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D’var Torah: Parshas Nitzavim-Vayeilech, 5771
It has been observed that audiences generally remember almost nothing from speeches aside from the opening and closing remarks (if lucky). Accordingly, the Torah’s choice of “Pru Ur’vu” (be fruitful and multiply) as its opening mitzvah, and this week’s “Kisvu Lachem Es HaShira HaZos” (the mitzvah to write a Sefer Torah) as its closing mitzvah, must be anything but arbitrary. The question then emerges: what is so unique about these two mitzvos that warrants such special placement?
Perhaps one could suggest that these two mitzvos share a common theme, focusing on the perpetuation of the Jewish people. Pru U’rvu facilitates the physical perpetuation of the Jewish people: by bringing more Jewish children into the world, one ensures that Jewish bodies will continue to populate the earth. Conversely, writing a Sefer Torah bolsters the spiritual perpetuation of the Jewish people: by “giving birth” to more Sifrei Torah, one ensures the intact transmission of our Mesorah from generation to generation, thereby preserving the soul of the Jewish nation that has sustained us throughout our history. By bookending the remaining 611 mitzvos with these two related mitzvos, the Torah hints that all of its mitzvos are not simply to be performed by individuals during their lifetimes, but also to be passed on to future generations. Indeed, the physical and spiritual continuity of our people are equally essential.
The Gemarah itself (Sanhedrin 19) appears to highlight this connection between spiritual and physical procreation, stating that, “One who teaches his friend’s son Torah is considered to have given birth to him” –that is, passing on Torah to the next generation is no less an act of procreation than physically bringing children into the world. Similarly, it is interesting to note that just as children necessarily come from parents, Halacha dictates that every Sefer Torah must be copied, letter for letter, from a “parent” Sefer Torah – not even a single letter may be written from memory (see Megillah 18, Yoreh Deah 274). Moreover, just as there are parallels between the birth of a child and the creation of a Sefer Torah, the death of a person is explicitly compared to the burning of a Sefer Torah (Moed Kattan 25a), with both situations requiring “keriyah” (tearing of one’s garments) along with the burial of the person or Sefer Torah. Indeed, one can seemingly draw numerous other connections between the physical and spiritual forms of procreation.
Once we acknowledge that the Torah begins and ends with these two pillars to convey the fundamental need to perpetuate the Jewish people – both physically and spiritually — perhaps we can go even one step further. What both of these mitzvos represent is that, as part of the Jewish nation, our existence in this world does not ultimately end with ourselves. Virtually all other mitzvos in the Torah serve the “right-here, right-now”: shake a Lulav now; eat Matzah now; give Tzedakah now. All such mitzvos are performed for the sake of oneself or members of one’s own generation. When it comes to Peru U’rvu and writing a Sefer Torah, however, the focus is on the benefit of future generations that do not yet exist. By opening and closing with these mitzvos, the Torah is teaching us that the Jew must never perceive his or her place in history in isolation. Every generation constitutes an essential part of a grand tradition which neither starts nor ends with us. While one who chooses to remove him or herself from the “klal” lives and dies in a single, finite lifespan, one who attaches him or herself to the immortal nation taps into something that is eternal, thereby becoming immortal by association.
As an aside, it is important to note that this “immortality by association” is true regardless of whether or not an individual has personally been blessed with children. By attaching oneself to the eternal nation, our Sages teach that all Jewish children become one’s collective descendants, continuing the traditions and values that one has lived by into the next generation, regardless of one’s own personal family situation.
To conclude, this perspective is particularly relevant for us as we face uncertain decisions concerning our people. As Mark Twain (“Concerning the Jews”, Harper’s Magazine, 1899) famously observed, the Egyptians, Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, and Romans all made loud splashes in their day, but quickly vanished from the face of the earth. The Jews, however, continue steadfast in their eternal mission to spread G-d’s light throughout the world. If we, G-d forbid, neglect our national and spiritual identification for exclusively selfish and personal ambitions, living a life exclusively based on the “right here, right now,” we remove ourselves from this everlasting chain, and our life will both begin and end with ourselves. But if we remain true to our ancient values and mission, we gain the unique privilege of becoming an indelible part of this immortal chain that has watched, and will continue to watch, so many enemies rise and fall. Indeed, Mahmoud Abbas, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, or anyone else at the United Nations can say and do as they like to try to destroy us, but both they and we know that their ultimately failed attempt will one day be read about in the history books of our collective descendants.
