Apr 30, 2015 | Torat Devorah
The parashah begins by telling us to be holy. Rashi defines holiness as someone who is able to separate himself from aveiros that have to do with immorality. At first glance this seems strange, because normally we would think of holiness as coming from something that a person does in a positive way, rather than merely the avoidance of something bad. Separating oneself from something negative is not usually thought of as something that adds to the level of a person’s kedushah. Similarly, Rav Schwab questions one of the blessings that we make at a wedding: “Who made us holy through His mitzvos and He commanded us to separate from an ervah and arayos,” since we never make a brachah on something that is accomplished passively. Rav Schwab explains that from this brachah it is evident that a person who is able to prevent the yetzer hara from overtaking him in these areas is not merely passively avoiding that which is immoral. Rather, what he is doing has the status of an act. It is more than just not eating treifos and not putting on shatnez. One who is able to restrain from doing things he should not be doing is merited with having performed a positive act, something that brings kedushah.
The Torah reiterates the prohibition against eating blood, emphasizing the severity of the sin. The Torah states (Leviticus 17:10-12), “V’nah’tah’tee fah’nay ba’nefesh ha’oh’cheh’let et ha’dahm, v’hich’rah’tee o’tah mee’keh’rev ah’mah,” I [G-d] will turn my face [in anger] upon the soul consuming the blood, and will cut it off from its people. The Torah then declares why blood is prohibited (Leviticus 17:11), “Kee nefesh ha’basar ba’dahm hee,” for the soul of the flesh is in the blood. Blood, says the Torah, is the essence of life, and while one may eat the flesh of an animal, one may not benefit from the substance that bears the essence of the animal’s life. Parashat Acharei Mot also includes an important reference concerning the proper disposal of the blood of certain slaughtered animals. The ritual, known as “Kee’sooy ha’dahm,” covering the blood, is found in Leviticus 17:13, which states that one who traps a beast or bird that may be eaten [and slaughters it], “V’sha’fach et da’moh v’chee’sa’hoo beh’ah’fahr,” He shall pour out its blood, and cover it with earth.
Maimonidies (the Rambam, the great Jewish philosopher, codifier and physician, 1135-1204) maintains that the ancient pagans attached special significance to the blood of animals. Some considered it an agent of defilement, while others used blood for the purpose of communing with spirits and for fortune telling. Judaism, however, strongly prohibits any association with idol worship; hence, Jewish law forbade any use of blood.
Some of the commentators suggest that the blood of certain slaughtered animals is covered to show respect for life. This however applies only to “chayot,” wild animals and fowl, but not to domesticated animals. The procedure of “Kee’sooy ha’dahm” requires that the blood of the animal be poured on a layer of soil, which in turn had to be covered with another layer of soil as a blessing was recited.
The Or HaChaim suggests that since blood represents the life of the animal it should be accorded the same respect as the body of a human being who has died, and must be buried “by covering it with earth.” R’ Abraham Ibn Ezra states that the Torah is concerned that people who see blood spilled from a distance might suspect that the blood was from an animal that had actually been sacrificed to a heathen god. By covering the blood, a distinguishing sign is made that this was an offering to G-d, and not to an alien deity.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Apr 22, 2015 | Torat Devorah
Rashi begins his commentary to this week’s parsha by noting that the halachos related to the tumah and taharah of humans begin in Parshas Tazria – after those of the animal kingdom were listed previously in Parshas Shmini. This order would seem to defy logic, as one would think that the halachos related to humans ought to have been placed before those of the other living beings.
Rashi quotes a Midrash, where Rav Simlai explains the reasoning behind this sequence. He maintains that in listing halachos, Hashem followed the order of creation – beginning with all the members of the animal kingdom (who were created first) and concluding with man (who was created last). The Midrash quoted by Rashi finishes with an additional thought. If we fulfill the ratzon of Hashem, says the Midrash, it is as if the world was created on our behalf, and we were therefore created last so that we would arrive to a ‘finished’ world. If we ignore the laws of the Torah, we are informed that even the lowly ‘yitush’ – a form of insect – was created before us.
