"וַיִּקָּהֲלוּ עַל-מֹשֶׁה וְעַל-אַהֲרֹן, וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֲלֵהֶם רַב-לָכֶם כִּי כָל-הָעֵדָה כֻּלָּם קְדֹשִׁים, וּבְתוֹכָם יְהוָה; וּמַדּוּעַ תִּתְנַשְּׂאוּ, עַל-קְהַל יְהוָה - And they assembled themselves together against Moshe and against Aharon, and said to them: 'You take too much upon you, for all the congregation, all are holy, and Hashem is amongst it, why wherefore should you lift up yourselves above the assembly of Hashem?'"
(במדבר ט"ז:ג)
The verse above is taken from the opening scene of this week's Parsha, in which Korach instigates a (doomed) rebellion against Moshe. Korach acted as if his intentions were pure, but really his desires and motivations were far from selfless; a close reading of the text with the commentaries reveals that he really wanted fame, recognition and honour.
One of the main issues Korach raises in order to provoke Moshe is that of Moshe's role as leader of Am Yisrael. For example, one of the questions that Korach asks is "If an article of clothing is made entirely of t'chelet, (a certain blue/purple colouring that is used for dying the eighth string of the tzitzit,) would there then be any need to have an additional string attached to this garment, one that would be dyed in the same colour? Surely if the entire garment is holy, argues Korach, there should be no need for an extra string to render the garment as holy; surely it's holy enough already.
The question seems fair enough, but the question wasn't really what Korach was asking. By asking this question of Moshe, he was making a point about the relevancy of Moshe's leadership. In the verse above, the same thing happens, and if anything, Korach's criticism is even more explicit. Here, Korach notes that the people are all holy, and that he sees no need for Moshe to raise himself above a nation of holy people. Just like his question regarding tzitzit, Korach asks sharp questions of Moshe's right to lead.
As it turned out, Korach was proved wrong. (And on more than one level.) The problem with his approach can be seen already from the beginning of his criticism. Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch has an insight into Korach's words which reveal the extent of the flaw in his thinking. In the verse above, Korach deliberately switches the subject of his sentence from at first speaking about the nation as a whole, to then speaking about the people individually before reverting back to the nation as a single entity. "For all the congregation, all are holy, and Hashem is amongst it," he says. Why the switch to the people as individuals?
I would like to tender an answer of my own. We already know that Korach placed too much value on his own pride, his own honour. He clearly valued his own individuality. Here, Korach wanted to make a point to Moshe that if all the nation were holy people (which, for the sake of this argument, I will assume to be true), then a leader above them would be redundant. What he didn't understand was that in his attacking questions lay the flaw in his thinking. He asked Moshe a question about tzitzit. But what is the answer to his question? Actually, it is that such a garment, one comprised entirely of t'chelet, still needs the special t'chelet string! The reason is that despite the undoubted holiness of each of the composite parts, there is still a need for a binding force between them. Returning to the question of the relevance of a leader over a nation made up of holy people, we must answer that a leader is still required. When the Jewish nation stand as one and act as one, our unity is so strong that we can achieve incredible things. But when we are taken as individual parts, the flaws in each of us begin to show. It is not that those flaws weren't there before, but when people come together they help mask one another's failings.
Korach was undoubtedly right that the each person within the entire nation was holy in their own right. What he didn't understand was that despite this, if they were not part of a collective, their imbalances and imperfections would be allowed to get out of control. When people work together though, and under common guidance from a recognised authority, people are able to correct their mistakes and learn from one another. If we can't do that, we too will be doomed to failure. Let us learn the lesson from Korach and only live together in unity and Shalom.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Parshat Shelach Lecha - פרשת שלח לך
וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה, לָמָּה זֶּה אַתֶּם עֹבְרִים אֶת-פִּי יְהוָה; וְהִוא, לֹא תִצְלָח - And Moshe said: 'Why is it that you transgress the commandment of Hashem? It shall not succeed!