With best wishes from the city of our ancestors,
ZW
Scholar-in-Residence: Marc D. Stern, J.D.
Shabbat Parshat Tazria-Metzora
6 Iyar, 5772 - April 28, 2012
MARC D. STERN, General Counsel, Director of Legal Advocacy, American Jewish Committee
Following Adon Olam
Speaking About Israel: Free Speech and It’s Limits
6:00 pm Does God Figure in November: Religion and the Election
7:00 pm – Mincha
7:20 pm Seuda Shlisheet – Aid to Yeshivos: Possibilities and Risks
Marc Stern is a leading expert in legal advocacy issues that have traditionally been of concern to the Jewish community, in particular in the field of religion and the law, and in the new field of “lawfare”—pursuing war through the use of international legal procedures. He came to AJC after 33 years at the American Jewish Congress, where he was General Counsel since 1999 and acting co-executive director since 2008. Marc has authored numerous legal briefs, published many articles, and has participated in arguing four cases before the U.S. Supreme Court. He earned a B.A. at Yeshiva University and J.D. from the Columbia University School of Law. In 2012, Marc received the Religious Liberty Award from the First Freedom Foundation.
D’var Torah: Terumah, 5772
Good fences make good neighbors – even if your neighbor is God Himself. When the Gemarah (Zevachim 59b) cites the opinion of R’ Yosei that the copper (outdoor) Mizbeach stood at a towering ten cubits tall, it is immediately bothered. How could the Mizbeach possibly have been so tall, it questions, when the surrounding fence of the courtyard was itself only five cubits tall? According to R’ Yosei’s maximalist opinion, a Kohein standing atop the Mizbeach performing the sacrificial service would be visible to all of the surrounding neighbors outside of the Mishkan, something which the Gemarah assumes would be absolutely unacceptable.
Conceding that such a situation could not possibly have been the case, the Gemarah is forced to conclude that, according to R’ Yosei, the courtyard’s fence must have actually been fifteen cubits high, even though the Torah itself identifies it as only five cubits (R’ Yosei explains that the Torah means “five cubits” taller than the Mizbeach). With a fence as tall as this, even a Kohen serving on top of R’ Yosei’s massive Mizbeach would be completely obstructed from the outside’s view.
It is fascinating that the Gemarah assumes as an inviolable axiom the impropriety of the Temple service being observed by outside onlookers. It respects this assumption to such an extent that it is even willing to abandon the simple reading of the Torah (namely, that the courtyard fence was only five cubits high) in order to avoid such a situation. What the Gemarah does not explain, however, is why this should be the case. Why is it so essential that the Kohen’s service not be visible to the outside world?
I think that this Halacha serves to teach a simple but critical lesson. As we know, the Mishkan represents the ultimate form of “Avodah” – the Jew’s service of God. While we no longer have a Mishkan (an external/physical one, at least), every aspect of the construction, from the colors to the dimensions to the metals, hints at very profound Divine secrets pertaining to the timeless nature of a Jew’s service of God. Perhaps, then, the Gemarah is so insistent upon the concealment of the Temple service in order to teach that the truest, most pure Divine service is always concealed from the sight of others. While many cultures and traditions pride themselves upon the ability to attain public glory and renown, the greatest Jewish hero is ironically the one whose greatness is most concealed within. The relationship between a person and God is simply too special to be cheapened by the paltry admiration of other human beings.
In an era of mass media, Google, and social networking, the way we are perceived by the world becomes more and more confused with the way we really are. Untold amounts of anxiety and depression are suffered due to our obsession with how we appear to the world, as we become more concerned with “looking good” than actually “being good.” Unfortunately, the religious world is not immune to this deleterious tendency: we may come to identify our religiosity with the number of hashgachos that are present on the matzah boxes we buy, how many times we say “Baruch Hashem” in a sentence, or how we dress. But as fulfilling as these pursuits may initially feel, in and of themselves they are spiritually vapid, and excessive concern with external matters like these only remove us farther from ourselves and God. We may even get to a point where we are no longer serving God, but rather serving our egos, forgetting that ultimately, the estimation of other people is nothing relative to the estimation of God.
