"וענית ואמרת לפני ה' אלקיך ארמי אבד אבי וירד מצרימה / And you shall respond and say before Hashem your God, 'An Aramean [tried to] destroy my [fore]father and he went down into Egypt...' "(דברים כו:ה)
At the beginning of this week's Parsha, we read of the mitzva of Bikkurim. The Torah explains that one who settles the land of Israel and grows one of the "Shivat haMinim" (seven selected species of fruit and grain) is obligated to take a ribbon around the first fruit that grows from the land, mark it off as property of the Bet Hamikdash, and once the fruit has ripened fully, the person is to take this fruit to Jerusalem and hand it over to a Kohen.
Part of the process of giving Bikkurim over to the Kohen is a statment, which opens above. At first, the choice of the opening few lines seems rather surprising; what has the old story of Am Yisrael's descent into Egypt got to do with the bringing of fruit to the Bet Hamikdash?
To understand our situation better, we have to examine Jewish behaviour during the Egyptian exile. Famously, we learn that B'nei Yisrael were on the forty-ninth level of impurity and were only moments away from descending into the 50th level; a level from which there could be no return. There can be no doubt about it - Am Yisrael were in a very bad place.
Or can we doubt that? For Am Yisrael warranted to be saved by Hashem on the premise that they insulated themselves from Egyptian society, and Sh'mot Rabbah (א:א) says that "they were redeemed because they did not change their names, their language and their dress." So now it would seem that Am Yisrael were very careful to protect their religion and culture and did not integrate and assimilate into a foreign society. How can resolve this apparent contradiction?
The Netivot Shalom on Parshat Ki Teitze explains that these Jews were actually almost completely cut off from Hashem. These Jews constantly indulged themselves in pleasures and desires that were not expressly disallowed by Torah law. So needy of material pleasure, these people were indeed culturally assimilated and had started to believe in the Egyptian way of life. Because these Jews maintained their outer appearances but indulged themselves in whatever was technically permissable, their connection with Hashem was almost entirely lacking.
Rabbi Eliyahu Hoffman suggests that maybe the reason why we read this passage when we bring Bikkurim is to do with the concept of "קדש עצמך במותר לך" (Sanctify yourself with that which is permissable to you). The generation that lived in the Egyptian exile didn't actually break any laws, but certainly weren't too eager too apply the concept of being holy in that which is permissable. Fast forward to the person standing before the Kohen with Bikkurim in his hand, and we may now understand why it is appropriate for him to make reference to his forebears in Egypt. Whereas they fulfilled their obligations to a minimal extent, the Jew who brings Bikurrim is eager to subjugate his pride and ego before God.
Later in the Parsha, a long list of punishments is attached to the statement, "תחת אשר לא עבדת את ה' אלוקיך בשמחה / Because you did not serve Hashem your God with joy." The Torah is very clear that the measurement of real observance of its laws is when a Jew confirms his actions with desire. Whereas food is something that Jews are permitted to grow and eat, the Jew who brings Bikkurim is careful not to give in to his desires and controls his behaviour in the right way and before eating first makes sure to take the Reishit to Hashem.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Parshat Ki Tetzei - פרשת כי תצא
"כִּי-יִהְיֶה לְאִישׁ, בֵּן סוֹרֵר וּמוֹרֶה-אֵינֶנּוּ שֹׁמֵעַ, בְּקוֹל אָבִיו וּבְקוֹל אִמּוֹ; וְיִסְּרוּ אֹתוֹ, וְלֹא יִשְׁמַע אֲלֵיהֶם. If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, that will not hearken to the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother, and though they chasten him, will not hearken unto them" (Deuteronomy 21:18).
In this week's parsha, we read of the strange episode of the ben sorer u'moreh. Although there never was a case in reality that fulfilled the exact conditions in order for a child to be classified as such, there are still many lessons which we may learn. I'd like to share a fascinating insight I read by the Ba'al Haturim.
Two P'sukim after the one above, we read of how the the parents go to the city elders to declare their son a Ben Sorer u'Moreh: "וְאָמְרוּ אֶל זִקְנֵי עִירוֹ בְּנֵנוּ זֶה סוֹרֵר וּמֹרֶה אֵינֶנּוּ שֹׁמֵעַ בְּקֹלֵנוּ זוֹלֵל וְסֹבֵא / And they shall say to the elders of his city, 'This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he doth not hearken to our voice; he is a glutton, and a drunkard.'"
The Ba'al HaTurim notes two discrepancies in this Pasuk. Firstly, there is a yud missing in the word בְּנֵנוּ, and then the word וּמֹרֶה is missing a letter too; this time a vav.
Fortunately for us, we receive a good explanation as to why these words are spelled as they are. In the first case, the missing yud in the word בְּנֵנוּ, our son, is a deliberate reference to the Aseret Hadibrot, the Ten Commandments. The Ba'al HaTurim briefly explains that that this son was wayward to the extent that he didn't care about the most basic tenets of Judaism, wayward to the extent that he even disregarded the ten commandments.
The next missing letter, the (missing) vav in the word מרה, stubborn, is explained as a reference to the bitter end of this situation. The word מרה in Hebrew means bitter. By dropping the vav, the Torah hints that this stubborn and gluttonous boy will only experience bitterness.
If we break up the verse and digest it in pieces, we see that the son doesn't listen to "the voice of his father". Then, separately, his mother's voice is mentioned: "and the voice of his mother." The pasuk uses discrete clauses for each of the parents, and only groups them together when the son hears them speaking in unison. And the one thing that the parents agree upon is negative, as it says "they turned him away."
