Seeing as Shabbat occurs immediately after Pesach ends here in Israel, I have two short (and hopefully sweet) divrei Torah here this time. Hope you like and share them!
--Pesach--
Pesach is the time when the Jews in Egypt went through the one of, if not the greatest redemption in history. But while accounting for each of the mitzvot in his seminal work "Mishna Torah", the Rambam does not stress the exodus itself very much at all. Intriguingly, the Rambam writes extensively of the miracles, mentioning them over and over making the point that we have a mitzvah to talk of the "ניסים" and the "נפלאות", but deliberately avoids referring to the context in which these miracles occured. Only once does the Rambam makes a cursive, brief reference to the exodus itself. He doesn't say that the mitzvah is to speak about the exodus, but it is to speak of the miracle and wonder of the exodus! What on earth is this about?
It is tempting to understand miracles as a temporary suspension of nature's "rules", an instance in which G-d suberts the normal guidelines He has institued and instructs things to act differently. As a child I learned of the ten plagues, and how the first plague was that the water of the Nile turned to blood, along with all the rest of the water in Egypt. It is said that during the plague, water when taken by an Egyptian would be blood but when taken by a Jew, would be clean water, and I had learned that Egyptians tried buying cups of water off Jews, only to find that the water was blood and undrinkable. Up until now, my understanding of this phenomenon was that as a cup of water was picked up by an Egyptian, it would turn a misty red colour and transform into blood.
That understanding makes sense of the miracle, but it is extremely limited and masks the true wonder of what actually happened. For the miracle was not that the water was first water and then it was blood after; rather that it was blood and water at the same time; that a Jew and an Egyptian were able to look at the Nile at the same time and one see a normal river and the other behold nothing but blood.
Later on, when Am Yisrael wage battle against the Amoraim, Yehoshua petitions Hashem to halt the sun so that the battle would be finished before the end of the day. For a long time, my understanding of the ensuing miracle was that the sun stopped and the world experienced an overly-long day. This is not so; the true miracle was that while the sun stopped for Am Yisrael, it continued for the rest of the world - a miracle that not only defied the laws of nature but also something so completely unexplainable that it defied the laws of logic too.
So we return to the story of the exodus. It is replete with miracles, whereby the natural laws that we observe every day were quite literally broken at Hashem's will. During the plague of darkness, there was a miracle that righteous Jews were able to see clearly at the same time as it was utter darkness for the Egyptians, and during the plague of the hailstones, there was a miracle that ice and fire were able to exist next to one another.
In the Haftarah read on Parshat HaGadol, we read about the sun soothing those deserving of heaven and burning those who are destined for hell. It is written in the Yalkut Lekach Tov that those who hearken to Hashem's word and those who turn away from Him are treated in very different ways. Only, they are treated in exactly the same way - through the sun. The same sun that provides light and a "healing" for the righteous will simultaneously be as hot and fiery as an oven for evildoers. It is imperative that we understand that the difference between good and bad can seem so slight, and yet the consequences of our decisions can be so harshly different. In a manner similar to that of the plague of the blood, we see how Hashem turns the natural world to His will - something that is completely in order.
--Parshat Shmini--
"ואת אלה תשקצו מן העוף לא יאכלו שקץ הם את הנשר ואת הפרס ואת העזניה. - And these shall you abominate from among the birds, they may not be eaten, they are an abomination: the nesher, the peres, the ozniah." (11:13)
The list of forbidden birds is headed by the Nesher, the eagle. The eagle is considered the undisputed king of the birds, and yet it is specifically listed here as being not kosher, for it lacks every one of the four signs required for an animal to be rendered kosher. The dove on the other hand, possibly the easiest prey in the entire bird kingdom, fulfils all the requirements. How is that doves were among allowed to be brought as an offering in the Temple, but eagles and other such birds were not?
Rav Zalman Sorotzkin tenders the following answer. He says that there are four animals engraved on Hashem's throne; a man, a bull, a lion and an eagle. Each of these four creations is a king in some way.
Man is designated the king of Creation, and indeed the king of all creations. The bull is the king of all domesticated animals, the lion is the king of all wild animals and the eagle is the king of all birds. These four animals are kings and exalted above all other creations. Above them all sits Hashem, who presides over all of His creations.