This Midrash and the commentary of Rashi, however, seem to leave us with more questions than answers. First of all, what is the meaning of the Midrash regarding the insects preceding man in creation – and why was the ‘yitush’ singled out among all other insects? Finally, why should the Torah follow the order of creation when listing the halachos of tumah and taharah?The primacy – and responsibility – of man. Many meforshim note that the cryptic words of the Midrash are commenting on the role of man in the creation of the world. Humans are essentially offered a choice. If we follow the laws of the Torah, then we become the central focus of creation. After all, Hashem created this world so that we can serve Him and elevate our neshamos (souls). When one lives a spiritual life, and fulfills Hashem’s master plan, he or she brings meaning to the world and all facets of creation. This would be analogous to a customer who walks into a restaurant and sits down to a delicious meal – with all the cooking and preparing done on his behalf. In this scenario, this elevated form of man, whose neshamah rules over his body, arrived last on the scene during b’rias ha’olam to signify that the world was created with his service of Hashem in mind. The Midrash continues with the logical corollary of this reasoning. It states that if one does not fulfill the master plan of Hashem, he is no better than any of the other living creatures that populate the Earth. The moser ha’Adam min ha’behemah, the superiority of man over animal (Koheles 3:19, tefilah of Yom Kippur), lies in our ability to control our impulses and harness our energies to a greater purpose. Delaying gratification and harnessing desires are qualities of the human race to the exclusion of nearly all other living beings. Failure to exercise these abilities blurs the distinction between man and the members of the animal kingdom.
Rabbi Yaakov Horowitz comments: “The Midrash is reminding us to live meaningful lives. We are not angels – nor were we created to live like them. We need to eat, drink and sleep properly. The Torah mandates that we nurture our bodies; that we exercise and refrain from activities that harm them. During our lifetime, it is our sacred mission to have a healthy spiritual digestive system as well – to extract the sparks of ruchniyus that are inherent in all areas of our lives, and remove the harmful elements. Doing so will result in an elevated living that places us in our proper position as the final element of creation – and the raison d’être for Hashem’s beautiful world.” Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Apr 16, 2015 | Torat Devorah
After Aharon’s two sons died the normal sacrifices were brought. The Kohanim were instructed to eat parts of these sacrifices and Moshe asked Aharon why he had not eaten them. Aharon replied that he was an Onen (in mourning for his sons) and the law prohibits a person in this state to eat of sacrifices.
The Torah says: VAYISHMA MOSHE VAYITAV BE’ENAV, “Moshe heard and it was pleasing in his eyes.” (Lev. 10,20) Is it not strange that Moshe did not know the law and had to hear it from Aharon? Did not Moshe receive all the laws and teach it to Aharon? Rashi explains that Moshe was not embarrassed to admit that he had not heard this law. The Sifte Chachamim explains that he was not embarrassed to say he heard it but forgot it. Rabbi Menachem Saab comments: “Moshe who always taught others learned from Aharon and was not uncomfortable this time to learn from others. This is a great principle we must remember and attempt to imitate. We must be willing and ready to learn from others. If Moshe was not hesitant to learn, we certainly should not be ashamed to learn. This is what Chazal meant when they said, “Who is wise, he who learns from all men.” Avot 4;1
“Aharon raised his hands toward the people and blessed them.” (9:22)
One of the most awe-inspiring experiences is the Birkat HaKohanim, when a thousand-or-so kohanim bless the many thousands at the Western Wall in Jerusalem on the second day of Chol HaMo’ed Pesach and Succot. Most of the time, prayer at the Wall is a segmented affair. This group starts as this one finishes, while yet another group is somewhere in the middle.
The haunting chant of the Kohanic blessing evokes deep and powerful feelings in the heart of every Jew however religious he may be. It is a chant that echoes down the years. It is a living witness to the unbroken chain of Jewish tradition that links us to Sinai. The first appearance of that chant is in this week’s Torah portion. Aharon completed his first day of service in the Sanctuary and he then blessed the people with great joy. Such was his desire to bless the people that G-d rewarded him and his descendents that they should bless the Jewish People thus throughout the generations. The word for blessing in Hebrew, beracha, is connected to bereicha, which means a “pool.” Blessing is an overflowing pool that enriches and fills our lives. In the time of the HolyTemple, when the kohanim would bless the people, they would raise their hands over their heads and make a space between the third and fourth fingers of hands. When they recited the blessing using the ineffable Name of G-d, the Shechina, the Divine Presence, would rest on their hands. The kohanim to this day still cover their heads and hands with their prayer shawls when they recite the blessing. But maybe we could also understand a different symbolism behind the covering of the hands of the kohen. Our Sages teach us that blessing only descends on things that are hidden from the eye, that which the eye doesn’t see. For example, a farmer who starts to weigh his grain may pray that his crop will be large, but if he has already weighed it, he may no longer make such a request, for the size of the crop is already revealed to the eye. When the kohanim cover their hands they symbolize this idea that blessing descends only on that which is hidden from the eye.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Apr 8, 2015 | Torat Devorah
And you shall count to yourselves from the day after the Shabbos [i.e., the day after Pesach] from the day of your bringing the Omer offering which is waved, seven Shabbosos – complete and perfect they must be”. (23:15)
“When are they perfect? When they do the will of The Omnipresent.” (Midrash)
Nothing in this world lasts forever. Everything has its time and then passes. Even the heavens and the earth will pass into nothingness. Nevertheless, everything that comes into the world has a certain period of existence, however short or long. However, there is one thing in the world for which the concept of ‘span of existence’ has no meaning whatsoever. It is no sooner present, than it has already changed, passed and is no longer. That thing is Time itself. Every second as it emerges into Creation, in the blink of an eye, it is gone. Time passed is no longer, and every second becomes immediately and at once, the past.