It is very clear that the lesson to be grasped here is that parents must always act as a unit, and not just when it comes to condemning a child. A child who hears disparate voices from his parents hardly has a chance at growing up to become a decent person, and we can hardly blame him or her. The real lesson of the episode, it would seem, is to show us just how much responsibility we have for one another, and for each others' actions.
Wishing you a שבת שלום ומבורך from Yerushalayim Ir Hakodesh.
In this week's parsha, we read of the strange episode of the ben sorer u'moreh. Although there never was a case in reality that fulfilled the exact conditions in order for a child to be classified as such, there are still many lessons which we may learn. I'd like to share a fascinating insight I read by the Ba'al Haturim.
Two P'sukim after the one above, we read of how the the parents go to the city elders to declare their son a Ben Sorer u'Moreh: "וְאָמְרוּ אֶל זִקְנֵי עִירוֹ בְּנֵנוּ זֶה סוֹרֵר וּמֹרֶה אֵינֶנּוּ שֹׁמֵעַ בְּקֹלֵנוּ זוֹלֵל וְסֹבֵא / And they shall say to the elders of his city, 'This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he doth not hearken to our voice; he is a glutton, and a drunkard.'"
The Ba'al HaTurim notes two discrepancies in this Pasuk. Firstly, there is a yud missing in the word בְּנֵנוּ, and then the word וּמֹרֶה is missing a letter too; this time a vav.
Fortunately for us, we receive a good explanation as to why these words are spelled as they are. In the first case, the missing yud in the word בְּנֵנוּ, our son, is a deliberate reference to the Aseret Hadibrot, the Ten Commandments. The Ba'al HaTurim briefly explains that that this son was wayward to the extent that he didn't care about the most basic tenets of Judaism, wayward to the extent that he even disregarded the ten commandments.
The next missing letter, the (missing) vav in the word מרה, stubborn, is explained as a reference to the bitter end of this situation. The word מרה in Hebrew means bitter. By dropping the vav, the Torah hints that this stubborn and gluttonous boy will only experience bitterness.
If we break up the verse and digest it in pieces, we see that the son doesn't listen to "the voice of his father". Then, separately, his mother's voice is mentioned: "and the voice of his mother." The pasuk uses discrete clauses for each of the parents, and only groups them together when the son hears them speaking in unison. And the one thing that the parents agree upon is negative, as it says "they turned him away."
It is very clear that the lesson to be grasped here is that parents must always act as a unit, and not just when it comes to condemning a child. A child who hears disparate voices from his parents hardly has a chance at growing up to become a decent person, and we can hardly blame him or her. The real lesson of the episode, it would seem, is to show us just how much responsibility we have for one another, and for each others' actions.
Wishing you a שבת שלום ומבורך from Yerushalayim Ir Hakodesh.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Parshat Shoftim - פרשת שופטים
...ואמר אלהם שמע ישראל אתם קרבים היום למלחמה על-איביכם
דברים, כ: ג
One of the many things set out in Parshat Shoftim are the rules of war. Famously later we learn that a Jewish army is not permitted to destroy trees, although this is normal military behaviour, and we also learn that a man who desires a captive woman must adhere to a strict set of rules before he may take her as a partner.
Here, at the beginning of this particluar chapter, we learn that Am Yisrael are instructed to gather and listen to the words of the Kohen Gadol, who served to act as the Army's Chief of Staff and prepared the warrior for battle. In "Ma'ayanah shel HaTorah" a small paragraph attributed to "Sefarim" points out that the word Sh'ma, (hear,) is crucial. As I have mentioned in my Divrei Torah a number of times, when the Hebrew word for hearing is used, it also means something that is accepted. Another aspect of hearing is that it is intriniscally linked to collecting. You might ask yourself at this point what do listening and collecting have to do with one another, so I'll try to pass over something I've learned about the faculty of hearing.
When a person sees something, he sees the entire entity at once, and there can be no doubt as to what it is that the person is perceiving. But when that person hears something, they only hear that thing in stages; a piece at a time. If we take music for an example, one never hears a song, but rather hears a note at a time. If you ask someone to pick their favourite song and then ask them whether they like an individual note, they'll look at you as if you're mad - a person likes the song as an entity - not for it's constituent parts! Similarly, when one listens to another person talking, one only hears one word at a time, and by the time one hears one word, the previous word is only a memory. Hearing, by its very definition, is a process of memory, collection, and most importantly, unification.
It is no coincidence that "Sh'ma" is the opening word used in the most famous sentence in Judaism, for when we talk of oneness, of achdut, we talk of listening and bring back together that which is seemingly separate. And here too, when the nation of Israel enters into a war, all the constituent parts must come together, else failure beckons (God forbid).
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!
דברים, כ: ג
One of the many things set out in Parshat Shoftim are the rules of war. Famously later we learn that a Jewish army is not permitted to destroy trees, although this is normal military behaviour, and we also learn that a man who desires a captive woman must adhere to a strict set of rules before he may take her as a partner.
Here, at the beginning of this particluar chapter, we learn that Am Yisrael are instructed to gather and listen to the words of the Kohen Gadol, who served to act as the Army's Chief of Staff and prepared the warrior for battle. In "Ma'ayanah shel HaTorah" a small paragraph attributed to "Sefarim" points out that the word Sh'ma, (hear,) is crucial. As I have mentioned in my Divrei Torah a number of times, when the Hebrew word for hearing is used, it also means something that is accepted. Another aspect of hearing is that it is intriniscally linked to collecting. You might ask yourself at this point what do listening and collecting have to do with one another, so I'll try to pass over something I've learned about the faculty of hearing.