(במדבר י"ד:מ"א)
The verse above comes at the end of the story of the Meraglim, the "spies" who were sent to scout out the land of Israel prior to what was supposed to be Israel's entry. Unfortunately, the spies' report was highly critical and negative. Because the spies spoke badly about the land of Israel (or according to some explanations, because they saw bad in Israel,) the people of that generation were reprimanded and punished by being told that they wouldn't be given the merit to enter the land of Israel.
In an attempt to correct their earlier error, some of the Jews then declared that they would push forward into the land of Israel regardless. It is at this point that Moshe warns them, above. Immediately afterwards, we read of how this plan was doomed to fail with shocking consequences; those who went to enter the land were met by forces from the Amalek and Canaan armies, and were thoroughly annihilated.
I'd like to take a close look at the wording of the verse above. If we pay attention to Moshe's warning, he words his statement in an odd way; he doesn't say "you will not succeed," rather he phrases it as "it will not succeed." What is the it that he is referring to? The answer is actually fairly obvious, and the Ibn Ezra makes no time in explaining that "it" was the action of making aliyah, of going into Israel. "It" was the plan to do this, and this "it" would not succeed.
But we've only gone halfway to answering the question; now we know what the "it" was referring to, but we still don't know why Moshe referred to the plan as liable to fail rather than telling the people that they would fail. By changing the subject of his sentence, it seems unncessarily clunky. I'd like to tender an answer of my own: Moshe refused to criticise the people. He saw that they had good intentions and wanted to correct their earlier error. He realised that there was no point in telling them off for their hearts were true, even if their actions were off. I am not yet a parent and am not really in a place to direct people how to raise their own children, but I've heard it said that one must never say "stupid boy" or "bad girl", but rather must explain to the child in question that their actions were bad or lacked being thought through properly. The child is almost always good, even if the action isn't. In a similar manner, Moshe make sure to tell the nation that their actions would not succeed.
I'd like to relate this to current affairs. In recent weeks, a Scottish city council has voted to ban buying Israeli books for its library. I think we would to well to note the hypocrisy here. There are many people around the world who condemn Israel and declare it's actions illegal and immoral, decrying it to be an apartheid state. But how would they react when faced with terrorists and supporters of terrorists?
The problem here is one of unfair, destructive criticism, as opposed to fair and constructive criticism. I believe it is vital for a healthy democracy to be subject to criticism. If Israel's soldiers conduct themsleves in a manner not befitting of their role, they ought to be taken to court and sentenced. If Israel's politicians are too careless in their policies towards Palestinians, then they need to be reined in and critcised for their decisions. But the wholesale smearing of a state and all its citizens has no place in aiding the progress of democratic values.
As such, while Israel should not be criticised the way it is, it remains up to us to see to it that the problems in our society are sorted out. It is instructive to note that Israel is barely 60 years old. When America was 60 years old, slaves were still commonplace. Equality, theoretically at least, was only achieved in the last century. And real equality still hasn't been achieved in America. Hopefully Israel can become a platform on which the values of the Jewish people, the values of justice and equality amongst them, will be demonstrated with pride.
While Israel is surrounded by shocking hypocrisy, it remains up to us to ignore such inane criticism. We need to learn the lesson Moshe teaches here: we need not pay attention to those who try to attack us at every opportunity. But at the same time, we need to try to improve our conduct ourselves so that we arrive at the highest moral standard possible.
Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom!
(במדבר י"ד:מ"א)
The verse above comes at the end of the story of the Meraglim, the "spies" who were sent to scout out the land of Israel prior to what was supposed to be Israel's entry. Unfortunately, the spies' report was highly critical and negative. Because the spies spoke badly about the land of Israel (or according to some explanations, because they saw bad in Israel,) the people of that generation were reprimanded and punished by being told that they wouldn't be given the merit to enter the land of Israel.
In an attempt to correct their earlier error, some of the Jews then declared that they would push forward into the land of Israel regardless. It is at this point that Moshe warns them, above. Immediately afterwards, we read of how this plan was doomed to fail with shocking consequences; those who went to enter the land were met by forces from the Amalek and Canaan armies, and were thoroughly annihilated.
