Jun 20, 2025 | Torat Devorah
The Torah records in Parshat Shelach, that when Israel left Mt. Sinai, they traveled for three consecutive days, and describes how Israel began to grumble at the inconvenience. The urgency in moving them quickly was based on God’s desire to lead Israel into the land of Israel as quickly as possible, and his motives were dictated by the boundless love that he bore His chosen people, whom He wanted to see settled in the chosen land without delay. Yet that is not what they perceived. They grumbled because of the travails of the journey. Doubtlessly, they ascribed to Hashem an indifference to their well-being and comfort, as indeed we find on other occasions, when they accused Him of taking them out of Egypt without caring as to what happened to them (and worse). And the same is probably true of the complaint that follows immediately, when they grumbled that they were sick of the manna.
In this week’s Parshah too, the spies discovered that wherever they went, a plague struck down the Cana’anim and they were dying in large numbers. They concluded that the air of the land of Israel was unhealthy and prone to breeding plagues. They failed to see (or perhaps they did not want to see), that the Divine Hand was at work, protecting them, preventing their discovery by keeping the Cana’anim too busy to notice them, or at least, to be concerned with their presence. In this way, Hashem reckoned, they would be able to go about spying the land without hindrance. Yet they misconstrued Hashem’s chesed, mistaking His loving care for hatred. The verse in Devarim (1:20) describes how Israel grumbled that night in their tents, how they declared that it was due to God’s hatred of Israel that He took them out of Egypt, to deliver them into the hands of the Ammorites to destroy them. In fact, Rashi comments, He loved them, and it was they who hated Him! And he goes on to quote a famous folk-saying ‘What a person thinks about his friend, he believes that his friend thinks about him’. Presumably, this saying is based on the verse in “ke’Mayim ha’ponim le’ponim” (Mishlei 27:19).
The Zohar attributes the spies’ prejudice to the fear that, once they entered Israel, the old constitution would end, and a new era would begin, incorporating new leaders, who would replace them. Presumably, that is also what prompted them to renounce Hashem as a hater. In order to misconstrue Hashem’s motives in His interrelationship with us, it is not necessary to be guided by personal prejudices (though it does help). All that is needed is a lack of appreciation: a) of Hashem’s extreme goodness; b) of the fact that He loves all his people, and c) the extent of that love.
And you shall not go astray after your hearts and after your eyes… and you will be holy to your God” (ibid.). In spite of the fact that the Torah is addressing people who are prone to serve idols and to commit adultery, the verse nevertheless concludes with an injunction to be holy. It appears, remarked the Chofetz Chayim that no matter how low a Jew sinks, the Torah not only considers him capable of pulling himself out of the mire and of becoming a holy person, but that it actually expects him to do just that. But one could also explain the verse, not so much to stress the potential of a Jew, but to stress the power of mitzvot in general, and the mitzvah of Tzitzis in particular. Man’s body comprises the same components as an animal – to whose level he can sink without much effort. His soul has the make-up of an angel – to whose level he can rise, but only through hard work. To achieve this, God gave us the medium of mitzvot. What the Torah is teaching us here is that the mitzvot in general, and above all, the mitzvah of Tzitzis, will not only prevent us from sinking to the level of an animal (which instinctively follows its heart and eyes), but even have the power to raise us to the greatest heights, to make us holy like the angels.
Devorah Abenhaim
Jun 17, 2025 | Torat Devorah
In this week’s Parsha we learn of many exciting moments at the inauguration of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, in the desert. It begins with the laws of lighting the menorah in the Mishkan, and later in the Beit Hamikdash. Keep in mind that this mitzvah sets up another one much later in history, the mitzvah of Chanukah. The parsha then discusses the purification process of the Leviim allowing them to serve in the Mishkan.