When a person sees something, he sees the entire entity at once, and there can be no doubt as to what it is that the person is perceiving. But when that person hears something, they only hear that thing in stages; a piece at a time. If we take music for an example, one never hears a song, but rather hears a note at a time. If you ask someone to pick their favourite song and then ask them whether they like an individual note, they'll look at you as if you're mad - a person likes the song as an entity - not for it's constituent parts! Similarly, when one listens to another person talking, one only hears one word at a time, and by the time one hears one word, the previous word is only a memory. Hearing, by its very definition, is a process of memory, collection, and most importantly, unification.
It is no coincidence that "Sh'ma" is the opening word used in the most famous sentence in Judaism, for when we talk of oneness, of achdut, we talk of listening and bring back together that which is seemingly separate. And here too, when the nation of Israel enters into a war, all the constituent parts must come together, else failure beckons (God forbid).
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom!
Friday, August 06, 2010
Parshat Re'eh - פרשת ראה
The name of our Torah portion is Re'eh, which means, "See." After the Jewish People entered the Land of Israel, the first place that they stopped at was the City of Shechem. Moshe commands the twelve tribes to split up and stand on two adjacent mountains, הר גריזים and הר עיבל, Mount Grizim and Mount Eval (/Aival), where the "Kohanim" and "Levi'im" would express God's blessing to them if they would fulfill the Torah, and God's curse if they sin.
These mountains, adjacent to each other, are unique. Mount Grizim is alive with foliage and vegetation, while Mount Eval is bleak and desolate. (These mountains can be seen today outside the city of Shechem/Nablus.) Six tribes were commanded to ascend Mount Grizim, to the south of Shechem to receive the blessing, and the remaining six tribes were commanded to ascend Mount Eval, to the north of Shechem to receive the curse.
The blessing and curse are visually apparent on the mountains themselves. Mount Grizim, the mountain of blessing, is green and verdant. Mount Eval, on the other hand, is barren and accursed.
Rabbi Hirsch explains the symbolism of these mountains. Although both mountains have the same sunlight, rainfall, and fertility, one is verdant and the second is bare. In Kabbalah, we learn that these two mountains represent two eyes. Mount Grizim represents the right eye of wisdom, from which emanates pure blessing. Mount Eval represents the left eye of understanding, from which judgments, even severe judgments, may manifest.
This symbolizes the concept of free will that our Parsha begins with: "Behold, I have placed before you today the blessing and the curse." (Deut. 11:26) It is possible for two people to have the same exact potential, while one thrives and the other withers. We all must choose the path of blessing or curse, and what we sow is what we reap.
The fact that six tribes stood on Mount Eval means that there was a positive element to the curse. In Hebrew, the word for "curse" is klalah; kuf, lamed, lamed, hei. The root of the hebrew word for curse, קללה - klalah is kalal - קלל; kuf, lamed, lamed, which means "brilliant, shining light," as in the expression nechoshet kalal, "brilliant copper." At its source, a curse is a brilliant, shining light. This brilliance can be blinding, making it impossible for us to understand and incorporate it into our consciousness. Even though a curse is the result of transgression, it is not a punishment or an expression of Divine revenge, God forbid. Rather, the curse that comes from the Torah is from a very high source, whose purpose is to rectify the souls of those who have transgressed.
Wishing you a beautiful שבת שלום ומבורך
These mountains, adjacent to each other, are unique. Mount Grizim is alive with foliage and vegetation, while Mount Eval is bleak and desolate. (These mountains can be seen today outside the city of Shechem/Nablus.) Six tribes were commanded to ascend Mount Grizim, to the south of Shechem to receive the blessing, and the remaining six tribes were commanded to ascend Mount Eval, to the north of Shechem to receive the curse.
The blessing and curse are visually apparent on the mountains themselves. Mount Grizim, the mountain of blessing, is green and verdant. Mount Eval, on the other hand, is barren and accursed.
Rabbi Hirsch explains the symbolism of these mountains. Although both mountains have the same sunlight, rainfall, and fertility, one is verdant and the second is bare. In Kabbalah, we learn that these two mountains represent two eyes. Mount Grizim represents the right eye of wisdom, from which emanates pure blessing. Mount Eval represents the left eye of understanding, from which judgments, even severe judgments, may manifest.
This symbolizes the concept of free will that our Parsha begins with: "Behold, I have placed before you today the blessing and the curse." (Deut. 11:26) It is possible for two people to have the same exact potential, while one thrives and the other withers. We all must choose the path of blessing or curse, and what we sow is what we reap.
The fact that six tribes stood on Mount Eval means that there was a positive element to the curse. In Hebrew, the word for "curse" is klalah; kuf, lamed, lamed, hei. The root of the hebrew word for curse, קללה - klalah is kalal - קלל; kuf, lamed, lamed, which means "brilliant, shining light," as in the expression nechoshet kalal, "brilliant copper." At its source, a curse is a brilliant, shining light. This brilliance can be blinding, making it impossible for us to understand and incorporate it into our consciousness. Even though a curse is the result of transgression, it is not a punishment or an expression of Divine revenge, God forbid. Rather, the curse that comes from the Torah is from a very high source, whose purpose is to rectify the souls of those who have transgressed.
Wishing you a beautiful שבת שלום ומבורך
Friday, July 30, 2010
Parshat Ekev - פרשת עקב
" הִשָּׁמֶר לְךָ, פֶּן-תִּשְׁכַּח אֶת-יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, לְבִלְתִּי שְׁמֹר מִצְוֹתָיו וּמִשְׁפָּטָיו וְחֻקֹּתָיו, אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מְצַוְּךָ הַיּוֹם. - Beware lest you forget Hashem your God, in not keeping His commandments, and His ordinances, and His statutes, that I command you this day."