I'd like to take a close look at the wording of the verse above. If we pay attention to Moshe's warning, he words his statement in an odd way; he doesn't say "you will not succeed," rather he phrases it as "it will not succeed." What is the it that he is referring to? The answer is actually fairly obvious, and the Ibn Ezra makes no time in explaining that "it" was the action of making aliyah, of going into Israel. "It" was the plan to do this, and this "it" would not succeed.
But we've only gone halfway to answering the question; now we know what the "it" was referring to, but we still don't know why Moshe referred to the plan as liable to fail rather than telling the people that they would fail. By changing the subject of his sentence, it seems unncessarily clunky. I'd like to tender an answer of my own: Moshe refused to criticise the people. He saw that they had good intentions and wanted to correct their earlier error. He realised that there was no point in telling them off for their hearts were true, even if their actions were off. I am not yet a parent and am not really in a place to direct people how to raise their own children, but I've heard it said that one must never say "stupid boy" or "bad girl", but rather must explain to the child in question that their actions were bad or lacked being thought through properly. The child is almost always good, even if the action isn't. In a similar manner, Moshe make sure to tell the nation that their actions would not succeed.
I'd like to relate this to current affairs. In recent weeks, a Scottish city council has voted to ban buying Israeli books for its library. I think we would to well to note the hypocrisy here. There are many people around the world who condemn Israel and declare it's actions illegal and immoral, decrying it to be an apartheid state. But how would they react when faced with terrorists and supporters of terrorists?
The problem here is one of unfair, destructive criticism, as opposed to fair and constructive criticism. I believe it is vital for a healthy democracy to be subject to criticism. If Israel's soldiers conduct themsleves in a manner not befitting of their role, they ought to be taken to court and sentenced. If Israel's politicians are too careless in their policies towards Palestinians, then they need to be reined in and critcised for their decisions. But the wholesale smearing of a state and all its citizens has no place in aiding the progress of democratic values.
As such, while Israel should not be criticised the way it is, it remains up to us to see to it that the problems in our society are sorted out. It is instructive to note that Israel is barely 60 years old. When America was 60 years old, slaves were still commonplace. Equality, theoretically at least, was only achieved in the last century. And real equality still hasn't been achieved in America. Hopefully Israel can become a platform on which the values of the Jewish people, the values of justice and equality amongst them, will be demonstrated with pride.
While Israel is surrounded by shocking hypocrisy, it remains up to us to ignore such inane criticism. We need to learn the lesson Moshe teaches here: we need not pay attention to those who try to attack us at every opportunity. But at the same time, we need to try to improve our conduct ourselves so that we arrive at the highest moral standard possible.
Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom!
Friday, June 10, 2011
Parshat Beha'alotcha - פרשת בהעלותך
וידבר ה' אל משה לאמר. "דבר אל אהרון ואמרת אליו: 'בהעלותך את הנרות אל-מול פני המנורה יאירו שבעת הנרות.' " -Hashem spoke to Moshe, saying, "Speak to Aharon, and say to him: 'When you light the lights towards the face of the Menorah, the seven lamps shall cast light.' "
(במדבר ח:א-ב)
In Rashi's commentary on the Torah, a well-known explanation of the word 'בהעלותך', which we may loosely translate as 'When you light', is given. The normal term for lighting candles is להדליק; it could just as easily have been written בהדלקתך above. Rashi notes that the word used, 'בהעלותך', is "לשון עלייה, שצריך להדליק עד שתהא השלהבת עולה מאליה," which may be loosely translated as meaning that "the terms is one associated with 'going up', and that one needs to kindle [a light] until the flame rise by itself." Rashi's point is that there was a special manner in which Aharon had to light the flames of the Menorah, and therefore the unusual term בהעלותך is employed.
Rav Avigdor Neventzahl, the former Chief Rabbi of the Old City of Jerusalem, explains however, that this isn't actually any different from the way we light any candle. Anyone who's tried taking a flame way from a candle before it's risen by itself knows that the candle will not light; of course you wait for the candle to catch the first flame and rise by itself; that's just the normal procedure.
