The parsha also specifies certain laws that apply in the event that a Jew is sold as a slave to a non-Jew. The Torah obligates other Jews to attempt redemption of the Jewish slave as soon as possible. Nevertheless, even when owned by a non-Jew a Jewish slave must be freed at the 50th sabbatical year, or yovel. In explanation, the Torah concludes: “ki li B’nei Yisroel avadim, avadai hem asher hotzeiti otam meeretz mitzraim. Ani Hashem Elokechem – Because B’nei Yisroel are servants to Me. They are my servants since I took them out of the land of Egypt. I am Hashem your G-d” (25:55). B’nei Yisroel cannot remain in a state of servitude to another person since they are naturally the servants of Hashem. The yovel year at least provides an automatic mechanism for the emancipation of all slaves. Our parasha nevertheless concludes with two pesukim (sentences) that seem out of place (26:1-2). They constitute a common refrain in which the Torah forbids idol worship, commands observance of the Shabbos, and reiterates the reverence we owe to the Beis Hamikdash (Temple). Why are these laws juxtaposed with the laws of Jewish slaves?

Shelomo Dobkin of NCSY explains: Toras Kohanim (9:4, quoted in Ramban) comments that the two verses actually refer to the case where a non-Jew owns a Jewish slave, and the juxtaposition reflects a deeper insight that physical service often produces similar religious practices. In other words, the Jewish slave working for a pagan master will quickly forget his obligations to Hashem, neglecting to abide by the prohibition against idolatry and neglecting his dedication to fulfill Torah commandments. Therefore, the Torah reinforces the essential elements of Judaism – monotheism, Shabbos (G-d as Creator of the world), and the Beis Hamikdash (the national center of G-d’s chosen people). These special reminders for the Jewish slave help him reject the influences of his non-Jewish master. The Seforno (26:2) views this special reminder to a Jewish slave owned by a non-Jew as a metaphor that can be extended to any region in which Jews live under the aegis of a foreign society. Just as the Jewish slaves of old, Jews throughout the world can benefit from these reminders in order to revitalize their dedication to our common heritage.

The theme of Parshat Bechukotai is the “Tochacha” – a series of devastating predictions of what will befall the Jewish people throughout history – exile, anti-Semitism, persecution, and more. Yet we know how much the Almighty cares for us, and He never “punishes” without “sandwiching” it with love. So it is not surprising that the “dire predictions” in this parsha also contain hidden blessings. Rabbi Shraga Simmons explains: ‘…For example, Leviticus 26:33, God declares that “I will scatter you among the nations.” This is a hidden blessing, because if the Jewish camp is geographically divided, then when one community is persecuted, the other can carry on. Also, Leviticus 26:22 says that when the Jews are in exile, the “Land [of Israel] will be desolate.” This is a hidden blessing, because throughout the millennia – as numerous empires conquered the Land, and countless wars were fought for its possession – astonishingly, no conqueror ever succeeded in permanently settling Israel or causing the desert to bloom. This, of course, made it easier for the Jewish people to return in the 20th century and resettle their homeland – a hidden blessing. God cares for us so deeply, giving us the confidence that in life, every cloud has a silver lining.’

If you will keep my mitzvahs … the land will yield its produce … and I will give you rain” (Lev. 26:3). It’s interesting that the Torah promises an abundance of material and physical blessings in exchange for following the Torah. Most of us would probably expect a promise of spiritual return such as the promise of Heaven, paradise, or eternal life. Rabbi Ron Jawary offers some insight into this verse: ‘Interestingly, the Torah never makes an explicit mention of life beyond this world. Perhaps what the Torah is teaching us is that we shouldn’t think the world and all the blessings in it have nothing to do with a spiritual life. The idea behind this could be that the physical, material blessings are truly spiritual blessings in that they provide us with an opportunity to connect to the Divine. The more we understand this, the greater is our opportunity to become a conduit for God’s blessings. In fact, the Talmud expands on this and points out that we all have certain skills and talents, and should strive to share those talents with those around us. In doing so, we’re taking the physical blessings we’ve been given and transforming them into an eternal spiritual connection with God.’

~Devorah Abenhaim

This is not simply about education. It is about modeling restraint.Because the laws that follow are not laws of action — they are laws of limitation The Kohen is restricted in whom he may marry, where he may go, what contact he may have with death. Holiness here is defined not by what the Kohen does, but by what he refrains from doing. And this theme quietly runs through the entire parasha.