(דברים ח:יא)
Parshat Ekev is a parsha that is full of mitzvot. One particular one interests us in this Dvar Torah. The verses preceding the quote above detail the commandment to remember the 40 years the Jews sent wandering in the desert. In that time, we were sent the Mon (Manna when rendered in English for some odd reason) - a heaven sent food substitute that was pure spiritual nourishment. The verses there explain that it was food " אֲשֶׁר לֹא-יָדַעְתָּ, וְלֹא יָדְעוּן אֲבֹתֶיךָ - that you did not know, and your forefathers did not know" (i.e. it was totally foreign and bizarre to us) so that we would learn to rely on Hashem and so that we would appreciate our place and role in this world better. Indeed, the narrative goes on to explain "לְמַעַן הוֹדִיעֲךָ, כִּי לֹא עַל-הַלֶּחֶם לְבַדּוֹ יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם--כִּי עַל-כָּל-מוֹצָא פִי-יְהוָה, יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם - in order to let you know; that man does not live by bread alone, but by every thing that issues from Hashem's mouth man lives."
Rav Shimshon Rephael Hirsch writes in his commentary here that there was a reason why bread specifically is mentioned. At first, we might find it odd that that bread is mentioned - bread is a kind of food that requires man's input for it to be completed. One doesn't eat wheat by itself, as it is found in nature. For bread to be eaten, man must work on the wheat. With this in mind, we may understand the reason that bread is mentioned. Almost all people appreciate the wonders of the natural world. Anyone who picks an apple from a tree and eats it will agree with you that it is amazing that something so tasty can be found growing naturally. But a person who works hard on bread might be forgiven for thinking that he is at least an equal partner in the process of creating the food.
For this reason, close to this passage we find the verse quoted above - warning us not to forget Hashem and our responsibilities. There are plenty of commandments in this week's Parsha, but this specific passage merits the warning above. Why is that? Well, Rav Hirsch explains that if we look at the verse closely, we can see three categories מצוות (commandments), משפטים (ordinances/laws) and חוקים (statutes). Now, traditionally we regard the latter two as more severe categories of obligations toward Hashem. That being the case, there must be a good reason as to why מצותיו (His commandments) is listed first. Rav Hirsch posits the explanation that this category deals with the things that we derive enjoyment from in this world. Bread, and food as a general, is something that Hashem gave us to enjoy. It is a strong Jewish belief that everything in this world is created for man to make use of or benefit from.
The problem is, we are only human and susceptible to momentary lapses of appreciation of this fine gift. As such, Hashem makes a point of stressing that while we are to derive benefit from all "that issues from Hashem's mouth", we must be careful to never become lax and take for granted what we have in this world.
This D'var Torah is dedicated for the speedy recovery of יוסף בן חנינה לאה, the brother of a friend of mine. Please take a few seconds to think and/or pray on his behalf. Thank you.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom :)
(דברים ח:יא)
Parshat Ekev is a parsha that is full of mitzvot. One particular one interests us in this Dvar Torah. The verses preceding the quote above detail the commandment to remember the 40 years the Jews sent wandering in the desert. In that time, we were sent the Mon (Manna when rendered in English for some odd reason) - a heaven sent food substitute that was pure spiritual nourishment. The verses there explain that it was food " אֲשֶׁר לֹא-יָדַעְתָּ, וְלֹא יָדְעוּן אֲבֹתֶיךָ - that you did not know, and your forefathers did not know" (i.e. it was totally foreign and bizarre to us) so that we would learn to rely on Hashem and so that we would appreciate our place and role in this world better. Indeed, the narrative goes on to explain "לְמַעַן הוֹדִיעֲךָ, כִּי לֹא עַל-הַלֶּחֶם לְבַדּוֹ יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם--כִּי עַל-כָּל-מוֹצָא פִי-יְהוָה, יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם - in order to let you know; that man does not live by bread alone, but by every thing that issues from Hashem's mouth man lives."
Rav Shimshon Rephael Hirsch writes in his commentary here that there was a reason why bread specifically is mentioned. At first, we might find it odd that that bread is mentioned - bread is a kind of food that requires man's input for it to be completed. One doesn't eat wheat by itself, as it is found in nature. For bread to be eaten, man must work on the wheat. With this in mind, we may understand the reason that bread is mentioned. Almost all people appreciate the wonders of the natural world. Anyone who picks an apple from a tree and eats it will agree with you that it is amazing that something so tasty can be found growing naturally. But a person who works hard on bread might be forgiven for thinking that he is at least an equal partner in the process of creating the food.
For this reason, close to this passage we find the verse quoted above - warning us not to forget Hashem and our responsibilities. There are plenty of commandments in this week's Parsha, but this specific passage merits the warning above. Why is that? Well, Rav Hirsch explains that if we look at the verse closely, we can see three categories מצוות (commandments), משפטים (ordinances/laws) and חוקים (statutes). Now, traditionally we regard the latter two as more severe categories of obligations toward Hashem. That being the case, there must be a good reason as to why מצותיו (His commandments) is listed first. Rav Hirsch posits the explanation that this category deals with the things that we derive enjoyment from in this world. Bread, and food as a general, is something that Hashem gave us to enjoy. It is a strong Jewish belief that everything in this world is created for man to make use of or benefit from.
The problem is, we are only human and susceptible to momentary lapses of appreciation of this fine gift. As such, Hashem makes a point of stressing that while we are to derive benefit from all "that issues from Hashem's mouth", we must be careful to never become lax and take for granted what we have in this world.