When I was pondering the matter myself, an old Oxfam advert came to my mind. The voiceover explains that if you "give a child some corn" she won't be hungry for a short while. But if you "give her family the chance to grow their own corn," they will be independent of handouts, and will be able to provide food for themselves, earn money and send their children to school. I see a parallel between the advert and Rashi's point on the meaning of the word בהעלותך; the word teaches us how to give to people. Rather than simply giving people to stop-gap solutions, we must aim to find the root cause of the problem, fix that, and enable people to provide for themselves.
In a similar fashion, Rav Neventzahl points out that the phrase refers to the optimal way in which to teach and learn Torah. If a teacher feeds his students Torah so that they are not excited by what is being said, but listen nevertheless, then the moment he departs from their presence, their Torah learning will cease. Instead the teacher is charged with the task of igniting their students' souls. One of the greatest satisfactions in this world is creativity. Humans are markedly different from other creations in that they are able to change the conditions around them as well as express thoughts and feelings. If we give to someone, we are depriving them of their ability to be human. Rather we must allow them to rise up (as Rashi says, לשון עלייה) with their own creative energy so that they may give themselves.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!
(במדבר ח:א-ב)
In Rashi's commentary on the Torah, a well-known explanation of the word 'בהעלותך', which we may loosely translate as 'When you light', is given. The normal term for lighting candles is להדליק; it could just as easily have been written בהדלקתך above. Rashi notes that the word used, 'בהעלותך', is "לשון עלייה, שצריך להדליק עד שתהא השלהבת עולה מאליה," which may be loosely translated as meaning that "the terms is one associated with 'going up', and that one needs to kindle [a light] until the flame rise by itself." Rashi's point is that there was a special manner in which Aharon had to light the flames of the Menorah, and therefore the unusual term בהעלותך is employed.
Rav Avigdor Neventzahl, the former Chief Rabbi of the Old City of Jerusalem, explains however, that this isn't actually any different from the way we light any candle. Anyone who's tried taking a flame way from a candle before it's risen by itself knows that the candle will not light; of course you wait for the candle to catch the first flame and rise by itself; that's just the normal procedure.
When I was pondering the matter myself, an old Oxfam advert came to my mind. The voiceover explains that if you "give a child some corn" she won't be hungry for a short while. But if you "give her family the chance to grow their own corn," they will be independent of handouts, and will be able to provide food for themselves, earn money and send their children to school. I see a parallel between the advert and Rashi's point on the meaning of the word בהעלותך; the word teaches us how to give to people. Rather than simply giving people to stop-gap solutions, we must aim to find the root cause of the problem, fix that, and enable people to provide for themselves.
In a similar fashion, Rav Neventzahl points out that the phrase refers to the optimal way in which to teach and learn Torah. If a teacher feeds his students Torah so that they are not excited by what is being said, but listen nevertheless, then the moment he departs from their presence, their Torah learning will cease. Instead the teacher is charged with the task of igniting their students' souls. One of the greatest satisfactions in this world is creativity. Humans are markedly different from other creations in that they are able to change the conditions around them as well as express thoughts and feelings. If we give to someone, we are depriving them of their ability to be human. Rather we must allow them to rise up (as Rashi says, לשון עלייה) with their own creative energy so that they may give themselves.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
Shavuot - שבועות
Tonight is Shavuot, the festival which celebrates the giving of the Torah to the Jewish people. In Parshat Yitro, we read of how the events unfolded that momentous day.
When writing about Parshat Yitro previously, I have noted the fascinating phrase, "וכל העם רואים את הקולות - And the people saw the thunder". Noting that the faculty of vision is one which can be extremely misleading, I wrote:
That is one explanation. In this D'var Torah, I would like to mention another so that we can regard this occurence from a different perspective.
