Parshat Tazria Metzora 5781

Apr 16, 2021 | Torat Devorah

Rashi begins his commentary to this week’s parsha by noting that the halachot related to the tumah and taharah of humans begin in Parshat Tazria – after those of the animal kingdom were listed previously in Parshat Shemini. This order would seem to defy logic, as one would think that the halachot related to humans ought to have been placed before those of the other living beings.

Both the onset and the termination of the state of tzaraat are 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 tzaraat have 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-d’s 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 be 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 person’s 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!

Prepared by  Devorah Abenhaim

Parshat Shmini 5781

Apr 14, 2021 | Torat Devorah

Aaron and his sons were consecrated as priests on the eighth day of the festival celebrating the consecration of the sanctuary and the creation of the priesthood in Israel.  What the ceremony illustrated was that the priesthood would be passed down from father to son – something which was not granted to Moses, whose sons did not inherit his role as a teacher of the Torah and commandments.  It is interesting to note that on this very special day, Aaron’s two eldest sons died in the sanctuary as we read in Leviticus 16:1, “when they drew near before the Lord, and died.” In Shemini, we are told that the reason they were punished for their deed was due to the following fact: “They presented illicit fire before God, which he did not command them.” But is it not true that they intended to worship the God of Israel? In no way is their sin comparable to that of the golden calf! And yet, just as many people died as a punishment for their worship of this golden calf as recounted in Exodus 32, two of Aaron’s sons die as a result of their worship of God. Yeshayahu Leibowitz questions the meaning of this “illicit fire” that Nadav and Avihu offered to God.  He comments that if we read the word as written, without any punctuation, the implication is that they did something that they were not commanded to do. Does a person deserve the death penalty simply for doing something he was not commanded to do? Leibowitz explains that the Masorah – the vowels and cantillation added to the biblical text in the Geonic era – offers a certain hint: the word not (lo in Hebrew), in the phrase “did not command,” has an extremely rare cantillation sign called the merkha kefulah, placing a special emphasis on the word. On that basis, some of the commentators understood the sentence to mean “illicit fire which He commanded them not to bring.” In other words, their act was not one about which they were not commanded at all, but was one that violated a specific order for them NOT to act as they did. But, Leibowitz continues that this interpretation may be drash – taking us beyond the simple sense of the words – the pshat.  The literal meaning may be more profound in that it was possible for a person to be drawn to regard the calf as God, even when his intention was, in fact, to worship God. And in the same way, the worship of God itself – if not performed with one’s awareness that he is obeying an order of God, but because of an internal drive to serve God – is idolatry. And this is true even if the individual’s intentions are to serve God. Faith, Leibowitz concurs, is expressed in the acts that man does because of his awareness of his obligation to do them, and not because of an internal urge – not even when he intends to worship God, but derives satisfaction for HIMSELF by this act of worship. That is illicit fire. And those who offered such fire – the first priests in the line beginning with Aaron – and did so in the sanctuary were punished as if they had committed idolatry. We, as Jews, should not transform the worship of God into a means to satisfy our inner urges, but should focus on satisfying what is good and right in the eyes of God.

The Midrash offers alternate explanations as to why Nadav and Avihu were punished so severely. They explain that they longed for a position of authority which the Midrash deduces from the fact that they were described as walking behind Moses and Aaron (Exodus 24:9), as if waiting for their elders to die so that they could assume the mantle of leadership. Perhaps the Torah’s statement that they had no children indicates that they were punished in a fitting matter. They were so anxious to inherit leadership positions that they did not even leave behind children to perpetuate their own names. Another reason offered by the Midrashim, is that their failure to marry and found a family is also in line with the punishment meted out to them, i.e. they died without children. They died because they failed to keep the commandment of being fruitful and multiplying. The element of illicit or strange fire accounts merely for the fact that they died by fire – their death itself being due to other causes.