The dove, is to be offered up in sanctification of Hashem's name, and become a "satisfying aroma" for Hashem. The dove cannot possibly be associated with Hashem's throne of glory. Instead, it merits a different, perhaps greater, merit.
There is a listen to be learned here, I believe. The eagle takes its place towards the very pinnacle of the bird food chain and is considered amongst the very highest level of creatures. The dove, however, is consistently preyed-upon and is one of the lowest creatures of all. The eagle soars high above other birds and preys upon them as it sees fit, while the dove is easy fodder for many creatures. Despite the eagle's high status in the natural world, though, the Torah makes an example out of the eagle as something that is clearly not suitable to be eaten. The dove however fulfills all the requirements to be a kosher animal. The eagle might well be the natural king of the birds, and deserving of a place on the throne of glory, but it remains non-kosher nevertheless. The dove on the other hand, despite being an "easy target" has the value of being one of the few creatures listed to be sacrificed to Hashem. Everything in this world has its function. The dove and the eagle each have their strengths. Maybe we can learn to see strength and glory in humility from the dove.
Wishing you a חג שמח ושבת שלום!
Showing posts with label Shmini. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shmini. Show all posts
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Shmini Atzeret, Simchat Torah - שמיני עצרת ושמחת תורה
A number of the Jewish festivals are referred to by more than one name. For example, Sukkot is also known by the moniker Chag Ha'Asif, Shmini Atzeret is also referred to as Simchat Torah and Pesach is sometimes called Chag Hamatzot. Similarly, Rosh Hashana is called Yom T'ruah, Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaDin, while Shavuot is known variously as Chag HaBikkurim, Chag HaKatzir and Zman Matan Torateinu.
Each of these names have a different meaning and represent a different aspect of each festival. In a speech I heard last year, Rav Yonah Metzger, the Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of Israel, suggested that some of these names are linked. While he didn't go through all the names of all the chagim, he took a few examples.
The two names Pesach and Chag Hamatzot, Rav Metzger suggested, are a pair. Pesach refers to Hashem's passing over the houses of the Jews; it is Bnei Yisrael's way of being grateful for Hashem's kindness in overlooking them while killing Egyptians worthy of death. On the other hand, Chag Hamatzot is Hashem's name for the festival and it refers to how God found our actions favourable. (We displayed a desire to leave Egypt swiftly when the time came, to the point whereby we let bread bake on our backs.)
In the same way, two of Sukkot's names can be seen as a pair; Chag Ha'Asif, Festival of the Collecting (of the harvest,) is the one of the names that the Jewish people uses for it - we thank God that we He has given us sustenance. But Hashem has refers to it from a different perspective; His name for the festival is Sukkot, for He recognises the Jewish people's devotion to sitting outside in the Sukkah, often through what can sometimes prove to be rather unpleasant conditions.
And so too we have the names of Chag Shmini Ha'atzeret and Simchat Torah. Shmini means eight, and Atzeret means stopping. Rav Metzger explained that this name can be understood as belonging to Hashem. After seeing the Jews observing Sukkot for seven days, he says to us "today is the eight day - you may stop dwelling in your Sukkot now and dwell inside with me." So that's Hashem's perspective, as it were.
But there's a second name, too: Simchat Torah. This moniker represents a rather different aspect; it represents the side of Bnei Yisrael and shows the Jewish nation's love for Hashem. When we celebrate Simchat Torah, we are thanking Hashem for the greatest gift given - that of the Torah. While we refer to our festivals by their various names without thought, interchangeably even, it is interesting to note how these names dovetail and reciprocate each other's sentiments, despite the differences between them.
From Jerusalem, wishing you all a Chag Sameach!
Each of these names have a different meaning and represent a different aspect of each festival. In a speech I heard last year, Rav Yonah Metzger, the Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of Israel, suggested that some of these names are linked. While he didn't go through all the names of all the chagim, he took a few examples.