Rav Aharon Lichtenstein has an intiguing D'var Torah that sheds light on this phenomenon. There is a Midrash (I can't find the original, but it is cited in Yalkut Shimoni and certainly appears in the Mechilta) that reads thus: "בשם רבי: "להודיע שבחן של ישראל שכשעמדו כולן לפני הר סיני לקבל את התורה היו שומעים את הדיבור ומפרשים אותו". We read here that Rebbi taught that at Har Sinai, when the Jewish people heard Hashem speaking to them, they didn't just hear the words but also interpreted them on their own. The source for this is found in Deuteronomy 32:10, where it says "יסובבנהו יבוננהו", which means "He encircled him, He made him comprehending".
We take the passage above to mean that Hashem made man an intellecual, reasoning and interpretive creature. As such, when we were given the Torah at Har Sinai, we didn't merely enjoy the uniquely magnificent sound and light show in a passive manner. When we read of the incredible spectacle that occured at Har Sinai that day, total silence shattered by blasts of the shofar, iluminated by crashes of thunder and roaring lightning, it would be easy to imagine the onlooking Jewish people as regarding things in a manner somewhat resembling a theatre audience.
It would be easy to simply take in what was happening, such was the awesome scale of this "show". Instead, the people took more than a simple passive role and instead took on a crucial role, participating in receiving the Torah. This is powerful lesson to us all - we never simply receive something in this world. The Torah is not a static entity with no relevance to us. We all have a deep connection to it and it remains up to us to engage with the Torah.
From Jerusalem, wishing you a stimulating and challenging Shavuot
When writing about Parshat Yitro previously, I have noted the fascinating phrase, "וכל העם רואים את הקולות - And the people saw the thunder". Noting that the faculty of vision is one which can be extremely misleading, I wrote:
"We can’t presume to know anything about anything by looking at it. The only way to know for sure is by listening to something, by slowly and closely analysing it. But at Har Sinai, when we were in such close proximity to Hashem, we experienced a return to the state of Adam HaRishon whereby our senses all told us the same thing, whereby they all told us the absolute truth. In this context we can understand the concept of Am Yisrael seeing the Kolot [thunder], because their hearing and their seeing were no different from one another. We can now understand that which normally has to be heard, (as in Sh’ma Yisrael – the knowledge of Hashem,) was so obvious and clear that Am Yisrael could clearly perceive through even the most deceiving of the senses." (Source)
That is one explanation. In this D'var Torah, I would like to mention another so that we can regard this occurence from a different perspective.
Rav Aharon Lichtenstein has an intiguing D'var Torah that sheds light on this phenomenon. There is a Midrash (I can't find the original, but it is cited in Yalkut Shimoni and certainly appears in the Mechilta) that reads thus: "בשם רבי: "להודיע שבחן של ישראל שכשעמדו כולן לפני הר סיני לקבל את התורה היו שומעים את הדיבור ומפרשים אותו". We read here that Rebbi taught that at Har Sinai, when the Jewish people heard Hashem speaking to them, they didn't just hear the words but also interpreted them on their own. The source for this is found in Deuteronomy 32:10, where it says "יסובבנהו יבוננהו", which means "He encircled him, He made him comprehending".
We take the passage above to mean that Hashem made man an intellecual, reasoning and interpretive creature. As such, when we were given the Torah at Har Sinai, we didn't merely enjoy the uniquely magnificent sound and light show in a passive manner. When we read of the incredible spectacle that occured at Har Sinai that day, total silence shattered by blasts of the shofar, iluminated by crashes of thunder and roaring lightning, it would be easy to imagine the onlooking Jewish people as regarding things in a manner somewhat resembling a theatre audience.
It would be easy to simply take in what was happening, such was the awesome scale of this "show". Instead, the people took more than a simple passive role and instead took on a crucial role, participating in receiving the Torah. This is powerful lesson to us all - we never simply receive something in this world. The Torah is not a static entity with no relevance to us. We all have a deep connection to it and it remains up to us to engage with the Torah.