This D'var Torah is dedicated for the speedy recovery of יוסף בן חנינה לאה, the brother of a friend of mine. Please take a few seconds to think and/or pray on his behalf. Thank you.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom :)
Friday, July 23, 2010
Parshat V'etchanan - פרשת ואתחנן
"ואתם הדביקים ביהוה אלוהיכם חיים כלכם היום / And you who cling to Hashem your God, are living today"
(דברים, ד:ד)
Parshat V'etchanan is jam-packed full of events, ranging from Moshe's request to enter Eretz Yisrael to the recounting of the Ten Commandments through part of the text we recite daily in Kriyat Sh'ma. The focus of this D'var Torah though, is on the last Pasuk of the Levi's Aliyah in Rishon, quoted above. The pasuk is one well-known; each time we read from the Torah, it is recited by the entire congregation as a confirmation of how much the Torah means to us.
The verse is straightforward enough, but the Degel Machane Efraim makes an interesting comment on these words. He points out that it is well-documented in Jewish texts that three paragraphs of the Shm'a cumulatuively comprise 248 words. We learn that these 248 words correspond to the 248 limbs of the human body, and we believe that each word gives strength and vitality to a specific limb. Thus we believe that reading the Sh'ma helps sustain a Jew in this world.
There's a problem though, namely that the 248th word, אמת (Emet - truth), isn't part of the text of Sh'ma as it's found in the Torah. It's really part of the next paragraph, and we join the two paragraphs together and repeat the two words preceding it, and in that way we have our 248th word. But this solution doesn't seem too tidy at all. It all seems a tad arbitrary.
Fortunately, the Degel Machane Efraim resolves the matter with a neat suggestion as to why we do this. The text reads: "And you who cling to Hashem your God, are living today" but if we look closely, we may see that the word אתם (Atem - you) has the same letters as another Hebrew word - אמת. These two words are connected.
Furthermore, when the text says הדביקים (which means clinging/adhering), we may read it literally as an instruction for us to 'stick' something to something else. The insinuation as for us to attach the word אמת (Emet) to the paragraph that precedes it. And what will happen if we are to do this? Simple - the verse continues to bless Israel with life, "חיים כלכם היום - and you are living today" It is my wish that with our prayers, we may realise both our own inner capabilities and be able to make use of all the faculties of our bodies to realise them. Similarly, may we all be blesssed to really live life and grasp the truth of this world.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.
(דברים, ד:ד)
Parshat V'etchanan is jam-packed full of events, ranging from Moshe's request to enter Eretz Yisrael to the recounting of the Ten Commandments through part of the text we recite daily in Kriyat Sh'ma. The focus of this D'var Torah though, is on the last Pasuk of the Levi's Aliyah in Rishon, quoted above. The pasuk is one well-known; each time we read from the Torah, it is recited by the entire congregation as a confirmation of how much the Torah means to us.
The verse is straightforward enough, but the Degel Machane Efraim makes an interesting comment on these words. He points out that it is well-documented in Jewish texts that three paragraphs of the Shm'a cumulatuively comprise 248 words. We learn that these 248 words correspond to the 248 limbs of the human body, and we believe that each word gives strength and vitality to a specific limb. Thus we believe that reading the Sh'ma helps sustain a Jew in this world.
There's a problem though, namely that the 248th word, אמת (Emet - truth), isn't part of the text of Sh'ma as it's found in the Torah. It's really part of the next paragraph, and we join the two paragraphs together and repeat the two words preceding it, and in that way we have our 248th word. But this solution doesn't seem too tidy at all. It all seems a tad arbitrary.
Fortunately, the Degel Machane Efraim resolves the matter with a neat suggestion as to why we do this. The text reads: "And you who cling to Hashem your God, are living today" but if we look closely, we may see that the word אתם (Atem - you) has the same letters as another Hebrew word - אמת. These two words are connected.
Furthermore, when the text says הדביקים (which means clinging/adhering), we may read it literally as an instruction for us to 'stick' something to something else. The insinuation as for us to attach the word אמת (Emet) to the paragraph that precedes it. And what will happen if we are to do this? Simple - the verse continues to bless Israel with life, "חיים כלכם היום - and you are living today" It is my wish that with our prayers, we may realise both our own inner capabilities and be able to make use of all the faculties of our bodies to realise them. Similarly, may we all be blesssed to really live life and grasp the truth of this world.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Tisha B'Av, Sinat Chinam, and the Relevance of Fasting in Our Time
Last Friday, I came across an article on Haaretz's English website that absolutely incensed me. To summarise, Anshel Pfeffer, one of Haaretz's columnists, writes that "It is wrong to fast on Tisha B'Av" and calls for an end to the Jewish practice of fasting on this day.
While Pfeffer seems to think that he is justified in claiming that there is no need to fast on Tisha B'Av anymore — a claim I will firmly rebutt — to go so far as to call a continuation of such a custom "wrong" is objectionable indeed. Putting aside questions such as where he his new-found religious authority comes from, this article is highly distasteful and disrespectful to the generations before us. Beyond that, it is presumptuous and founded on a fatal mistake.
The Jewish fast of Tisha B'Av is one of the most significant of the Jewish calendar. Pfeffer opens his article with the following well-known tale to illustrate just how fastidiously the Jews have observed it:
This story serves not just to introduce Tisha B'Av to readers, but also to make a point; that the Jewish nation will be eventually be rewarded and will return to the land of Israel. Unfortunately, it is at this point that Pfeffer departs from the realm of the historical and starts to interpolate Jewish history with his own suppositions.
It is explained in the Talmud, (in the tractate of Chulin I believe,) that the reason for the destruction of the temple was an episode known as the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. To keep a long story short (quite literally), the tale characterises the fatal flaw of the Jews of the time; baseless hatred. After being slighted in public, Bar Kamtza goes to Casear and, employing twisted logic, slanders all those present at the scene of his embarrassment. Bar Kamtza's deeds set in action a chain of events that eventually led to the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem.