There is an interesting comment by our Sages on a phrase that frequently repeats itself in this week’s parsha. Yet, in this week’s parsha the phrase or one similar to it appears plenty of times. After reviewing the laws of lighting the menorah in the Beit Hamikdash, the Torah states, “And Aharon did so.” Our Sages comment that this was stated to tell us that Aharon did not deviate from anything that Hashem commanded. We are told the same description regarding the inauguration process of the Leviim. After the Torah describes the service, our Sages comment that the Leviim did not stray from one command. Although we often see this comment, in our parsha we find it specifically in relation to Aharon. When Moshe was named the leader of the Jewish people – thereby replacing Aharon – Our Sages relate how Aharon went out and met Moshe with joy and not jealousy. When Aharon’s sons offer up a strange service and die by God’s hand, our Sages point out that the Torah specified that Aharon accepted the sentence and did not cry out in protest.
Why does the Torah stress specifically Aharon’s devotion and following of the mitzvoth? To answer this question let us state a rule in analysis of the Torah. When a point is stressed, it is done so to preempt an opposite idea. It would seem that Aharon’s devotion is stressed because we might have thought that his devotion was lacking. Why would we have thought that Aharon’s commitment was to be questioned? Aharon made one mistake in life, and that was the sin of the golden calf. His good intentions did not end up as he had hoped and the people thought that with his permission they could worship an idol. If one would analyze Aharon’s actions, they could come to the conclusion that Aharon had a tendency towards avodah zara, that his sin was not completely unintentional. The Torah wants us to understand that this is not true. Aharon slipped once, and it was a limited mistake. Except for that one episode, Aharon was the ideal Jew.
There are times where someone we know makes a mistake. They wrong us. It could even have been intentional. It hurts us; it upsets us, and even angers us. The person then asks for forgiveness. We know the proper thing to do is to forgive. It is in our nature to forgive, we are forbidden from holding grudges. Yet, it is difficult to look over, the wrong perpetrated against us. Every time we see that person we relive the hurt and the anger. We might even tell the person that we forgive him, but deep down, we are still bearing that grudge. This week’s parsha tells us to let it go and forgive. We must overlook the insults, the difficult moments in our relationships and understand that although people make mistakes and that they have faults, they are overall good people and deserve our forgiveness.
In the Torah portion of Beha’alotcha there appears a phenomenon that is found in no other place in the entire Tanach – two sentences are bracketed by two backwards facing Hebrew letters, nuns, as a way to set them apart from the rest of the text. “And when the ark would journey, Moses said: ‘Arise God and let your enemies be scattered, and let those that hate You flee from before You.’ And when it [the ark] rested he would say: ‘Rest peacefully God among the myriad thousands of Israel” (Numbers 10:35-36). The first sentence is recited in synagogues around the world when the ark is opened and the Torah removed for public readings, and the second sentence is recited when the Torah is placed once again in the ark.
Rashi, quoting the Talmud, (Shabbat 115b-116a) explains that these two sentences are set apart due to the fact that they are not in their natural chronological place. Rabbi Avraham Arieh Trugman comments: ‘This alone would not seem sufficient reason as Rashi tells us many times that various events recorded in the Torah are not in a sequential order. What then, according to the Talmud, is the reason that they appear here? Rashi informs us: in order to separate between a series of sins which occurred in the desert. The Talmud continues by stating that these two sentences actually are considered an entirely separate book! In this manner the five books of Moses are actually seven, as this two sentence book actually divides the book of Numbers into three books.
As with all verses, mitzvot and stories in the Torah, there are multilevels of understanding, especially when there is a one time phenomenon such as inverted letters that create a separate book of just two sentences.
The Slonimer Rebbe quotes a Torah from the Maggid of Koznitch who suggests that the ark represents a Torah scholar who is compared to an ark containing the Torah. The Torah has been so integrated into his being that he is like a “walking Torah scroll.” The word for “journey” in our verse shares the same root as the word for “test.” Therefore, anytime the ark, in this case a Torah scholar, journeys, it is inevitable that he will face challenges and tests. The Slonimer explains that this idea really applies to every person who wants to journey from one spiritual level to a higher, more refined level of consciousness, which is the ultimate goal of Torah and mitzvot.’