Rabbi Shlomo Yosef Zevin comments: “Man, however, through his actions in Time can give Time itself a substance that makes it eternal. An action gives the time in which that action is being done the substance and the character of the action itself. So if time is used to do a mitzvah, to do a kindness, or to learn Torah, then because these things are eternal in themselves, they in turn eternalize Man’s time. This is what the Midrash means when it says “When are they (the weeks) perfect? When they do the will of the Omnipresent.” The Counting of the Omer is a paradigm for the years of the life of Man – the “Seven Shabbosos” allude to “The days of our years have in them 70 years” (Tehillim). The mitzva of Counting The Omer demands that “complete and perfect they must be.” When those hours do the will of Hashem, then Time itself stays eternally concrete and substantial.”
Chadash – new grain – was forbidden to be eaten before the Omer Meal Offering was made in the Temple on the sixteenth day of the Month of Iyar. This was usually done no later than midday so even those who lived far from Jerusalem could assume by that hour that theOmer had been offered and it was safe to eat from the new grain. In post-Temple times daybreak of the sixteenth day marks the time that new grain is permitted by the Torah. The Torah teaches that when the Omer cannot be offered the ban on Chadash is in effect only until the beginning of the sixteenth. But Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai instituted a decree to prohibit Chadash the entire sixteenth day. His reasoning: We look forward to the Temple soon being rebuilt and the Omer being offered. If we permit eating Chadash this year from the beginning of the day, people will say that they can eatChadash next year from daybreak as well, when in truth they must wait for the Omer to first be offered.
In Mesechta Rosh Hashanah (30a) this point is expanded upon. If the Temple will be built on the sixteenth no problem will exist, for daybreak already made Chadash permissible. If it will be built before the sixteenth then the Omer will have been offered by noon. Why then was the decree for banning Chadash all day long? The answer is that Rabbi Yochanan was afraid lest the Temple be rebuilt just before sunset of the fifteenth (the first day of Pesach) or the night of the sixteenth, which would not allow enough time to reap the barley and process it into flour before the end of the sixteenth. Rashi, however, raises the question as to how the Temple could be built on a holiday or at night when we know from Mesechta Shavuos (15b) that these are times when such construction may not take place? His answer is that only a Temple built by human effort has this restriction. The Temple of the future, however, will descend from Heaven.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Mar 30, 2015 | Torat Devorah
The number four figures quite prominently during Pesach: we ask the four questions, we drink four cups of wine, and we talk about four sons. There are those who even divide the Haggadah into four distinct sections and themes. Drinking wine symbolizes freedom, and at the Seder, we commemorate our freedom in this manner. Why though, do we need to drink four cups of wine? What is the significance of the number four in this regard?
Our Sages teach us that the four cups of wine correspond to yet another set of four, one that we find in the narrative of the exodus. The verse says, “Therefore, tell Bnei Yisrael (the Children of Israel) that I am G-D! I will remove you out from the bondage of Egypt, and I will save you from slavery; I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and great miracles. I will take you to be my nation, and I will be your G-d” (Exodus 6:6 – 7). There are four terms for redemption mentioned, and therefore we drink four cups of wine to commemorate these promises and their fulfillment.
Rabbi Ron Wittenstein explores this idea a bit further: “Let’s explore this idea a bit further. The number four appears in yet another place in the narrative. When G-d tells Moshe that the time has come to redeem the nation, He describes to Moshe the hardships that Bnei Yisrael are experiencing in their slavery. The Torah says, “G-d says, ‘I have seen the lowliness of my people who are in Egypt; the cries caused by the taskmasters I have heard, for I have known their suffering. I will go down and save them from Egypt… I have observed the pressure that Egypt has been placing upon them’” (Exodus 3:7-9). Here as well, there are four words used to describe our distress. It seems that this is telling us that the same way that we suffered in Egypt (described by four words) so, too, we are redeemed with four aspects of salvation.