In his article, Pfeffer claims that Tisha B'Av is "a date that has lost any relevance beyond the historical." Quite a remarkable claim to make, really. Apparently, his reasoning is that the Jews have returned to the land of Israel, and although there are those who have not yet made the move, they are not unable to, and so we cannot truly call them in exile. Moreover, he claims, the only reason that the temple has not as yet been rebuilt is because Jews don't really care enough for it to happen. Ironically, I agree with this last statement, but not with Pfeffer's logic.
"The exile is over," Pfeffer says. That is the crux of our debate, so let us consider the two positions. The gap between orthodox Judaism's stance on the exile of the Jews and the patriotic Israeli perspective is the most marked so they serve us well for drawing a comparison. (They also happen to be the camps within which Pfeffer and I fall.) The patriotic secular Israeli views the exile of the Jews from the land of Israel as a thing of the past. After all, the Jews now have a state in the Holy Land. What more could we want? Those subscribing to the orthodox Jewish view beg to differ, though. We do not deny that the existence of the State of Israel signals that the exile is drawing to a close. But without peace between Israel and its neighbours, we are still in exile. What's the difference between the Jews living in a ghetto in Europe and the Jews living in a larger ghetto called Israel, surrounded by hostile armies on all sides? We might have sovereignty and our own army, but if (G-d forbid) Israel loses but one war, it will have been defeated permanently. The exile is not over merely because we are surviving. The exile will only be over once we are allowed to flourish.
It is crucial to note that the reason for our mourning is not the resulting exile from Jerusalem and the Holy Land, though we are terribly upset about that, too. As a child, I learned that God 'explained' his actions, saying words to the effect of "I prefer pouring my wrath on an inanimate object such as the temple than having to wipe the Jews out completely." The exile is not merely that we were divorced from our homeland, the land of Israel. Over the last one hundred and fifty years, a great commotion has been raised over the importance of the land of Israel to the Jewish people, but the truth of the matter is that Judaism is not a faith which centres around the land of Israel. No, the real reason we mourn on this day is because the Jews at that time were guilty of an inexcusable sin. Moreover, it is a sin that we are still guilty of to this very day.
'Sinat Chinam,' or baseless hatred as it may be rendered in English, has sadly not disappeared. The reason the temple was destroyed, we are in exile and we have fasted on Tisha B'Av ever since is because we dispayed a lack of unity. My umbrage with Anshel Pfeffer's article is not that he correctly points out that the Jews have returned to the land of Israel and that we should be grateful for this. This is true and we would indeed do well to celebrate this. Rather, I take issue with his mistaken assumption that exile is based merely on a physical connection with the land. I can assure you that it is much, much more than that. The land of Israel is worth a tremendous amount to us, but it is not the crux of Judaism. Judaism is far greater than just this; it is a system for developing realising ourselves. It is a system for connecting to God. And it is for building relationships between ourselves with one another.
The call to drop the ages-old practice of fasting on Tisha b'Av smacks of the Zionistic desire to leave behind the "old Jew", that stereotypical, superstitious, meek European weakling in favour of the New Jew of Zionism. While it is undeniable that the Jews have indeed returned to their ancestral homeland, not all is well on these shores. There are deep rifts between Jews. Terribly bitter feelings exist between the Orthodox and the Reform. The Haredim and then we have the National Religious sector are all too often at each other's throats, as well.
Politically, we are divided too. Has Anshel Pfeffer not noticed that the attacks by the Left and the Right on one another are only growing increasingly vitriolic? Each side shouts slogans, points the finger and blames the other. And in the process, we only get further away from peace.
The call to drop the old Jewish customs of the exile is an understandable one, but it based on a false assumption. We did not go through 2,000 years of exile for nothing. As a Jew, I believe that we may glean valuable lessons from everything that happens to us in life. We would do well to consider the value of these past two millenia and not do away with our traditions too hastily.
There's a lot to these "simplistic" traditions; they aren't mere superstition. We need to realise that coming back to Israel is a wonderful start, but it is only that. We know need to learn how to live with one another. Might I suggest that this Tisha B’Av we each take some time out to think of the conflicts that exist within the Jewish nation and ponder them.
I can give one example to start us off. As an orthodox Jew, I am aware that most in my community regard the reform and conservative movements in Judaism with a degree of distrust.* I too am worried by what these streams will lead to. I don't think it can be denied that this is a legitimate concern for an orthodox Jew to have. Unfortunately though, some people seem to think that this concern grants orthodox Jews carte blanche to attack people from these branches of Judaism. But this is counter-productive, and only serves to create and fuel animosity between ourselves. Orthodox Jewry needs to consider its relationship with reform Jews and make it unacceptable to hound and harass those who belong to other streams of Judaism. While we may disagree, we need to learn to respect one another.
If we can all take five minutes this Tisha B’Av to reconsider our relationships with one another, we may be able to bridge the gaps that exist between us. The Jewish nation might be returning to the land of Israel, but only once we are happy bedfellows with one another here will we see the end of the exile. Amen.
*Please leave a comment if you find this distasteful. I will consider rephrasing this passage if it comes across as offensive in any way. My point is to highlight a genuine concern of mine, but one that I can at least act rationally upon. I take this opportunity to repeat a saying of mine; "I don't value reform Judaism, but that needn't, and doesn't, stop me from valuing reform Jews."
While Pfeffer seems to think that he is justified in claiming that there is no need to fast on Tisha B'Av anymore — a claim I will firmly rebutt — to go so far as to call a continuation of such a custom "wrong" is objectionable indeed. Putting aside questions such as where he his new-found religious authority comes from, this article is highly distasteful and disrespectful to the generations before us. Beyond that, it is presumptuous and founded on a fatal mistake.