Devorah Abenhaim
Feb 21, 2025 | Torat Devorah
Six days shall you accomplish your activities, and on the seventh day you shall desist… and your maidservant’s son and the sojourner may be refreshed.” (23:12)
Possibly one of the least understood areas of Shabbat observance is amira l’akum — hinting to a non-Jew to do something for a Jew that the Jew him or herself cannot do because of Shabbat. The basic premise of this prohibition is to preserve the other-worldly quality of Shabbat, for it would be all too easy to employ a non-Jew to continue one’s weekday activities without contravening a single Torah law. In other words, you could turn Shabbat into Saturday. For example, many people assume that if the circuit breaker trips and the lights go out at the Shabbat night meal one could hint to a non-Jew to turn them on again. This is not true. Except in certain specific cases, a Jew on Shabbat may not receive any direct benefit from the melacha (forbidden Shabbat action) of a non-Jew. There are many people who would never dream of allowing a cheeseburger to cross the portals of their dwelling (let alone the portals of their lips) but would cheerfully hint to the maid to turn the lights on on Shabbat Ignoring this prohibition, however, can lead to dire consequences — and not just in the world-to-come.
Rabbi David Ribiat relates the following story: Around the year 1800, there was a large fire in the city of Maerkisch-Friedland. Much of the Jewish quarter was destroyed and many homes had to be rebuilt. Rabbi Akiva Eiger, the rabbi of the city, issued a proclamation advising those rebuilding their homes to stipulate in their contracts with the builders that no work should be done on Shabbat or Yom Tov. The community was united in its observance of Rabbi Akiva Eiger’s degree, with one exception. The president of the community, who was extremely wealthy, wanted his house rebuilt as quickly as possible, and instructed his workers to work non-stop through Shabbat and Yom Tov. The protestations of the community and even the Rabbi himself fell on deaf ears, and the work proceeded unabated. Shocked by this flagrant breach of Halacha, Rabbi Akiva Eiger was heard to say that he did not expect the house to last very long.
Not only was the president’s house the first to be completed; it was undoubtedly the finest of the new homes.
Not long afterwards, and without any previous warning, one of the beams of the president’s mansion suddenly crashed to the ground. A subsequent investigation revealed that the beam was riddled with timber decay. Not only this, but the wooden frame of the mansion was similarly affected and the entire structure had to be demolished. A check was made of all the other re-built buildings, but not one of them showed the slightest inclination to dry rot. The engineers were at a loss to explain why only this particular house, built at the same time and from the same timber supply, was affected. The Jews of Maerkisch-Friedland, however, were in no doubt about the answer to this puzzling enigma.
Devorah Abenhaim
Feb 14, 2025 | Torat Devorah
The revelation at Mount Sinai – the central episode not only of the parshah of Yitro, but of Judaism as a whole was unique in the religious history of mankind. Other faiths (Christianity and Islam) have claimed to be religions of revelation, but in both cases the revelation of which they spoke was to an individual (“the son of God”, “the prophet of God”). Only in Judaism was God’s self-disclosure not to an individual (a prophet) or a group (the elders) but to an entire nation, young and old, men, women and children, the righteous and not yet righteous alike. From the very outset, the people of Israel knew something unprecedented had happened at Sinai. As Moses put it, forty years later: “Ask now about the former days, long before your time, from the day God created man on earth; ask from one end of the heavens to the other. Has anything so great as this ever happened, or has anything like it ever been heard of? Has any other people heard the voice of God speaking out of fire, as you have, and lived? (Deut. 4: 32-33).”