Although the internal urge to flaunt and earn admiration for one’s material and spiritual station is very strong, one who is able to overcome this drive and forge a true relationship with Hashem will ultimately feel even more blessed. He or she will be immune to the tyranny of societal opinion, and, as the Ramban teaches, Hashem’s Presence will rest upon him or her in a palpable way. While we must certainly strive to make a “Kiddush Hashem” and avoid any appearance of impropriety, we must simultaneously remember that external opinions have little to do with our true greatness (see Niddah 31). Individuals who succeed in remembering this ideal dwell within the courtyard of the Mishkan every day of their lives – literally.
Wishing you an internally uplifting Shabbos,
ZW
D’var Torah: Vayechi, 5772
Things are certainly looking up under the sea. With every passing year, more and more studies point to the multiplicity of benefits accrued from the regular consumption of seafood. While high concentrations of mercury remain a serious concern, doctors are becoming increasingly aware of the wide variety of essential nutrients – including omega-three fatty acids, B vitamins, vitamin D, selenium, and of course, protein – that fish have to offer. Indeed, one published study found that regular consumption (one to two 3-oz servings per week) of this newly heralded “superfood” reduced heart disease-related mortality by as much as 36 percent – that’s double Chai. Long before the present hype, however, the Jewish tradition expressed a profound fascination with the beautiful qualities of these mysterious aquatic organisms.
In blessing Ephraim and Menashe, Yaakov Avinu employs the simile of a fish: “V’’yidgu LaRov B’Kerev Ha’Aretz” – and they shall multiply like fish in the midst of the land. Our Sages (Rashi 48:16, Berachos 20a) teach that the choice of a fish is not coincidental. Fish, we are taught, are immune to the Ayin HaRa – the evil eye, because they represent the epitome of tzniyus – modesty. Submerged beneath the surface of the water, fish exist in the realm of the concealed, keeping their beauty to themselves. For this reason, fish are associated with blessing (see Kesubos 5a): as the Gemarah teaches in Ta’anis (8b), blessing only falls upon that which is concealed from the eye. On a mystical level, it is suggested that this holy trait of fish may also explain why fish require no shechita: shechita is needed to spiritually elevate and sanctify an animal for human consumption. Fish exist on such a high stratum of holiness that no such “correction” is necessary. This sacred status may also relate to why fish were spared outside of Noah’s Ark during the flood (see Kiddushin 13), the special Mitzvah to eat fish on Shabbos (see OC 242), and the Kabbalistic association of fish with Adar, a month that is ripe with concealed miracles and blessings.
Granted that fish represent the blessing that comes from modesty, but why did Yaakov specifically mention fish regarding Ephraim and Menashe? Would this not have been an appropriate blessing for all of the tribes? While many answers are possible, perhaps we can suggest that Yaakov recognized that his entire reunion with Yosef – and therefore, his entire connection to Ephraim and Menashe – was the direct result of modesty. As the Gemarah (Taanis 10b, Rashi Bereishis 42:1) teaches, Yaakov initially had no need to send his sons down to Egypt to obtain food, as his family’s silo remained robustly stocked at the beginning of the famine. Yaakov merely sent his sons to buy food in Egypt so that his family would not appear overly wealthy and blessed in the eyes of their neighbors, who truly did not have food.Yaakov’s staunch desire to avoid flaunting his own wealth and blessing thus catalyzed the reunion with Yosef, which may never have transpired the way it did if Yaakov did not send his sons early on.
Yaakov thus realized that his entire connection with Menashe and Ephraim was ultimately a blessing that resulted from the trait of modesty.As such, they came to represent the living embodiment of the blessing that comes from this trait, and were thus in turn blessed to perpetuate the legacy of Yaakov’s modesty (interestingly, the Hebrew name Ephraim is often paired with Fischel, which means fish).
There are few virtues as beautiful to the Jewish eye as modesty (see Rashi Shemos 34:3). Vanity takes many forms: while some people show off their cars, others show off their bodies, and yet others show off their piety in Mitzvah observance – there really isn’t much of a difference between these (although with Mitzvos, we do say “Mitoch SheLo Lishma, Ba Lishma”), as each of these behaviors reflects the same internal deficiency, merely tailored to manifest whatever values are considered admirable by one’s community or onlookers.All of these shortcomings are ultimately rooted in the same deep-seated failure to recognize that one’s true worth in this world comes from his or her pristinely Divine self, not the approbation of others. A modest person remains in constant recognition of his or her innate godliness, remaining comfortable, confident, and secure irrespective of others’ impressions – like a fish securely under the water. Such an outlook brings not only holiness, but constant happiness. And there’s certainly no mercury in that.