The Jewish fast of Tisha B'Av is one of the most significant of the Jewish calendar. Pfeffer opens his article with the following well-known tale to illustrate just how fastidiously the Jews have observed it:
There are variants to the apocryphal story, but all in essence are the same. Napoleon Bonaparte went for a walk one summer night (it could have been Paris or elsewhere in France or his empire ) and heard voices lamenting in a strange language. They may have come from a grand synagogue or a miserable hovel. Upon asking why the men inside were sitting on the floor and mourning, he was told these were Jews grieving for their destroyed temple in Jerusalem. "How long ago did this happen?" asked Bonaparte. "Eighteen-hundred years" was the answer.
"A nation that can mourn for so long the loss of its land and temple," the emperor is supposed to have said prophetically, "will return one day to their land and see it rebuilt."
This story serves not just to introduce Tisha B'Av to readers, but also to make a point; that the Jewish nation will be eventually be rewarded and will return to the land of Israel. Unfortunately, it is at this point that Pfeffer departs from the realm of the historical and starts to interpolate Jewish history with his own suppositions.
It is explained in the Talmud, (in the tractate of Chulin I believe,) that the reason for the destruction of the temple was an episode known as the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. To keep a long story short (quite literally), the tale characterises the fatal flaw of the Jews of the time; baseless hatred. After being slighted in public, Bar Kamtza goes to Casear and, employing twisted logic, slanders all those present at the scene of his embarrassment. Bar Kamtza's deeds set in action a chain of events that eventually led to the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem.
In his article, Pfeffer claims that Tisha B'Av is "a date that has lost any relevance beyond the historical." Quite a remarkable claim to make, really. Apparently, his reasoning is that the Jews have returned to the land of Israel, and although there are those who have not yet made the move, they are not unable to, and so we cannot truly call them in exile. Moreover, he claims, the only reason that the temple has not as yet been rebuilt is because Jews don't really care enough for it to happen. Ironically, I agree with this last statement, but not with Pfeffer's logic.
"The exile is over," Pfeffer says. That is the crux of our debate, so let us consider the two positions. The gap between orthodox Judaism's stance on the exile of the Jews and the patriotic Israeli perspective is the most marked so they serve us well for drawing a comparison. (They also happen to be the camps within which Pfeffer and I fall.) The patriotic secular Israeli views the exile of the Jews from the land of Israel as a thing of the past. After all, the Jews now have a state in the Holy Land. What more could we want? Those subscribing to the orthodox Jewish view beg to differ, though. We do not deny that the existence of the State of Israel signals that the exile is drawing to a close. But without peace between Israel and its neighbours, we are still in exile. What's the difference between the Jews living in a ghetto in Europe and the Jews living in a larger ghetto called Israel, surrounded by hostile armies on all sides? We might have sovereignty and our own army, but if (G-d forbid) Israel loses but one war, it will have been defeated permanently. The exile is not over merely because we are surviving. The exile will only be over once we are allowed to flourish.
It is crucial to note that the reason for our mourning is not the resulting exile from Jerusalem and the Holy Land, though we are terribly upset about that, too. As a child, I learned that God 'explained' his actions, saying words to the effect of "I prefer pouring my wrath on an inanimate object such as the temple than having to wipe the Jews out completely." The exile is not merely that we were divorced from our homeland, the land of Israel. Over the last one hundred and fifty years, a great commotion has been raised over the importance of the land of Israel to the Jewish people, but the truth of the matter is that Judaism is not a faith which centres around the land of Israel. No, the real reason we mourn on this day is because the Jews at that time were guilty of an inexcusable sin. Moreover, it is a sin that we are still guilty of to this very day.
'Sinat Chinam,' or baseless hatred as it may be rendered in English, has sadly not disappeared. The reason the temple was destroyed, we are in exile and we have fasted on Tisha B'Av ever since is because we dispayed a lack of unity. My umbrage with Anshel Pfeffer's article is not that he correctly points out that the Jews have returned to the land of Israel and that we should be grateful for this. This is true and we would indeed do well to celebrate this. Rather, I take issue with his mistaken assumption that exile is based merely on a physical connection with the land. I can assure you that it is much, much more than that. The land of Israel is worth a tremendous amount to us, but it is not the crux of Judaism. Judaism is far greater than just this; it is a system for developing realising ourselves. It is a system for connecting to God. And it is for building relationships between ourselves with one another.
The call to drop the ages-old practice of fasting on Tisha b'Av smacks of the Zionistic desire to leave behind the "old Jew", that stereotypical, superstitious, meek European weakling in favour of the New Jew of Zionism. While it is undeniable that the Jews have indeed returned to their ancestral homeland, not all is well on these shores. There are deep rifts between Jews. Terribly bitter feelings exist between the Orthodox and the Reform. The Haredim and then we have the National Religious sector are all too often at each other's throats, as well.
Politically, we are divided too. Has Anshel Pfeffer not noticed that the attacks by the Left and the Right on one another are only growing increasingly vitriolic? Each side shouts slogans, points the finger and blames the other. And in the process, we only get further away from peace.
The call to drop the old Jewish customs of the exile is an understandable one, but it based on a false assumption. We did not go through 2,000 years of exile for nothing. As a Jew, I believe that we may glean valuable lessons from everything that happens to us in life. We would do well to consider the value of these past two millenia and not do away with our traditions too hastily.
There's a lot to these "simplistic" traditions; they aren't mere superstition. We need to realise that coming back to Israel is a wonderful start, but it is only that. We know need to learn how to live with one another. Might I suggest that this Tisha B’Av we each take some time out to think of the conflicts that exist within the Jewish nation and ponder them.