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains: “For the great Jewish thinkers of the Middle Ages, the significance was primarily epistemological. It created certainty and removed doubt. The authenticity of a revelation experienced by one person could be questioned. One witnessed by millions could not. God disclosed His presence in public to remove any possible suspicion that the presence felt, and the voice heard, were not genuine.Looking however at the history of mankind since those days, it is clear that there was another significance also – one that had to do not with religious knowledge but with politics. At Sinai a new kind of nation was being formed and a new kind of society – one that would be an antithesis of Egypt in which the few had power and the many were enslaved. At Sinai, the children of Israel ceased to be a group of individuals and became, for the first time, a body politic: a nation of citizens under the sovereignty of God whose written constitution was the Torah and whose mission was to be “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.”
In Exodus 20:15, the Torah states: “And the people saw the voices”. The obvious question asked is how does a person ‘see’ a voice? Midrash Lekach Tov and Rashi explain that the Israelites saw what is ordinarily heard, and heard what is ordinarily seen. The Lubavitcher Rebbe expounds on this idea as follows: “As physical beings, we “see” physical reality. On the other hand, Godliness and spirituality is only something that is “heard” — it can be discussed, perhaps even assimilated to some extent, but not experienced first hand. At the revelation at Sinai, we “saw what is ordinarily heard” — we experienced the divine as an immediate, tangible reality. On the other hand, that which is ordinarily “seen” — the material world — was something merely “heard,” to be accepted or rejected at will.
Why was Moshe so close to his father – in – law, a heathen priest, that the Parsha of the Divine Revelation bears his name? It is almost as if Moshe in his greatest moment of glory takes a back seat so that Yitro can be in the limelight. Even before Moshe leaves Midian to return to Egypt to start his mission he requests permission from Yitro. “Moshe left and returned to his father in law, Jethro. I would like to leave and return to my people in Egypt… Go in peace, said Jethro”(4:18). It is almost as if the redemption was dependent on Yitro’s good wishes. This is all the more startling if we accept the Midrashic teaching that Yitro was actually one of Pharaoh’s advisors and was actually bothered by the destruction of Egypt. Rabbi Jay Kelman comments: It appears that Moshe ‘s indebtedness to Yitro can be explained by Moshe’s tremendous feelings of gratitude toward Yitro. Moshe, after killing an Egyptian who was attacking a Jew, is forced to flee Egypt. Where was he to go? Moshe fled to Midian, stopping at the well presumably evaluating his limited options. Seeing an injustice perpetrated against a group of young women, he rises to their defence and risking further problems, draws water for them. Thinking only of their good fortune and not wanting to risk revenge, the women leave him there and go home. Yitro, their father, would not accept such ingratitude. “Where is he now? He asked his daughter. Why did you abandon the stranger? Call him, and let him have something to eat.” (3:20). Yitro, at least in Moshe’s mind had saved his life. Furthermore he gave him his daughter as a wife. A man who would welcome a stranger into his home and care for him is one who merits association with revelation.
Devorah Abenhaim
Feb 7, 2025 | Torat Devorah
In this week’s parshah, we read of the Israelites departure from Egypt. Pharaoh, the Torah tells us “Had a change of heart” (Exodus 14:5), and decides to pursue the Israelites. The Or Hachayyim comments that an interesting way of looking at this is that when the news reached Pharaoh that the Israelites had “fled”, Pharaoh reconsidered his premise that the Israelite God was all-knowing and all-powerful. This God apparently had been forced to use deception because he was not omnipotent. This is why He kept His intention that the Israelites should depart permanently, a secret up until now. The Torah advisedly speaks of the “levav”, a “dual heart” of Pharaoh undergoing a change. Pharaoh’s considerations were due to conflicting feelings (i.e. two hearts). Originally, Pharaoh had thought that God was unable to orchestrate the Israelites’ exodus. Otherwise, Moses and Aaron would not have had to beg him to let the Israelites go. Next, Pharaoh convinced himself that God’s love for the Jewish people might only be temporary. In the meantime, Pharaoh had come to realize that his estimate of God liking the Jewish people only temporarily had also been wrong. As a result of both considerations of telling him to let the Israelites go, he had done so in the firm belief that there was nothing he could do to stop this process. Now, in retrospect, he realized that he had been wrong after all about the fact that God had lacked the power to orchestrate the Exodus without help from Pharaoh himself. This is why he decided to mount the pursuit.