In the modern mind, holiness is often imagined as inspiration, passion, spiritual highs. But Parashat Emor presents a different picture: kedushah as discipline. A Kohen may not become tamei to the dead except for closest relatives. The Kohen Gadol may not do so even then. Certain physical blemishes disqualify a Kohen from the avodah. Offerings must be without blemish. Time itself has boundaries — Shabbat and the festivals are precisely defined. Even blasphemy at the end of the parasha is punished not for an action, but for crossing a boundary of speech. Kedushah is the art of knowing where the line is — and not crossing it. This is why the parasha opens with the Kohanim. They are the living embodiment of a life lived within careful borders.

We live in a world that glorifies boundary-breaking. “Follow your feelings.” “Express yourself.” “Take every opportunity.” “You only live once.” Parashat Emor whispers the opposite truth: holiness lives in the spaces we do not enter. The Kohen does not go everywhere. He does not marry everyone. He does not touch everything. And because of that, he becomes a vessel for the Divine Presence. And the Jewish people do not treat every day the same. We step back from time itself, carving out sacred islands.

The parasha begins with the word Emor — speak. Holiness begins with awareness. With words. With the ability to articulate what is sacred and what is not. When adults speak about kedushah, and more importantly live it, children absorb it naturally. The Kohanim were the teachers of restraint for the nation.And the nation, through Shabbat and the festivals, becomes a nation of Kohanim in time. Holiness is not found in intensity. It is found in intentional limitation. That is the quiet powerful message of this week’s parshah.

~Devorah Abenhaim

Rav Kook uses this to explain a Pasuk in the section following that of the two Yom Kippur goats. The Torah states, “VeLo Yizbechu Od Et Zivcheihem LaSe’erim Asher Heim Zonim Achareihem,” “Bnei Yisrael will stop sacrificing to the demons which tempt them” (VaYikra 17:7). Rav Kook explains this Pasuk based on the internal conflict that exists within life. The demonic worship is the appreciation of the unrestrained barbarity in human nature. There is a philosophic belief that unless one knows evil he cannot achieve truth. Theoretically, the purpose of evil in this world is to help people find truth; however, evil has no place in practice. Therefore, once all sins and evil are transferred to the Azazeil goat, it is sent away from humanity to show that evil must also be sent away. Sending the Azazeil goat reinforces the idea that barbarity, while it must be acknowledged as a part of human nature, is not to be channeled, but rather is to be excised as much as possible. Humanity must be based on good and motivated self-improvement rather than pleasure for pleasure’s sake and the evil that comes with it. In Parashat Kedoshim, we read the famous verse: “You shall love your fellow as yourself” (Vayikra 19:18). This simple statement has perplexed many commentators and sparked many, many interpretations. For, as Ramban points out, it is in fact very difficult to love another as we love ourselves. The interpretations abound. Most famously, Rabbi Akiva states that this mitzvah is in fact the fundamental rule of the Torah (Nedarim 9:4). For him, no other principle covers the gamut of the Torah as well. Yet Rabbi Akiva also says, “Your life comes before your brother’s life” (Bava Metzia 72). Along comes Hillel who paraphrases the verse, stating that “What is hateful to you, do not do to others” (Shabbos 31a). Thus, we can understand that the verse implies not to do any harm, physical or financial, to another. The Torah is asking us to want for others the same level of success as we want for ourselves. Once again, this is difficult, as no matter how well we wish someone, we wish better for ourselves.

The Alter of Slobodka said, “The commandment is to love others ‘kamocha’, as you love yourself: instinctively, without reason”. Alternatively, Rabbi Avraham Yehoshua Heschel of Kopitchinitz suggests that this commandment is for us to love those that are not easy to love. Ben Petura goes a step further referring to this principle as “the book of the generations of man”. It is not merely to avoid doing harm and showing rachamim or mercy, but must include positive acts of kindness, gomlei chassadim. As with any quote, oftentimes, the context is left out. It is important to remember that the words following “you shall love your neighbour as yourself” are “I am Hashem” (Vayikra, 19:18). We are asked to remember that we are all created by G-d. The prophet Malachi states, “Have we not all one father? Has not one G-d created us? Why should we deal treacherously every man against his brother, profaning and breaking the covenant of our forefathers?” (Malachi 2:10). Rabbi Twerski highlights the words of Rabbi Akiva who calls this “fundamental principle” a klal gadol. Klal Gadol means all-encompassing principle. Thus, if this passuk is the klal, then all 613 mitzvot should make up part of the characteristics of the klal. Hence, every mitzvah must be performed with Ahavat Yisrael in order to be considered to be properly performed. Even when we pray, we should share our prayers with all of Israel. He reminds us as well of the words of Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler. Rabbi Dessler writes that it is not that we give to those we love, but rather we love to whom we give. “Meaning that in giving of ourselves to others, by investing ourselves in the lives of our fellow man, a part of us remains with that person and our love for them grows” (Michtave MeEliyahu vol.1). More practically, HaKrav V’HaKabbalah offer examples of how to fulfill this mitzvah. Do not feign affection; treat others with respect; always seek the best in others; greet others with friendliness; show empathy and join in their pain; see the best in them; assist physically, even if it is not for something difficult; be ready to assist with small loans and gifts; and lastly, do not consider yourself better than others.