Wishing you a wonderful Shabbos from the across the Atlantic,
ZW
D’var Torah: Sukkos, 5772
Halacha makes a fascinating distinction between a Sukkah that has areas of invalid S’chach (“S’chach possul”) as opposed to a Sukkah that has areas of no S’chach (i.e., gaps of open airspace). While invalid S’chach – such as a metal sheet, a basketball, or an apple – only invalidates a Sukkah if it comprises a width of FOUR handbreadths spanning across the Sukkah, an open, uncovered gap invalidates a Sukkah at merely THREE handbreadths across. In other words, it is easier for gaps of open air space to invalidate a Sukkah than it is for non-Kosher S’chach to invalidate a Sukkah. This distinction, though, is quite difficult to understand: why should non-Kosher S’chach be considered to be any better than no S’chach – after all, neither one is halachically considered to be S’chach! (see Mishnah Berurah 632:10)
Perhaps we can suggest that this halacha hints at a lesson that is critical for every Jew, especially at this time of year. Here, you have a person who doesn’t quite have enough S’chach to cover his or her entire Sukkah. Such a person can either give up entirely, and leave an empty, open air space, or he or she can at least try to put SOMETHING up there – even if it’s not a fantastic solution. The fact that the halacha is “harder” (i.e., more strict) on the person who simply gives up and leaves an empty hole in the roof implies that the Torah rewards and values the attempt – even if the S’chach ends up being possul, put something up there. It may not be the best solution, but at the very least you’ll get credit for having given some attempt at covering your Sukkah; never underestimate the value of trying in halacha.
As we begin the long, arduous, and daunting path of trying to live up to the already waning resolutions we so ardently made just a few days ago, we can often become overwhelmed. Do I really think I have a chance at maintaining true change in my life? Who am I kidding? This is genetically who I’m programmed to be… Whether our perceived failures lie in our character traits, our job, or our personal lives, after having failed on so many occasions, suffered so much disappointment, it is eventually easier to just become “realistic” and save ourselves the trouble of trying. But to the Jew, natural patterns are illusory — just because you’ve failed 100 times is no reason you can’t succeed in the 101th. G-d specifically looks for resilience (as the great Shlomo HaMelech wrote, “a Tzaddik falls seven times and continues to get up,” and the Navi Michah states, “for because I have fallen, I have risen”), and when we continue to try – even if our efforts end up being “possul” – they still count for a lot more than no effort at all.
This principle is not limited to Teshuva, though. For example, the deeply painful experience of having gone out on countless numbers of dates with heretofore unsuitable candidates might lead a person to the emotionally safer route of simply stopping to date and reluctantly resigning to a life of solitude. Indeed, the pain of such a situation cannot be overstated, and such a response is certainly understandable, and maybe even logical. However, the “easier” option in life is not always the right option. Firstly (and perhaps most importantly), who knows what the next blind date might bring? It certainly could be the one — recall the timeless words of Wayne Gretzky, that “you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” But on an even deeper spiritual level, according to what we’ve argued, even if the next date does turn out to be yet another disaster, you will nonetheless have fulfilled the religious obligation of trying. While your disastrous date may seem like a complete waste of time and emotional energy in your eyes, it is not a waste in the eyes of Hashem. As with “S’chach Possul,” any and every effort that we take, no matter how fruitless the results, has value in His eyes. Know that your night was most certainly not wasted, and that by putting in the best effort that you could, you fulfilled His will – and that’s certainly no small thing. Whatever situation in our lives we may be trying to change, no matter how difficult, the worst thing we can do is to give up on our dreams.
As we embark on our individual journeys to become the best people we can be during this 5772, let us use this subtle hint of Sukkos as a pat on the back, a packed lunch, or a word of encouragement that we can take with us for when the trails get muddy. With Hashem’s help, our results will be fruitful and successful. But even if not, the very act of trying will in and of itself be transformative and worthy of mercy and blessing from above for success the following year.