Pharaoh’s army began their pursuit after the Israelites. The Israelites, seeing the Egyptians close behind them, became frightened. They tell Moses in Exodus 14: 11-13 that they would have rather died in Egypt than in the desert, and that they would have preferred to remain slaves than be killed by the Egyptians. Moses tells the Israelites not to worry, and that “God will do battle for you” (Exodus 14:14). God responds to these events by asking Moses, “Why are you crying out to me?” (Exodus 14:15). The Alshekh asks a flurry of questions about this verse: 1) why did God tell Moses not to cry out, when it had been the people who had cried out, and not Moses? 2) Why did God not tell the people ‘Do not be afraid?!’ instead of ‘keep moving!’ and afterwards that they should move? 3) The word ve-attah, and you, in v.15 and the word va-ani, and I, inverse 17 seem unnecessary, especially since God had already said hineni, I am here? The Alshekh explains that Moses had commenced praying, and had said “God will fight on your behalf.” God said why do you pray to Me? This implies that My (God’s) children are NOT entitled to be saved except by an act of mercy. Let them display faith by marching on, before the sea is split, and justice will save them! The ve-attah, and you, means that in case the children of Israel think that you can perform miracles ONLY with the staff of God. He tells Moses that he should raise his hand over the sea and only then will it be split. Moses was to divest himself of the staff at the moment. There is a tradition, the Alsekh explains, that the reason the Egyptians chose to kill the Jewish babies by drowning was that they knew that the God of the Jews makes the punishment fit the crime. At the same time, they knew of God’s oath not to bring on another deluge. They reasoned that by drowning the Jewish baby boys, they could make themselves immune from retribution. God demonstrated that instead of His bringing on a deluge, the Egyptians themselves would walk into the equivalent of an existing deluge. They had also seen in their horoscope that the Jewish savior would meet his death through water. Therefore, they had decreed a watery death for babies born around the time indicated by the horoscope. Once that date had passed, the decree had been cancelled, since they had considered the potential Jewish savior as having met his death already. God was intent to demonstrate that, on the contrary, the Jewish savior would be the one who would orchestrate the watery death of the Egyptian army. Had Moses split the sea with the staff, no one would have known that it was Moses, the intended victim of the water, who had turned the tables and had victimized the Egyptians be water. The miracle would simply have been ascribed to God’s rod, to the intrinsic power of that instrument. In order for the Egyptians to commit the folly of pursuing Israel through the sea, several things had to occur. Surely, the Egyptians seeing the miracle could not have assumed that it was FOR THEIR benefit. So why did they put themselves at risk? Also, if they assumed that the splitting of the sea had NOT been a miracle, but a freak of nature, how could they take a chance that it would last long enough for them to catch the Israelites, defeat them and herd them back to Egypt? In addition to Moses’ hand and an act of faith by the Israelites who entered the water before it was split, an act of God was needed to cause the Egyptians to expose themselves to the crushing waters when the time came. THIS act by God is what He refers to in v.17, when it says as for me, i.e. va-ani, “here I will greatly strengthen the heart of Pharaoh.” God’s contribution is the greatest, in that He will cause Pharaoh’s desire for revenge and loot to overcome his common sense, and pursue Israel into the depth of the seabed. The rest of mankind will honor God, in turn, when they will reflect on how Pharaoh’s punishment corresponded to his crime. The Egyptians, who will know that I am the merciful God, will be those who had remained behind in Egypt, who had not been punished now, as they had not been as guilty as those who had pursued Israel.