~Devorah Abenhaim

The laws of tzora’as applied to both a house and a garment as well. If a garment showed signs of tzora’as, it might need to be burnt. If a house became marked by green or red streaks, it was boarded up for seven days. If the streaks then spread, the affected stones of the house were removed and replaced with new ones. The house was replastered; the old stones and dust were thrown into a specially designated unclean area outside the camp. If the signs lingered, the building might need to be demolished.

The Kohen had the ultimate responsibility to examine the person afflicted with tzora’as and to declare them pure or impure. The affliction seems to be historically related to leprosy except that in those days, leprosy was incurable and this affliction did seem to “run its course” in a matter of days or weeks. The sages interpreted this disease to be a punishment for loshen hara (evil speech). Miriam came down with the symptoms of tzora’as immediately after speaking out against Moses. In the Talmud, the word metzora is linked to the phrase ‘motzi shem ra’ which means “one who issues evil.” The sages spent an enormous amount of time and space in the Talmud discussing the evils of slander and gossip. In tractate Chullin (89a), the Gemara states: “What is a person’s proper craft in this world? He should make himself as though mute.” The Jerusalem Talmud relates loshen hara to idol worship. When a person worships an idol, they deny the existence of Gud. When a person speaks loshen hara, they may talk about someone “behind their back”, thinking that what the person does not hear, will not hurt them. This is also denying God, since He hears and sees everything.

​​​​​​​The prophet Micah (7:5) writes: “Guard the entrances of your mouth.” The sages compare the mouth to the entrance of a house. Just as we guard the front door of our house to prevent evil from entering, so to we must guard our mouths from making sure evil speech (loshen hara) does not leave. The Talmud states that loshen hara “kills” three people: the speaker, the listener, and the target of the slander or gossip. Additionally, the Torah in Sefer Bamidbar (19:15) states: “And every open vessel that has no bound lid on it, is ritually unclean.” The sages interpret this verse to apply to one’s mouth as an open vessel that becomes defiled with evil speech and is unfit to utter praises to God.

~Devorah Abenhaim

It is remarkably unclear what exactly Nadav and Avihu did wrong when they offered their ‘strange fire’ before the Lord – there are many hypotheses about what their sin or mistake was. Rabbi Shimon Felix comments: “I would suggest, however, that Aharon’s silence is a function of his role as parent, not as high priest, and tells us this: ultimately, there are things that one’s children do about which parents have nothing to say, decisions that children make that are beyond a parent’s ability to intelligently or productively comment on, explain, judge, influence, or take responsibility for.

In Jewish tradition, when a child turns bar or bat mitzvah, there is a somewhat strange blessing for the parents to recite – “Blessed be He who has exempted me from being punished for this one.” The idea is that our children, when small, are our responsibility; they are our responsibility to such a degree that we deserve to be punished for anything they may do wrong. Once they reach adulthood, however, this is no longer the case, and parents are no longer liable for the acts of their children. At the age of 12 or 13 (maybe a little later than that nowadays, I’ll grant you), parents need to begin to understand that children must, and will, go their own way, whether they like it or not; the “Blessed be He who has exempted me” blessing tells us that.”

Aharon’s silence is a similar expression of distance from the acts of his adult children. At some point, Aharon’s silence tells us, parents need to understand that they ultimately have nothing to say about the decisions made by their children, for better or worse.

​​​​​​​Whatever it was that his sons were doing in the Tabernacle, whatever place it was that they had arrived at in their lives, Aharon, their father, was not there. It was not his place, and, therefore, as a father, he had nothing to say about it. His silence is the only possible response to the fact that his children had, on their own, come to a very strange religious decision – one that he could not agree with, accept, or even comment on. Whether this is a good thing – as Moshe seems to argue – or not, is beside the point. For Aharon, the point is that he understood that his sons had acted as children ultimately must: independently, and there is nothing a father or mother can say or do to change that.

~Devorah Abenhaim

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 wehav “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.