The two names Pesach and Chag Hamatzot, Rav Metzger suggested, are a pair. Pesach refers to Hashem's passing over the houses of the Jews; it is Bnei Yisrael's way of being grateful for Hashem's kindness in overlooking them while killing Egyptians worthy of death. On the other hand, Chag Hamatzot is Hashem's name for the festival and it refers to how God found our actions favourable. (We displayed a desire to leave Egypt swiftly when the time came, to the point whereby we let bread bake on our backs.)
In the same way, two of Sukkot's names can be seen as a pair; Chag Ha'Asif, Festival of the Collecting (of the harvest,) is the one of the names that the Jewish people uses for it - we thank God that we He has given us sustenance. But Hashem has refers to it from a different perspective; His name for the festival is Sukkot, for He recognises the Jewish people's devotion to sitting outside in the Sukkah, often through what can sometimes prove to be rather unpleasant conditions.
And so too we have the names of Chag Shmini Ha'atzeret and Simchat Torah. Shmini means eight, and Atzeret means stopping. Rav Metzger explained that this name can be understood as belonging to Hashem. After seeing the Jews observing Sukkot for seven days, he says to us "today is the eight day - you may stop dwelling in your Sukkot now and dwell inside with me." So that's Hashem's perspective, as it were.
But there's a second name, too: Simchat Torah. This moniker represents a rather different aspect; it represents the side of Bnei Yisrael and shows the Jewish nation's love for Hashem. When we celebrate Simchat Torah, we are thanking Hashem for the greatest gift given - that of the Torah. While we refer to our festivals by their various names without thought, interchangeably even, it is interesting to note how these names dovetail and reciprocate each other's sentiments, despite the differences between them.
From Jerusalem, wishing you all a Chag Sameach!
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Sukkot - סוכות
In my last D'var Torah, I spoke about Yom Kippur and its connection with Rosh Hashanah. Similarly, it is by no coincidence that the festivals of Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret/Simchat Torah (which takes place over one day in Israel but is split over two days in the Diaspora,) fall right next to one another. Upon consideration, it seems a tad strange to be commanded to live in a Sukkah for seven days, and then without a break, without even a day in which to dismantle the Sukkah, we jump right into another festival.
The word Atzeret comes from the Hebrew root עצר, which means stopping. On this day, Jews around the world celebrate finishing the yearly cycle of reading the Torah. But there's a concept in Judaism that seems to directly contradict this term. The concept is that we never stop going; that there's always more work to be done in this world. I'd like to point out that although this idea seems simple, it's very much the opposite of the prevalent custom today. Most people nowadays live a lifestyle that demands hard work so that ultimately, one may take time off. The Jewish concept though, is that up until one's dying day, one remains obligated to perform Mitzot - there's no such thing as time off. There's no such concept as retirement in Judaism - one is obliged to do their best till their dying day.
With this in mind, how can there be a Jewish festival that celebrates the completion of the Torah? The standard answer is cute; that we don't just stop - we start again and read from Parshat B'reishit on the same day. We refuse to wait the normal week to progress to the next Parsha, and instead signal our intent to keep going. This answer certainly proves that though this Torah reading has ended, we don't really stop, but I would like to propose an alternative answer.
A point repeatedly made by various Rabbis over the years is that the number seven in Judaism signifies that which lies in the natural. There are seven notes in the musical scale, seven continents and there are seven days in the week - something that remains remarkably indisputed, despite the fact that there are various calendar systems in use around the world, all agree that there is such a thing as a week and that it has seven days. We also say that there Hashem made seven heavens (hence the expression,) Tefillin are wrapped around the arm seven times and the Menorah in the Bet Hamikdash had seven branches. Additionally, it is said that the world was created with the number seven. The first verse in the Torah deals with the creation of the universe, and contains seven words and twenty-eight letters; a number which happens to divisible by seven!
As such, it is no surprise to say that the seven days of sukkot correspond to the natural world. For seven days we sit outside, exposed to the elements. Therefore, the second Gerer Rebbe writes in his seminal work, the Sfat Emet, that during this time we need the extra defence of the Sukkah. But beyond seven, the number of the physical, of the natural, is the number eight - which is said to represent the spiritual. He explains that the festival of Sukkot is one that "gives life to the whole world." This is alluded to by the fact that we observe Sukkot for an entire week. Similarly, in the times when the Bet Hamikdash stood, 70 bulls were sacrificed - for each of the 70 distinct nations* in the world. Through these sacrifices, the whole world was given nourishment.