Devorah Abenhaim
Jan 31, 2025 | Torat Devorah
We read two puzzling statements as God prepares to exact the plagues in this week’s parasha. “And I will pass through Egypt … and I will smite every first-born … and I will exact judgments against all the gods of Egypt. I am God” (Exodus 12:12). Moreover, on that night, “[T]here will be a great cry throughout all Egypt, the like of which never before has been and never again will be. [But] against the Children of Israel no dog shall sharpen its tongue, [not at] a man and [not at] an animal” (Exodus 11:6-7). Two questions arise: First, if there are no other gods besides Him, how can Hashem say he will “exact judgments” against gods that do not exist? Second, what’s with the dogs? We often speak of the Torah as bearing a universal message to all generations, conveying that a Torah message uttered thousands of years ago remains relevant. But here, with these two baffling references that God will exact judgments against gods that do not exist, and the particular emphasis that all dogs will be silent during the tenth plague, perhaps we should reorient the usual approach. Instead of understanding that an ancient image speaks to us today, consider that a Torah image meaningful now was also relevant millennia ago. The god of all life in Egypt was the Nile River, and God Almighty began the plagues by smiting the Nile. The goddess of childbirth in the Egyptian pantheon, the frog goddess Heqet, stood as matron saint of fertility and protector of newborns. So, Hashem directed the second plague at frogs. Other Egyptian gods were assigned to protect the fertility of the land, the animals, the environment. Consequently, one by one, each such god was “smitten,” rendered “powerless” as all-natural order fell before Egyptian eyes. Lice from the ground. Wild animals from out of nowhere.
Rabbi Dov Fischer of Orange County expounds: “There were Egyptian gods conceived as multiannual amalgams. Setekh, for example, had a long snout, pointy ears, a greyhound’s body and an upright tail. But God Almighty rendered judgment over such gods during the fourth plague (arov: mixed animals). Likewise, there was a goddess depicted with a cow’s head, Hathor. The fifth plague nullified cattle. And so, it went. Osiris, the vegetation goddess, could not protect vegetables and fruit from the hail and locust plagues. One by one, every Egyptian god and goddess was eviscerated. Thus, Hashem “exacted judgments” against the “gods of Egypt.” Finally, the darkness. Anubis was a dog- or jackel-God associated with the cult of the dead. “Together with the other canine deities … he presided over the desert of the west, the necropolis land where wolves and jackals lurked, and all were regarded as tombs,” according to Encyclopedia Britannica. Meanwhile, the Egyptian pantheon’s central characters included the sun god, Ra, who “was thought to sail the sky in his boat, and at night to traverse the underworld, battling as he went with the forces of darkness.” As each supposed god in the Egyptian pantheon was overcome, might a believing Egyptian yet place hope in the sun god Ra? Maybe. Each morning, his success in battling the forces of darkness was confirmed with the rising sun. And then came the ninth plague. Through those three days of darkness, Ra ostensibly had been vanquished, leaving Egyptians to rationalize, consistent with their theology, that the dog-gods of death and darkness perhaps now held sway. Moses had warned Pharaoh this all would come to pass by the hand of the God of Israel. But stubborn Egyptian pantheists, typified by pitiful sorcerers who tried competing until skin-boils sent them packing (Exodus 9:11), continued seeking an Egyptian-centric explanation. Perhaps it might have been tempting to attribute sun god Ra’s defeat in this catastrophic war of the gods to the powers of darkness, the gods of the necropolis, who finally had defeated him. Indeed, with the next plague — mass death, delivered with stunning accuracy only to first-born males — it may have seemed certain that the dog-gods of death had conquered, vanquishing all others. It was their night of death to demonstrate their awesome power, their control of everything and their victory over the other gods. Only one thing: Not a dog whetted its tongue at a Jew. No barking. No growling. The dogs were eerily silent throughout the night, as Moses had prophesied. The Egyptians were left with no further explanation. The Ten Plagues had been the hand of God, who had “exacted judgments” against their gods and had silenced their dogs. Now His people, the Children of Israel, had to be freed.”
Devorah Abenhaim