It is possible to add even more depth to this idea, and to show how each term used in redemption is corresponding to a level of pain.
(1) The hardest type of slavery was when there was slavery with constant pressure; removal from bondage alleviates this pressure.
(2) Even without this pressure, we were still enslaved and suffering; the next level of our salvation was being saved from the slave labor.
(3) During our enslavement we cried out to G-d from our pain; G-d saves us and we can now call out to Him in praise of His redeeming us with miracles and wonders.
(4) We were downtrodden, with a slave mentality, viewing ourselves as lowly; G-d promises, “I will take you to me and you will be My nation,” elevating us to be His chosen people.
One idea that we see from this is that even with the hardships that arise in life, when the time of redemption comes, it is a complete one; a redemption that takes all aspects of the suffering into account. At the end of each Seder we say, “L’Shana Haba B’Yerushalayim!” Next year in Jerusalem. This prayer symbolizes our national wish to once again be redeemed and to live in a world of peace and freedom for all mankind. This prayer is apropos for the end of the Seder, since after our telling about the first exile and the amazing redemption from it, we end asking Hashem to bring the final redemption.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Mar 24, 2015 | Torat Devorah
“A constant fire shall burn upon the altar; it shall never go out.” (6:6)
Throughout their journeys in the wilderness, the Jewish People carried with them the Mishkan. The word Mishkan comes from the word in Hebrew which means “to dwell.” Through the Mishkan, G-d caused the Divine Presence, the Shechina, to dwell amongst the Jewish People.
There was an altar in the courtyard of the Mishkan. On it burned three different fires. On the eastern side of the altar was the maracha gadola, the “large arrangement”. On this largest fire, the korbanot sacrifices were offered. On the southwestern corner there was another fire that was used solely to ignite the pyre of the golden altar inside the Mishkan on which the incense was burned.
And there was a third fire which had no fixed place but could be made anywhere on the outside altar. This fire had one purpose and one purpose only to fulfill the words of the Torah in this weeks portion : “a constant fire shall burn upon the altar; it shall never go out.” Come rain or shine, weekdays and Shabbat, this fire never went out. It burned all the forty years that the Jewish People were traveling in the desert. In fact, it burned without interruption for a total of over one hundred years, in the desert, fourteen years in the Mishkan at Gilgal, and fifty-seven years in the Mishkan at Nov and at Givon. Two pieces of wood had to be added to the fire twice a day. One in the morning at the time of the morning offering, and one in the afternoon at the time of the afternoon offering.
One might ask, why were three fires necessary? Wouldnt one have sufficed?
Rabbi Sinclair explains: “These three fires can be understood as three aspects of our relationship with G-d: The large fire represents our external service; the performance of the mitzvot, the obligations of prayer at its fixed times throughout the day and throughout the year. Because it was the largest fire, it was the most visible, just as our external duties as Jews are the most visible, be they the giving of charity or the care of the orphan and the widow. These are things that are as visible as a large fire. However there was another fire whose function outside was for no other purpose than to kindle an internal fire. That fire teaches us that we must take our exterior service and use it to kindle the interior fire. That internal fire represents the duties of the heart: our belief and trust in G-d and our constant striving to be better people. Thats something you cant see from the outside, but like the incense that is burned on the golden altar, it emerges from within a person with a scent that is unmistakable. The third fire can me moved anywhere, but it must never go out. This represents the undying fidelity of the Jewish People to G-d throughout our long and difficult Diaspora. Even though we have had to move from one corner of the world, our devotion to G-d has never been extinguished by an unkind world. Whether in the light of morning, or the impending darkness of approaching night, throughout our long history, the Jewish People have always placed the kindling on the altar of our devotion to G-d.
The Torah states: “Then (the Kohen) shall take off his garments and put on other garments and carry forth the ashes out of the camp unto a pure place” (Leviticus 6:4). What lesson to we learn from the ceremonious taking out the ashes from the altar each morning? Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch comments that the taking out of the ashes that remained on the altar from the previous day expresses the thought that with each new day, the Torah mission must be accomplished afresh, as if nothing had yet been accomplished. Every new day calls us to our mission with new devotion and sacrifice. The thought of what has already been accomplished can be the death of that which is still to be accomplished. Woe unto him who with smug self-complacency thinks he can rest on his laurels, on what he has already achieved, and who does not meet the task of every fresh day with full devotion as if it were the first day of his life’s work.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