God is insistent that the Israelite people keep themselves holy and steer clear of all that could defile their state of being.  In Leviticus 11:45 it states: “”For I am the Lord, who has brought you out of the land of Egypt, etc.” The Or Hachayyim comments that the Torah provides truth that God will protect the Jewish people from becoming enmeshed in the sin of contamination by impurity. He took the Israelites out of a contaminated environment, in which their souls were completely submerged. If the Israelites will now take active steps to preserve their isolation from such contamination, God will certainly do his share to see that it does not occur again. If, however, the Israelites begin to absorb any of these forbidden things as nutrients, they would revert to the environment dominated by the spiritually negative forces of the world. In such a case, God could not be their companion, as He does not associate His name with such forces. This was the reason that God never associated His name with the Israelites until after they had left Egypt.

Prepared by  Devorah Abenhaim

Parshat Pesach 5781

Apr 2, 2021 | Torat Devorah

The Rambam, in his philosophical work the Moreh Nevuchim, (3:43) offers a reason for the Mitzvah of Sefirat Haomer, noting that Matan Torah was the goal of Yetzi’at Mitzrayim. The Rambam explains that we anxiously await our commemoration of Matan Torah (Shavuot) after we have commemorated Yetzi’at Mitzrayim on Pesach. Just as one who anticipates meeting a loved one counts the weeks and days until he sees him or her, so too we anxiously count the days and weeks until we will reenact Matan Torah on Shavuot. 

The Sefer HaChinuch (Mitzvah 306), though, poses a question on the Rambam’s explanation. He points out that someone anticipating meeting a loved one will count down the days until the appointed time. He will count five days until the meeting and then four days until the meeting, etc. We, however, do not count forty days until Shavuot, thirty- nine days until Shavuot, etc.; instead, we count upwards. According to the Rambam’s approach, we should have been counting down the time until Shavuot. The Chinuch answers that since the road to Shavuot is long, it would discourage us if we began counting forty-nine days until Shavuot. It is more palatable to commence the countdown by focusing on what we have “accomplished”, one day has passed, two days have passed, etc. Even when we get closer to Shavuot we continue to “count up” because we do not change counting style in the middle of the Sefira.

The Rav notes that the approach of the Chinuch is reminiscent of a parable presented by the famed Dubner Maggid in another context. The Dubner Maggid was asked why in the past few centuries there have been Gedolim who have publicized their calculations when the Mashiach will arrive, if the Gemara (Sanhedrin 97b) specifically condemns those who make such calculations. The Dubner Maggid responded with a parable about a father and son who were taking a trip from Vilna to Warsaw. A few minutes after leaving Vilna the boy asked when should we get to Vilna. The father responded that the question was inappropriate. A few minutes later, the child again asked “are we there yet?”. The father again told him that it is inappropriate to pose this question and he asked the son to refrain from asking this question further.  

Hours later, the father asked the wagon driver how far they were from Vilna and the wagon driver responded. The son upon hearing his father’s question was puzzled. The son asked his father why when he asked the question how far they were from their destination he was rebuffed and yet the father posed the same question to the wagon driver. The father responded that when one is so far from his destination, it is not appropriate to inquire how far we are from the end of the trip. However, when one is drawing close to the end of the travel, then it is a relevant question to know when we expect to reach the destination. Similarly, said the Dubner Maggid, at the time of the Gemara it was inappropriate to speculate about the time of the arrival of the Mashiach because there was a long road ahead. In later generations, though, we are close to the arrival of the Mashiach and thus it is appropriate to investigate when we should expect the Mashiach to arrive.  