On the day after Sukkot we go one level above the physical world and enter into the spiritual domain, so to speak. We call this day Shmini Atzeret, which means the eighth day. After observing Sukkot and giving physical life to the world, we don't waste any time and focus on imbuing the world with the spiritual energy it needs. The question posed at the beginning of this D'var Torah, why Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret are placed next to one another, may now be answered. On Shmini Atzeret, we leave the Sukkot outside because we don't need the protection it affords. That protection is only needed by someone living a physical, natural lifestyle. We learn that Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret have to be placed next to one another to show that when one lives life fully and spiritually, one moves beyond the need for such external protection.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and a pleasant Sukkah experience :)
*There is a Torah concept that there are 70 nations in the world. Although there are over 190 countries in existence today, many of these share roots and originate from one people. As such, it's not so absurd to refer the world in terms of "70 nations".
The word Atzeret comes from the Hebrew root עצר, which means stopping. On this day, Jews around the world celebrate finishing the yearly cycle of reading the Torah. But there's a concept in Judaism that seems to directly contradict this term. The concept is that we never stop going; that there's always more work to be done in this world. I'd like to point out that although this idea seems simple, it's very much the opposite of the prevalent custom today. Most people nowadays live a lifestyle that demands hard work so that ultimately, one may take time off. The Jewish concept though, is that up until one's dying day, one remains obligated to perform Mitzot - there's no such thing as time off. There's no such concept as retirement in Judaism - one is obliged to do their best till their dying day.
With this in mind, how can there be a Jewish festival that celebrates the completion of the Torah? The standard answer is cute; that we don't just stop - we start again and read from Parshat B'reishit on the same day. We refuse to wait the normal week to progress to the next Parsha, and instead signal our intent to keep going. This answer certainly proves that though this Torah reading has ended, we don't really stop, but I would like to propose an alternative answer.
A point repeatedly made by various Rabbis over the years is that the number seven in Judaism signifies that which lies in the natural. There are seven notes in the musical scale, seven continents and there are seven days in the week - something that remains remarkably indisputed, despite the fact that there are various calendar systems in use around the world, all agree that there is such a thing as a week and that it has seven days. We also say that there Hashem made seven heavens (hence the expression,) Tefillin are wrapped around the arm seven times and the Menorah in the Bet Hamikdash had seven branches. Additionally, it is said that the world was created with the number seven. The first verse in the Torah deals with the creation of the universe, and contains seven words and twenty-eight letters; a number which happens to divisible by seven!
As such, it is no surprise to say that the seven days of sukkot correspond to the natural world. For seven days we sit outside, exposed to the elements. Therefore, the second Gerer Rebbe writes in his seminal work, the Sfat Emet, that during this time we need the extra defence of the Sukkah. But beyond seven, the number of the physical, of the natural, is the number eight - which is said to represent the spiritual. He explains that the festival of Sukkot is one that "gives life to the whole world." This is alluded to by the fact that we observe Sukkot for an entire week. Similarly, in the times when the Bet Hamikdash stood, 70 bulls were sacrificed - for each of the 70 distinct nations* in the world. Through these sacrifices, the whole world was given nourishment.
On the day after Sukkot we go one level above the physical world and enter into the spiritual domain, so to speak. We call this day Shmini Atzeret, which means the eighth day. After observing Sukkot and giving physical life to the world, we don't waste any time and focus on imbuing the world with the spiritual energy it needs. The question posed at the beginning of this D'var Torah, why Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret are placed next to one another, may now be answered. On Shmini Atzeret, we leave the Sukkot outside because we don't need the protection it affords. That protection is only needed by someone living a physical, natural lifestyle. We learn that Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret have to be placed next to one another to show that when one lives life fully and spiritually, one moves beyond the need for such external protection.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and a pleasant Sukkah experience :)
*There is a Torah concept that there are 70 nations in the world. Although there are over 190 countries in existence today, many of these share roots and originate from one people. As such, it's not so absurd to refer the world in terms of "70 nations".