From Jerusalem, wishing you a stimulating and challenging Shavuot
Friday, June 03, 2011
Parshat Naso - פרשת נשא
With 176 verses, Parshat Naso, is noted for being the longest in the Torah. I'd like to share with you two interesting insights I just read. The first is very short: The Chiddushei HaRim (who happened to be the grandfather of the Sfat Emet), observed that not only is the length of the parsha itself noteworthy, but also the number of column inches relating to this Parsha in the Midrashim and in the Zohar, too. Noting that this week's parsha almost always falls the weekend after the festival of Shavuot (the festival on which we celebrate receiving the Torah), the Chidushei HaRim suggests that Chazal were given the merit to plumb the depths of this parsha to unparalleled levels.
The second thought on the parsha is one that many people observe for themselves; that the reading this week is very long mainly due to the full account of the gifts that the Nesi'im (the heads of the tribes) brought to the temple. It would seem to us that there is an endless repetition here of the gifts brought. We might be excused for thinking that it would have been enough for the Torah to give a brief summary, but clearly Hashem saw fit to write this episode in full, without skipping even the smallest of details.
There are a number of reasons for the Torah's meticulous recording of the gift offerings being brough here. I wrote about one reason earlier this year in Parshat Vayakhel: there, the Nesi'im resolved to wait until the rest of the nation had brought whatever they could for the temple, and when the rest of the people had brought all that they could, the Nesi'im planned to provide all that which had not yet been supplied. Unfortunately for them, they did not anticipate that the people would be so generous, and only managed to make a donation at the last minute when they saw that everything was going to be provided without their help. There, the Torah writes their name והנשיאים, "(And the) Nesi'im" without the letter י, so that it appears as והנשאם. This removal of a letter associated with God's name was a form of rebuke for the princes' seeming lack of eagerness.
Fast forward to this week's parsha, and we read of the princes' willing and abundant procession of gifts. Having first rebuked their behaviour, the Torah ensures that when the princes make good on their earlier error, they are afforded a full account of their deeds. The message is clear: when someone corrects his ways, it is only proper to give that person recognition for having made the effort.
An alternative reason as to why this event is written in full is given by Rabbi Paysach Krohn. Rabbi Krohn tells a story about Rav Yitzchak Elchonon Spektor, the Kovno Rav, who lived in Russia. Back in those days, the Jewish population lived in fear that their young men would get drafted into the Russian Army; something that was very hard to get out of. One who did enter the Russian military had a tough time in store; quite apart from the usual problems of serving in an army, the Russian army made it especially hard for people to remain religiously observant. The only hope was to acquire a military exemption.
In this story, Yaakov, one of his students had applied for an exemption and was waiting for Moscow to respond to his request. Knowing that obtaining such an exemption was a tricky matter, Yaakov and his friends nervously anticipated the authorities' reply. One day, while Yaakov's Rabbi, Rav Yitzchak Elchonon, was engaged with other Rabbis in resolving a complex and thorny affair through Jewish law, a young man interrupted proceedings to tell his Rabbi that he had just received the wonderful news that the case had been resolved satisfactorily, with Yaakov given an exemption from military service. The Rabbi smiled, thanked him, and blessed him for bringing the news.
The boy left happy and the Rabbis resumed their deliberations. But not long afterwards, another student burst into the room. Again, he told the Rabbi that he had very important news to convey; that Yaakov, one of the Rabbi's most beloved students, had managed to get out of serving in the army. Again, the Rabbi was thankful and proceeded to bless him for having brought such good news. A little while later, yet another boy entered the room. Yet again, the Rabbi was careful to smile and thank the "intruder", making sure to bless him for having been considerate and letting the Rabbi know of this development. As the afternoon unfolded, this chain of events went on to repeat itself a number of times over, and each time the Rabbi was careful to treat each visitor in the exact same manner.
The lesson here is one that goes a long way teaching us how to treat others. Despite the news being old, the Rabbi made sure to receive each and every guest in the same manner as the first person who came to tell him. Unaware that their Rabbi had already heard the news, they were eager to share it with him and were each clearly anticipating seeing him take pleasure and relief. Although he could have explained gently that he already knew, the Rabbi understood that it was more important to allow each of them to express their feelings and therefore acted as he did.