~Devorah Abenhaim

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. That’s something you can’t 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.
​​​​​​​
~Devorah Abenhaim

​​​​​​​We also read about the procedure for various sacrifices. One such sacrifice was the sin offering. A person was obligated to bring a sin offering if they unintentionally transgressed a commandment whose intentional violation would be punished by death. There was a sliding scale for this sacrifice. A rich person brought an ox, middle class, goat or sheep, poor, two pigeons, destitute, flour and oil. The Rambam, Rabbi Moshe Maimonides writes that if a rich person was to bring an offering of flour and oil, his obligation would not have been met. It did, however, suffice for a poor person to bring an ox. The Alter Rebbe writes in his Letters of Repentance, that in this time, when we can no longer bring sin offerings, a person should increase in their service to Hashem. If one learns one chapter daily, they should increase to two. If one gives one penny to charity, let them give two, etc. Even in Temple times, the sacrifice did not provide a magical formula for sin removal. There has never been a quick fix for repentance. The main emphasis was and is on the person increasing in their Avodas Hashem, service of the Creator. By sinning, a person puts a blemish or dent in their soul. This blemish has a direct effect on their connection to God. By doing teshuva, repenting, one fills in those dents and fissures and repairs the attachment.

Yeast and honey were not permitted in the offerings on the altar, but salt was. Rabbi Mordechai Gifter teaches that yeast makes the dough rise higher and honey makes things sweeter, but both are external additives. Salt, however, only brings out the food’s existing flavor. When serving Hashem, Rabbi Zelig Pliskin explains, we should follow the model of salt — we should be ourselves, but make every effort to be all that we can be. (Dipping bread in salt should remind us not only of the sacrifices, but of our obligation to use our potential to the fullest.)

One of the most important warnings to the Jewish people is uttered in this parshah “Remember what Amalek did to you… That he encountered you on the way…” (Deuteronomy 25:17-18) The Hebrew word karcha, “encountered you,” also translates “cooled you off”. Thus the Midrash (Tanchuma) says: What is the incident (of Amalek) comparable to? To a boiling tub of water which no creature was able to enter. Along came one evil-doer and jumped into it. Although he was burned, he cooled it for the others. So, too, when Israel came out of Egypt, and God split the sea before them and drowned the Egyptians within it, the fear of them fell upon all the nations. But when Amalek came and challenged them, although he received his due from them, he cooled the awe of them for the nations of the world.

​​​​​​​~Devorah Abenhaim

In Professor A.J. Heschel’s book, “The Sabbath, it’s Meaning for Modern Man”, he illustrates that the whole of our technical civilization is bent on conquering space and in increasing the number of things coming under man’s dominion that occupy space. He writes that to enhance our power in the world of space is our main objective. Yet to have more does not mean to be more. Man must not surrender unconditionally to space and become enslaved to material ‘things’. Heschel asserts that Judaism is more concerned with time than space and he explains as follows: We must forget that it is not a thing that lends significance to a moment, it is the moment that lends significance to things.

One of the most distinguished words in the Bible is the word ‘kadosh’ – holy; a word that is more than any other representative of the mystery and majesty of the Divine. Now, what was that first holy object in the history of the world? Was it a mountain? Was it an altar? It is indeed a unique occasion at which the distinguished word kadosh is used, and this is done for the first time in the Book of Genesis at the end of the story of creation. How extremely significant is the fact that it is applied to time: “And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy”. There is no reference in the record of creation to any object in space that would be endowed with the quality of holiness.

This is a radical departure for accustomed religious thinking. The mythical mind would expect that after heaven and earth have been established, God would create a holy place – a holy mountain or a holy spring – whereupon a sanctuary is to be established. Yet it seems as if to the Bible, it is holiness in time, the Sabbath, which comes first. When history began, there was only one holiness in the world – holiness in time. When at Sinai the word of God was about to be voiced, a call for holiness in man was proclaimed: “Thou shalt be unto me a holy people”. It was only after the people had succumbed to the temptation of worshipping a thing – the golden calf – that the erection of a temple, of holiness in space, was commanded.

In Chapter 29:32 of Parashat Pekudei the Torah tells us: “All the work of the Tabernacle, the Tent of Meeting, was completed, and the Children of Israel had done everything that Hashem commanded Moses, so did they do.”  Rabbi Chayyim Ben Attar discusses that the torah teaches that a person’s delegate is accounted as like the person who has delegated them. The Torah here credits all of the Israelites with having constructed the Holy Tabernacle although it was only Betzalel (and his helpers) who had actually performed all the work. While it is true that Betzalel had received his instructions from God and not from the Israelites, the fact that the Israelites had given their silent consent to Betzalel’s appointment meant that he acted as their delegate.