Friday, April 09, 2010
Parshat Shmini - פרשת שמיני
"וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה אֶל-אַהֲרֹן, קְרַב אֶל-הַמִּזְבֵּחַ וַעֲשֵׂה אֶת-חַטָּאתְךָ וְאֶת-עֹלָתֶךָ, וְכַפֵּר בַּעַדְךָ, וּבְעַד הָעָם; וַעֲשֵׂה אֶת-קָרְבַּן הָעָם, וְכַפֵּר בַּעֲדָם, כַּאֲשֶׁר, צִוָּה יְהוָה - And Moshe said to Aharon: 'Draw near to the altar, and ryour sin-offering and your burnt-offering, and make atonement for yourself, and for the people; and make the offering of the people and make atonement for them, as Hashem commanded."
(ויקרא ט:ז)
Two parshiot ago, in the opening word of the book of Vayikra, we note how the letter א of the word ויקרא is written in superscript so as to make the word look likeויקר and then have a small א next to it. The reason Rashi gives there is that Moshe felt that the word ויקרא, he called, which has warm and affectionate connotations, shouldn't be used so that he would not appear to be closer to God than any other person. From that episode we learn that the root letters of that word, קרא, which reappear here, are ones that betray a sense of warmth.
In his commentary on this pasuk, Rashi explains that Aharon was embarrassed and so, calling out affectionately, Moshe gently reminded his brother that he had no need to feel embarrassed by the command as this was merely his job. The problem is, although this explanation serves us well enough to shed light on why there remains a slight difficulty; it is not entirely clear what it is that causes Aharon to feel so embarrassed.
Picking up on the same issue, Rav Moshe Feinstein writes in D'rash Moshe that the expression that Moshe Rabbeinu uses above, "קְרַב אֶל-הַמִּזְבֵּחַ - Draw near to the altar," is an interesting one. Rav Feinstein explains that although Aharon, his sons and all their descendents obviously had no problem in obeying this directive and would surely fulfill this mitzvah, this particular command was quite unlike any other. Aharon and his children were aware that the mitzvot they were commanded to do in conjunction with the Avoda were given to them specifically because they were invested with a higher degree of sanctity that the rest of the Jewish people.
It is for this reason that before the Kohanim bless the congregants in synagogues around the world on Chagim, and daily in Israel, the words אשר קדשנו בקדשתו של אהרן, Who sanctified us with the sanctity of Aharon, are used; these words are not part of the formula of any other blessing, and with good reason. Although the firstborn sons of the Jewish people were originally given the honour of performing the sacrificial service before the Kohanim were formally appointed to fulfill that role, they did not have a similar blessing to recite. The reason is clear; the Kohanim have been invested with a special type of holiness, and that is something that is special and unique to them. The source of this holiness can be traced back to Aharon, the first Kohen Gadol, the very first Kohen ever.
Because of his unique stature and role, Aharon felt ashamed. Not because of any trivial reason, but because it meant his assuming a superior sanctity; something which he did not feel totally at ease with. Seeing this, his brother, Moshe, attempted to both calm him and tell him that this was what God had chosen for him, and that he need not feel embarrassed.
I think we can learn a tremendous amount from this episode. As Jews, we believe that we have a special mission in this role. To that end, we are the recipients of a special type of sanctity; one that sets apart from the other nations of the world, in much the same manner as the Kohanim are set apart from the rest of the Jewish nation. But it is crucial to note that this special attribute is not to be used as a source of excess pride or something to brag about. Similarly, I note two brachot in the morning liturgy; one for males to thank God that they were not 'made' (to translate as accurately as I can) female, and a second one in which both male and female Jews thank God that they were not 'made' non-Jewish.
At first, one might think that these blessings are highly discriminatory and offensive, but that it absolutely not the case. The point in both blessings is that each and every person on this world has their own challenge and that the role that they are tasked with fulfilling is one that is suited to them. There is obviously nothing wrong with being a woman; in fact, we can all agree that a world without women would be a fairly miserable one! The real issue being highlighted is that the person reciting the prayer is referring to the role that he has to play and is thankful for not being given one that he would be entirely unsuited to. In many, many ways, it seems to be a lot harder to be woman than a man, and I only thank God that I was not made a woman. So too with the blessing of being non-Jewish. Just like Aharon was reminded by his brother that he need not be embarrassed by his being mentioned in the Kohanim's blessing, I must understand and readily fulfill my role as a Jew. All the same, it is crucial that I must not let myself become distracted and allow my ego to overtake me; my being a Jew merely means that I am equipped to do a specific job in this world.