With best wishes for a very joyful and meaningful Sukkos,
Hope to see you next week (virtually),
ZW
Webcast: To Thine Own Self Be True: Elul, Shofar, and the Real You
See Zev’s webcast from Yerushalayim…
Webcast: The Walls We Build — An Analysis of the Synagogue Mechitza
See Zev’s webcast from Yerushalayim…
D’var Torah: Ki Tavo, 5771
(Dedicated L’Ilui Nishmas Blima Nechama Bas Ze’ev)
Newton got it right – more so than he may have realized. When Sir Isaac enlightened the world with his first law of physics, teaching that an object at rest tends to stay at rest, he uncovered one of the most fundamental principles of translational physics. Perhaps unbeknownst to him, though, Newton may also have hit upon one of the most fundamental truths of human behavior: when we are in a dormant, stationary, and procrastinating mode, we tend to stay that way. And that’s exactly what the mitzvah of Vidui Ma’aser is all about overcoming.
Vidui Ma’aser, detailed in Parshas Ki Savo, is one of the lesser known rituals of the Torah. Very basically, the Torah commands us every year to separate certain types of charity (Ma’aser) that must be distributed. We all know, however, what can happen. Just like those unpaid parking tickets and starred emails that we absolutely plan on responding to, procrastination picks up steam. We tell ourselves that we’ll take care of it tomorrow. But then tomorrow slips by, we get home late at night, and put it off another day. Well, by the next day, the ticket’s been covered by a pile of papers, and the email’s been bumped out of our inbox by new emails. Eventually, we completely forget. The Torah anticipates that the same thing will happen with our tithes – if not distributed immediately, they begin to pile up in our home, and we lose sight of them.
Along comes the Torah this week, and says that there comes a time when we simply need to clean things up. Even if we’ve completely procrastinated doing what we need to do, the Torah imposes a cleanup time – namely, on Pesach of every third year of a Shemittah cycle. No matter how much we’ve let our responsibilities slide, we can clean it all up, and start from scratch. As gruelingly difficult as it is to overcome the inertia, overcome that voice in our heads that just wants to quietly push it aside and turn on the TV, we pick ourselves up, hop in our U-Haul, and lug all our charity to the Beis HaMikdash and announce, “I’ve disposed of all that I need to…I have a fresh new beginning.” That is the essence of Vidui Ma’aser – it’s so much easier to just continue brushing something under the rug, but there comes a time when we have to do what we need to do.
In an era of iPods, Google, and Twitter, though, there are increasing numbers of distractions that make it ever so easy to guiltlessly procrastinate and neglect our obligations. Much worse than neglecting an email or phone call, though, is neglecting ourselves. It is so easy to fall into a rut of inertia – a vicious cycle of stagnation (physical and emotional) and negative energy; times in which we feel like we are wasting our lives treading water rather than swimming. The biggest danger of such cycles, however, is when we don’t even realize that we’ve stopped swimming and have started treading – all we know is that deep down, something just doesn’t feel quite right, and that we’ve somehow become empty, bitter, and cynical in our overall outlook on life. Indeed, the worst form of rust is the rust that we’re not even aware of.
The concept of Vidui Ma’aser, then, is that we must establish certain points in our lives in which we force ourselves to stop and take stock of everything that we’ve been neglecting… and try to clean up. It is undoubtedly not coincidental that this parasha is dubbed “VIDUI (confession) Ma’aser” and that we read this parasha every year during the month of Elul, as Elul is really one big “Vidui Ma’aser” – a time to overcome our natural Newtonian inertia and take stock of all the things we’ve been carelessly neglecting, and to try to commit to do better. Am I a happy person? Do I feel support in my life? Do I feel G-d in my life? As obvious as these questions may seem, it is amazing how easy it is to persistently and subconsciously sweep them under the rug for years upon years.
Whether our deficiencies lie in action – learning Torah, practicing kindness, and exercising – or in thought – harboring feelings of jealousy, anger, or inadequacy – THIS is the time, right now, to take stock. Even big messes, whether internal or external, can be cleaned up far more quickly than they might seem, but a person must first recognize that there is a mess to begin with. No malady can be treated without a prior diagnosis. May we be blessed on this parasha of Vidui Ma’aser to gain clear insight into what in ourselves needs to be fixed, and may that itself be the springboard for successful teshuvah.
With very best wishes for a cleaned up Shabbos,
ZW
Update:
**Please note: in Dvar Torah above, I mistakenly wrote that Vidui Ma’aser comes every three years of the Shemittah cycle; what it should have said is that Vidui Ma’aser comes AFTER every three years (i.e., in years 4 and 7). I sincerely apologize for any confusion**