Rav Soloveitchik, though, presents another explanation for why we count the Omer upwards and not downwards. He cites the Ran (at the conclusion of his commentary to Masechet Pesachim) who states that in the absence of the Beit Hamikdash and the Korban Omer we count the Omer today to reenact the counting of days after we left Mitzra’im until we received the Torah. Rav Soloveitchik suggests that Hashem did not tell the Jews when they left Mitzra’im the precise date when they will receive the Torah. The basis for this suggestion is that we find that Hashem did not tell Avraham his destination when He commanded him to move to Israel and later to bind Yitzchak “at one of the mountains that I will show you.” Similarly, Hashem does not reveal the place where the Beit Hamikdash will be built in Sefer Devarim. Rather, the Torah refers repeatedly to Jerusalem as the place that Hashem will choose. We, in turn, do not know the time when Hashem will send the Mashiach, but we wait patiently with great faith for his arrival. According to the Rav’s suggestion, the Jews had to count upwards to Matan Torah because they did not know exactly when they would receive the Torah. Today that we reenact our ancestors countdown to Matan Torah, we also count upwards as our forefathers did after they left Mitzrayim. Thereby we experience an element of uncertainty, which is an integral component of religious experience.

 Prepared by  Devorah Abenhaim

Parshat Tzav 5781

Mar 25, 2021 | Torat Devorah

The High Priests were given the mitzvah of “T’rumas Hadeshen” — lifting the ashes of the daily Consumed Offerings – Olot. They were also told to keep the fire on the altar burning continuously. Aaron, the Kohein Godol – High Priest – was instructed to bring to bring a meal-offering each morning and evening. Additional laws were given specifying the Priest’s duties and the portions of the offerings they were to receive as their due. They could eat of the meal, sin, and trespass offerings only if they were ceremonially clean, and only with a Court of the Sanctuary. In an impressive ceremony conducted in the Court of the Sanctuary, Aaron and his sons were installed in their offices by Moshe, with the assembly watching. After the Priests had bathed, Moshe dressed Aaron in his distinctive garments, and anointed the Tabernacle and its contents (the Ark, Table of Showbread, Candelabra, and Altar of Incense), as well as the Altar of Burnt Offering, and the laver and its base (all of which stood in the Court of the Sanctuary). He then poured the anointing oil upon Aaron’s head, thus sanctifying him. Finally, the regular Priests were invested with their garments. A sin-offering and burnt-offering were then brought by Moshe. These rites were repeated for seven days, during which Aaron and the sons remained within the Court.

The word “Tzav,” which begins this Parsha, means “Command”. It is deliberately expressed in a form that can refer to both the past and the future. In other words, Hashem’s commandments are as applicable today as they were when first promulgated. The rules governing man’s behavior and man’s devotion to G-d are timeless. Consequently, our observance of the Torah should not be marked by tired, listless efforts. When we pray, we should not mumble through the prayers out of habit. Rather, we should remember whom we are addressing, and say each word carefully. The same applies to observance of Shabbat, our Torah learning and other mitzvot. They should not be routine, but rather should be moments of inspiration. We must view the Torah and our prayers as instructions from God on how to act practically. If we do not realize this, and do not actually practice what we say and learn, our words and learning have no meaning or purpose.

There was no particular place specifically designated for bringing the sacrifice of the “Korbon Chatos” (the sin offering), in the Miskhan. This is significant. The Korbon Chatos was offered by one who had sinned and now wished to repent. If there was a specified location for these sacrifices, the sinners’ identity would become readily known, and this might in itself discourage repentance. Because the Korbon Chatos was offered in the same place as the Korbon Olah, no one could be certain if the bearer of the Korbon had actually sinned. In this way, the matter would remain a private one between man and G-d, and the sinner would be spared public embarrassment. Rabbi Mordechai Katz explains that if Hashem’s Torah laws deliberately avoid the shaming of others, then we should certainly be careful not to embarrass our fellow man. Chazal say that whoever insults his fellow man in public forfeits his place in the world to come. (Baba Metziah 59a). The reason is a simple one. One can kill a man only once with a knife, but he can slay him many times over with a shameful word. Rabbi Akiva Eiger once invited a poor man to his home on Friday night. At the meal, a beautiful white tablecloth covered the Shabbos table. When the poor man lifted his glass of wine, it slipped out of his hand, and the red liquid spilled over the pure white cloth, leaving an ugly blotch. Seeing the poor man squirm in embarrassment, Rabbi Eiger immediately lifted his own glass of wine, and also “accidentally” spilled it over the tablecloth. As the poor man looked on in great relief, Rabbi Eiger remarked, “it seems as if the table or the floor is shaking, doesn’t it?” He had been willing to make himself look careless (and to soil a nice tablecloth) just to spare the shame of another.