(ויקרא ט:ז)
Two parshiot ago, in the opening word of the book of Vayikra, we note how the letter א of the word ויקרא is written in superscript so as to make the word look likeויקר and then have a small א next to it. The reason Rashi gives there is that Moshe felt that the word ויקרא, he called, which has warm and affectionate connotations, shouldn't be used so that he would not appear to be closer to God than any other person. From that episode we learn that the root letters of that word, קרא, which reappear here, are ones that betray a sense of warmth.
In his commentary on this pasuk, Rashi explains that Aharon was embarrassed and so, calling out affectionately, Moshe gently reminded his brother that he had no need to feel embarrassed by the command as this was merely his job. The problem is, although this explanation serves us well enough to shed light on why there remains a slight difficulty; it is not entirely clear what it is that causes Aharon to feel so embarrassed.
Picking up on the same issue, Rav Moshe Feinstein writes in D'rash Moshe that the expression that Moshe Rabbeinu uses above, "קְרַב אֶל-הַמִּזְבֵּחַ - Draw near to the altar," is an interesting one. Rav Feinstein explains that although Aharon, his sons and all their descendents obviously had no problem in obeying this directive and would surely fulfill this mitzvah, this particular command was quite unlike any other. Aharon and his children were aware that the mitzvot they were commanded to do in conjunction with the Avoda were given to them specifically because they were invested with a higher degree of sanctity that the rest of the Jewish people.
It is for this reason that before the Kohanim bless the congregants in synagogues around the world on Chagim, and daily in Israel, the words אשר קדשנו בקדשתו של אהרן, Who sanctified us with the sanctity of Aharon, are used; these words are not part of the formula of any other blessing, and with good reason. Although the firstborn sons of the Jewish people were originally given the honour of performing the sacrificial service before the Kohanim were formally appointed to fulfill that role, they did not have a similar blessing to recite. The reason is clear; the Kohanim have been invested with a special type of holiness, and that is something that is special and unique to them. The source of this holiness can be traced back to Aharon, the first Kohen Gadol, the very first Kohen ever.
Because of his unique stature and role, Aharon felt ashamed. Not because of any trivial reason, but because it meant his assuming a superior sanctity; something which he did not feel totally at ease with. Seeing this, his brother, Moshe, attempted to both calm him and tell him that this was what God had chosen for him, and that he need not feel embarrassed.
I think we can learn a tremendous amount from this episode. As Jews, we believe that we have a special mission in this role. To that end, we are the recipients of a special type of sanctity; one that sets apart from the other nations of the world, in much the same manner as the Kohanim are set apart from the rest of the Jewish nation. But it is crucial to note that this special attribute is not to be used as a source of excess pride or something to brag about. Similarly, I note two brachot in the morning liturgy; one for males to thank God that they were not 'made' (to translate as accurately as I can) female, and a second one in which both male and female Jews thank God that they were not 'made' non-Jewish.
At first, one might think that these blessings are highly discriminatory and offensive, but that it absolutely not the case. The point in both blessings is that each and every person on this world has their own challenge and that the role that they are tasked with fulfilling is one that is suited to them. There is obviously nothing wrong with being a woman; in fact, we can all agree that a world without women would be a fairly miserable one! The real issue being highlighted is that the person reciting the prayer is referring to the role that he has to play and is thankful for not being given one that he would be entirely unsuited to. In many, many ways, it seems to be a lot harder to be woman than a man, and I only thank God that I was not made a woman. So too with the blessing of being non-Jewish. Just like Aharon was reminded by his brother that he need not be embarrassed by his being mentioned in the Kohanim's blessing, I must understand and readily fulfill my role as a Jew. All the same, it is crucial that I must not let myself become distracted and allow my ego to overtake me; my being a Jew merely means that I am equipped to do a specific job in this world.
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