness will be not a tragic failing but a noble and defiant loyalty. And so it came to be.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