 Prepared by  Devorah Abenhaim

Parshat Vayikra 5781

Mar 19, 2021 | Torat Devorah

In this week’s parashah, we begin the third Book of the Torah. This parashah deals with many issues regarding the categories, and the rules surrounding sacrifices. There is much debate as to why the Israelites were instructed to offer sacrifices. For example, Maimonides and Nachmanides differ as to how they perceive the meaning and purpose of the sacrifices. Maimonides recognizes the fact that idolatry was prevalent among the nations prior to, and for a long time before the Israelites received the Torah. It was, therefore, a practice that the Israelites were familiar with, and which they took part in – since there was no prohibition. Maimonides explains that God allowed these rituals to continue, but ‘altered’ what their meaning. God transferred to His service that which had formerly served as a worship of created beings, and of things imaginary and unreal, and commanded us to serve Him in the same manner. By this Divine plan, the traces of idolatry were blotted out, and the truly great principle of our faith, the Existence and Unity of God, was firmly established. This aim was achieved without deterring or confusing the minds of the people by the abolition of the service to which they were accustomed and which alone was familiar to them. Nachmanides, on the other hand propounds an alternative explanation, as cited by Nechama Leibowitz,: He feels that a more acceptable rationale is that a person who has committed a transgression and offers a sacrifice , shall place his hands on it – symbolizing the deed, make a confession – as a reminder of the misused power of speech, and burn with fire the bowels and kidneys – which are the organs of thought and lust, whereas the legs symbolize instruments which serve man in all of his activities (like the hands). This is logical seeing that human conduct is expressed in thought, speech, and action. 

A puzzling aspect of the Book of Leviticus is the manner in which it begins. In his essay entitled ‘A Portable Sinai’, Everett Fox, director of Judaic Studies at Clark University in Massachusetts, discusses this anomaly. He states that of all the books of the Torah, Leviticus has the bumpiest beginning. Instead of an exalted opening, such as we have in Genesis’ “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,” our book begins “Now He called to Moses, and the Lord spoke to him…” If one reads the standard translation, such as in the King James Version which reads, “And the Lord called unto Moses, and spoke unto him…”, one would not suspect that there is anything unusual about the text. In the Hebrew though, the problem does not go away. It is odd that Leviticus, a book obsessed with order and hierarchy, begin with such a sloppy sentence. The rabbis of the Talmudic era sensed the difficulty with this verse, since they held that the Torah speaks in human language, and that this is awkward human language indeed.  The rabbi’s interpretations fall along the line that God wanted to teach that Moses was above all other Israelites and deserved to be directly called by God. Or due to Moses’ faithful execution of God’s word in every detail of building the tabernacle, he merited being called into the newly completed Tabernacle to speak with God. Fox says that these interpretations tell us a great deal about the rabbi’s veneration of Moses, but do not solve the problem of the text. One possibility proposed by biblical scholars is that the book was once the direct continuation of Exodus, with no break. In that reading, our verse more or less directly follows a passage telling us that “the Presence of the Lord filled the tabernacle” (Exodus 40:35); that God’s aura came to dwell in the sanctuary the people had built. Leviticus 1:1 would then simply spell out the next communication to Moses from the Divine Presence – the obvious subject of the sentence. Hence the unspecified “He” or “It” with which the book begins.  But the fact remains that Leviticus is a separate book. The only other biblical passage that reads “He called to Moses” comes in Exodus 24:16. We have just had several chapters of major laws and a ceremony on Mt. Sinai reaffirming the covenant. Moses is then called to receive further instruction, which proves to be the architectural details of the tabernacle. Since Leviticus 1:1 begins right after the Tabernacle’s completion in Exodus 40, one could argue that in terms of literary architecture, our opening is a bracket – the second of two – setting off an important section of the Torah.  As Leviticus now stands, we might be justified in seeing its first passage as an evocative allusion to the parallel passage in Exodus.  The Sinai covenant ended there with Moses being “called” to commune further with God; and here, too, we are undoubtedly meant to understand the regulations of Leviticus as stemming from God’s “calling,” and so part and parcel of the Sinai experience. The allusion in effect turns the tabernacle into a portable Sinai of human manufacture. The Israelites can rest assured that even now, after the revelation on the mountain is past, Moses will still have the Divine word to provide them with instruction and guidance. “Now He called to Moses: The Lord spoke to him…” It is, in fact, a fitting beginning for a book that ends, “These are the commandments that the Lord commanded Moses for the children of Israel at Mount Sinai” (Leviticus 27:34).

  Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim

Parshat Vayakhel Pekudei 5781

Mar 12, 2021 | Torat Devorah

Parashat Vayakhel is one of the few instances in which the Torah reveals its attitude toward art and artistry, when it lists the abundant talents of Bezalel, the Tabernacle’s master craftsman. In Exodus 35:30, Moses speaks to the children of Israel and declares: ‘Behold, G-d has called by name, Bezalel the son of Uri, the son of Hur of the tribe of Judah.’ Bezalel is not simply appointed by Moses; he is called by G-d by name to supervise the construction of His Tabernacle. This “calling” indicates clearly that Bezalel is no ordinary artisan. Rabbi Ephraim Buchwald explains: ‘According to the rabbis in Tractate Sanhedrin 60b, Bezalel was only 13 years old when he was chosen to supervise the tabernacle’s construction. His tender age underscores the fact that his talents were not natural, but rather the result of a Divine gift. The Be’er Mayim Chaim maintains that the verse, “Lah’daht la’asot et kol me’leh’chet avodat ha’kodesh” (Exodus 31:1), which states that Bezalel was endowed with the talents that were necessary for all the “holy works,” implies that Bezalel’s talents were only valid during the time that he worked on the sacred “holy works”– the Tabernacle furnishings. In fact, according to the Gaon of Rogatchov (Rabbi Yoseif Rosen, 1858-1936) in his work Tsofnat Pa’aneach, as soon as the Tabernacle was completed, Bezalel’s talents vanished. Bezalel’s assistant, Oholiyav, however, whose talents were natural, did not lose his skills, and was able to pass them on to succeeding generations… In light of Judaism’s historic ambivalence towards art, the admiration in which Bezalel was held is particularly unique. In the Middle Ages, when art was dominated by the Christian church and almost all of art was of a religious nature and included many icons, any Jewish passions for artistry were surely diminished. Except for very personal art, almost all forms of art fell out of favor. Since the enlightenment and the emancipation, however, art has started again to play a more dominant role in Jewish life…Bezalel was not only unique because of his multiple talents and varied skills. In Exodus 35:34, after the Torah lists his many skills, it also says of Bezalel “Ooh’le’ho’rot nah’tan be’lee’bo,” that G-d gave Bezalel the ability to teach, to pass on his skills to others, to other artisans in his generation. Indeed, when we behold the beautiful contemporary artwork that emanates from Israel and from Jewish artisans in other locations, we feel moved to say “thank you” to Bezalel for transmitting that art form to others and keeping it alive.’

In Parashat Pekudei, when the Torah describes the construction of the Tabernacle, a specific phrase appears over and over – ‘as God commanded Moses’. Finally there is a total summary of the building (Exodus 39:33) “as God commanded Moses,” and Moses saw everything they had made (Exodus 39:43) and it was all “as God commanded Moses.” Why is this obvious fact stressed over and over? What is its significance? Rabbi Avi Geller explains that the Golden Calf was caused by the people’s inability to subdue their genuine understanding (of the need of a tangible reminder of God: the Golden Calf) to the revealed desire of the Creator (no graven images). Now that they repented for the sin of the Golden Calf, the artisans of the Tabernacle set aside their creative instincts, and followed the rules exactly “as God commanded Moses!” 

Prepared by  Devorah Abenhaim