Coming back to this week's unusually lengthy parsha, we may now understand why its seemingly inordinate length is necessitated. While each and every gift brought by the princes may have been no more than a repetition of that which was brought previously, Hashem wanted to show them that their intentions and desires were very much appreciated.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!
The second thought on the parsha is one that many people observe for themselves; that the reading this week is very long mainly due to the full account of the gifts that the Nesi'im (the heads of the tribes) brought to the temple. It would seem to us that there is an endless repetition here of the gifts brought. We might be excused for thinking that it would have been enough for the Torah to give a brief summary, but clearly Hashem saw fit to write this episode in full, without skipping even the smallest of details.
There are a number of reasons for the Torah's meticulous recording of the gift offerings being brough here. I wrote about one reason earlier this year in Parshat Vayakhel: there, the Nesi'im resolved to wait until the rest of the nation had brought whatever they could for the temple, and when the rest of the people had brought all that they could, the Nesi'im planned to provide all that which had not yet been supplied. Unfortunately for them, they did not anticipate that the people would be so generous, and only managed to make a donation at the last minute when they saw that everything was going to be provided without their help. There, the Torah writes their name והנשיאים, "(And the) Nesi'im" without the letter י, so that it appears as והנשאם. This removal of a letter associated with God's name was a form of rebuke for the princes' seeming lack of eagerness.
Fast forward to this week's parsha, and we read of the princes' willing and abundant procession of gifts. Having first rebuked their behaviour, the Torah ensures that when the princes make good on their earlier error, they are afforded a full account of their deeds. The message is clear: when someone corrects his ways, it is only proper to give that person recognition for having made the effort.
An alternative reason as to why this event is written in full is given by Rabbi Paysach Krohn. Rabbi Krohn tells a story about Rav Yitzchak Elchonon Spektor, the Kovno Rav, who lived in Russia. Back in those days, the Jewish population lived in fear that their young men would get drafted into the Russian Army; something that was very hard to get out of. One who did enter the Russian military had a tough time in store; quite apart from the usual problems of serving in an army, the Russian army made it especially hard for people to remain religiously observant. The only hope was to acquire a military exemption.
In this story, Yaakov, one of his students had applied for an exemption and was waiting for Moscow to respond to his request. Knowing that obtaining such an exemption was a tricky matter, Yaakov and his friends nervously anticipated the authorities' reply. One day, while Yaakov's Rabbi, Rav Yitzchak Elchonon, was engaged with other Rabbis in resolving a complex and thorny affair through Jewish law, a young man interrupted proceedings to tell his Rabbi that he had just received the wonderful news that the case had been resolved satisfactorily, with Yaakov given an exemption from military service. The Rabbi smiled, thanked him, and blessed him for bringing the news.
The boy left happy and the Rabbis resumed their deliberations. But not long afterwards, another student burst into the room. Again, he told the Rabbi that he had very important news to convey; that Yaakov, one of the Rabbi's most beloved students, had managed to get out of serving in the army. Again, the Rabbi was thankful and proceeded to bless him for having brought such good news. A little while later, yet another boy entered the room. Yet again, the Rabbi was careful to smile and thank the "intruder", making sure to bless him for having been considerate and letting the Rabbi know of this development. As the afternoon unfolded, this chain of events went on to repeat itself a number of times over, and each time the Rabbi was careful to treat each visitor in the exact same manner.
The lesson here is one that goes a long way teaching us how to treat others. Despite the news being old, the Rabbi made sure to receive each and every guest in the same manner as the first person who came to tell him. Unaware that their Rabbi had already heard the news, they were eager to share it with him and were each clearly anticipating seeing him take pleasure and relief. Although he could have explained gently that he already knew, the Rabbi understood that it was more important to allow each of them to express their feelings and therefore acted as he did.
Coming back to this week's unusually lengthy parsha, we may now understand why its seemingly inordinate length is necessitated. While each and every gift brought by the princes may have been no more than a repetition of that which was brought previously, Hashem wanted to show them that their intentions and desires were very much appreciated.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!
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