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.
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~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

Solomon, likewise, said the following, regarding the building of the Temple: behold, the heaven and the heaven of heavens cannot contain thee; how much less this house that I have built?” (I Kings 8:27). These are evidently statements that contradict each other. Abravanel’s response to his question (as recorded in Nechama Leibowitz ‘Studies in Exodus’) is that the Divine intention behind the construction of the tabernacle was to combat the idea that God had forsaken the earth, and that his throne was in heaven and remote from humankind. To disabuse them of this erroneous belief, He commanded them to make a tabernacle, as if to imply that He dwelt in their midst – that they should believe that God lived in their midst and His Providence was ever with them.

This is the meaning of:  “And I shall dwell amidst the children of Israel”, “who dwelleth with them in their defilement.” It is all a parable and allegory representing the idea of the immanence of His Providence and Presence.  He commanded the installation of the laver and its base as if to warn them to “cleanse…remove the evil of your deeds”, the altar of the burnt offering, on which to burn your corporeal desires and evil impulses. The Temple contained the table, candlestick, and the altar of incense. These vessels symbolized the ministering to the King of the Universe, not that He – heaven forbid – need any of these things. Their purpose was to implant in their souls that God walked in the midst of their camp.

The Torah tells us that the lid of the ark should be made of pure gold, and that out of the lid, those who construct it should fashion the cherubs. The Alskekh explains that as we know, the material blessings in this world comprise three elements, i.e. children (physical continuity), life and livelihood. Concerning the acquisition of the life aspect, the ark has already become a symbol to him who desires life, who devotes himself to the Torah, to secure life both in this world and in the world to come. The Torah now suggests what man should do in order to have children. After having studied Torah, his next task in life is to marry and raise a family. This family too is linked to one’s Torah study. The figures of the male and female cherub on the lid of the ark represented the union of man and wife on the basis of Torah. As the Talmud in Yevamot 63 states, he who marries, his sins are forgiven.  Such a union is to be pure from sinful considerations as the purity of the gold, the kapporet – lid – is made of. The letters yud and heh in the words ish and ishah respectively, are represented symbolically by the length and width measurements of the kapporet when measured in terms of handbreadths, instead of cubits as mentioned in the Torah.

This is a reminder that God must be part of such a union in order for such a union not to go up in aysh or flames –passion burning itself out, and leaving the marriage devoid of meaning. The intent when entering into the bonds of marriage is that one’s relationship becomes a spiritual one if the couple wishes to ensure that their children will be like the cherubs and reflect the innocence and purity of their parents.  When all these factors are present, the children’s faces will face the lid, and the parents need not fear that they will lose their children during their lifetime. On an interesting note, subsequent to placing the tablets into the ark, God will come to Israel. Shemot Rabbah illustrates the point:  As long as a girl was merely betrothed, her fiancé would visit her daily in her father’s home. Once they had become married, the bride’s father would visit his daughter in the home of his son-in-law. Similarly here – Once the tablets were inside the Holy Ark, God would manifest himself among the Jewish People and Moses would no longer have to climb the mountain.
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~Devorah Abenhaim

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