It appears that the Torah is trying to teach us a general rule about how the way the Torah can be observed successfully by showing how the Israelites conferred merits one upon the other. The Torah is only capable of fulfillment by means of the entire Jewish nation. Every individual Jew is charged with the duty to perform those commandments that they are able to fulfill.  This is the true meaning of Leviticus 19:18: “you shall love your fellow Jew as he is part of yourself.”  Without the fellow Jew, no individual Jew would be able to function as a total Jew. Each Jew has a task to help another Jew to become a more fulfilled Jew by means of his fulfilling commandments, which the second Jew is unable to fulfill alone. As a result, the fellow Jew is not ‘acher’ – someone else, but is part of ‘kamocha’ – oneself.  It is interesting to note, however, that we cannot fulfill all of the 613 commandments.

​​​​​​​The Or Hachayyim asks if we are to be at a permanent physical and spiritual disadvantage? He answers that clearly, Torah and its observance is not only a project for the individual but for the community. The Torah prove home this point by legislating laws which can be performed only by women, only be Levites, only by Priests, and in some instances, only by sinners, i.e. sinners who are anxious to rehabilitate themselves. Our verse teaches us this lesson. The reason that this was an appropriate time to teach us this lesson is that the 13 basic raw materials needed for the Tabernacle were as interdependent one upon the other as Jews are dependant upon each other in order to achieve the harmonious personality that God desires for each Jew to develop into by means of their good deeds. It makes perfect sense therefore, that the Torah considers every Jew as having contributed all 13 kinds of raw materials needed for the Tabernacle.

~Devorah Abenhaim

A former President of the United States once asked his Israeli counterpart how things were going. “I have many problems,” said the Israeli. Replied the American President, “You think you have problems? You are the President of 8 million people, while I am President of 180 million.” To which the Israeli President replied, “Mr. President, you are President of 180 million people. I, however, am the President of 8 million Presidents.”

The Torah itself calls the Jewish People a stiff-necked people. Sometimes this obstinacy can be for the good and sometimes for the not so good. Stubbornness can be an extremely dangerous trait, for it can foil any attempt to improve our situation. Stubbornness enters a person’s mind and blinkers him from any other possibility other the one on which he has set his mind. Thus, in the incident with the golden calf with all its severity, the Torah doesn’t focus on the sin itself, rather on the obstinacy that it revealed. A negative action can always be atoned for and repaired, whereas implacable wrong-headedness allows no place for the way of return. However, there is also a positive side to being stubborn:

Rabbi Sinclair relates the following story: In a certain concentration camp, there was one particularly sadistic Nazi officer. One day he ordered a Jew to follow him to the top of a nearby hill. He indicated a cloud of dust rising on the distant Eastern horizon. “Do you know what that is?” “No.” replied the Jew. “That is the Russian Army. In a couple of hours they will be at the gates of the camp. The war is over for you. I want you to eat this piece of ham now, or I will shoot you.” The Jew refused on the spot without batting an eyelash. And the Nazi shot him also without batting an eyelash.

Edward Gibbon in his “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire” writes that of all the nations that Rome subjugated, the only people that clung successfully to its beliefs was the Jewish People. All Rome’s other vassal states managed to segue the Roman gods into their pantheon without batting an eyelash. The Jews, however, were prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice rather than abandon their faith. It is this intransigence, imbued in the spiritual genes of our people by our forefathers, that has preserved Jewish identity to this day.

Moshe comes down from the mountain after the Israelites had made the Golden Calf and VAYAR ET HA’EGEL UMECHOLOT, “…he saw the calf and the dances…”. (Ex. 32,19)

Then, the Torah states, his anger flared up and he shattered the Tablets of Stone. Why was he surprised when he saw the calf? Hashem had told him that they made it. Why did he bring the Tablets down or why didn’t he shatter them before? The Seforno answers this question. He says that when Moshe was told that they had made the calf he thought he would come down to them and show them their mistake and they would do Teshuva. When he saw that they were dancing and made merry with such joy, he realized that he will not be able to readily pull them away from the calf. He came to the conclusion that they were not ready for the tablets of the Ten Commandments. We often make mistakes. If, however, we do not realize our errors and continue to justify what we did then it is much harder for us to correct our ways. We must be ready to face up and recognize our wrong doing. Only then will we be able to correct our faults.​​​​​​​

​​​​​​​~Devorah Abenhaim