I can give one example to start us off. As an orthodox Jew, I am aware that most in my community regard the reform and conservative movements in Judaism with a degree of distrust.* I too am worried by what these streams will lead to. I don't think it can be denied that this is a legitimate concern for an orthodox Jew to have. Unfortunately though, some people seem to think that this concern grants orthodox Jews carte blanche to attack people from these branches of Judaism. But this is counter-productive, and only serves to create and fuel animosity between ourselves. Orthodox Jewry needs to consider its relationship with reform Jews and make it unacceptable to hound and harass those who belong to other streams of Judaism. While we may disagree, we need to learn to respect one another.
If we can all take five minutes this Tisha B’Av to reconsider our relationships with one another, we may be able to bridge the gaps that exist between us. The Jewish nation might be returning to the land of Israel, but only once we are happy bedfellows with one another here will we see the end of the exile. Amen.
*Please leave a comment if you find this distasteful. I will consider rephrasing this passage if it comes across as offensive in any way. My point is to highlight a genuine concern of mine, but one that I can at least act rationally upon. I take this opportunity to repeat a saying of mine; "I don't value reform Judaism, but that needn't, and doesn't, stop me from valuing reform Jews."
Friday, July 16, 2010
Parshat D'varim and Tish'a B'av
רְאֵה נָתַתִּי לִפְנֵיכֶם, אֶת-הָאָרֶץ; בֹּאוּ, וּרְשׁוּ אֶת-הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּע יְהוָה לַאֲבֹתֵיכֶם לְאַבְרָהָם לְיִצְחָק וּלְיַעֲקֹב לָתֵת לָהֶם, וּלְזַרְעָם אַחֲרֵיהֶם. – Behold, I have set the land before you: go in and inherit the land which Hashem swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give unto them and to their seed after them.'
(דברים א:ח)
One of the principal beliefs in Judaism is that there is nothing in this world that can stop a person who really wants something; "אין דבר העומד בפני הרצון - There's nothing that can stand before one's will."
As Jews, we believe in a all-powerful God, One who is Master of the entire universe and who can turn anything to His will. We believe that if we can tune ourself in to this spiritual energy, we may access huge amounts of power. Given this belief, we may in turn better understand some of the events to occur in Jewish history; how it is that we have seen off multiple great nations and empires including the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Assyrians, the Babylonians. We have witnessed them all come, leave their impression and then go. But the Jews still live on.
More recently, in 1967, Israel won the Six-Day war when the odds were stacked against us. It is said that the American military has a computer that processes all the recorded wars in history in an attempt to determine why the winning side was victorious and to gain insight as to what strategies and tactics can be used in the future. Apparently, this computer can "understand" all the wars put in its system, but for one. The 1967 Six-Day war is said to be incomprehensible; there was simply no way that the Jews should have won. There were thousands more troops fighting against Israel than for it. And yet we won.
The main idea to be understood is that part of being Jewish is to not be limited by nature. All the things described above are highly unlikely events in their own right. At the height of the Greek empire, who would have bet that the meek Jews would outlast the Greeks? And when the Roman empire was at its pomp, who would have cared to wager that the downtrodden Jews would be around long after they had disappeared? One lucky escape can be attribbuted to luck. But for this phenomenon to occur over and over again indicates something deeper at play; that the Jewish nation is not bound by nature's laws. If something has to happen; it will.
In the quote above from this week's Parsha, D'varim, Hashem shows B'nei Yisrael the land of Israel, telling them to behold it. Rashi explains here that if the Jews had gone in at that very moment, there would have been no need to fight to claim the land. But since they insisted on spying out the land, they were forced to take up arms and wage battle against the hostile people who were then residing in the promised land.
One of the things we learn is that if God wants something to happen, it makes no difference what the situation is - it will happen. If God wanted these hostile peoples residing in the land of Israel to quietly accept the arrival of the Jewish people, then that's precisely what would have happened.
Touching on the forthcoming fast of Tish'a B'Av, we know that the reason for the destruction of the Bet Hamikdash is because of Sin'at Chinam, baseless hatred, most clearly expressed in the Kamtza/Bar-Kamtza incident. This is the reason that is universally given for the resulting destruction, but Rav Ya'akov Chaim Sofer explains that if we look in the Talmud, we see that another reason is recorded in Masechet Gitin.
The account of one Yosef ben Matityahu, who lived through the time of this destruction, is recorded there. His account is completely different to the standard one, and he claims that the Roman army was large and strong, with healthy and well-armed soldiers. Standing against them, on the other hand, was the weak Jewish military. The Jews lacked food and arms. It was a total mismatch. Our would-be historian doesn't mention the Kamtza/Bar-Kamtza episode once. How can this be?
The answer is simple enough. As Jews, we don't care how it is that we lost in physical terms. We are more interested as to the spiritual causes of such events. As described above, there have been enough events over the course of history for us to know that our military disadvantage is wholly irellevant to the outcome of such a situation. If we could outlast all these other foes, there is no reason why we should suddenly capitulate in this battle. If you want to know how we lost the battle against the Romans and how the Bet Hamikdash was destroyed, refer to the words of Yosef ben Matityahu. But we don't want to know how, we need to knowwhy.
The message remains clear and relevant to this day. We need not worry about external threats. When it comes down to it, we need not fear at all. What we need to worry about is ourselves and how we relate to one another. If we really want to bring peace upon ourselves, we can do it.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and an easy fast next week.
(דברים א:ח)
One of the principal beliefs in Judaism is that there is nothing in this world that can stop a person who really wants something; "אין דבר העומד בפני הרצון - There's nothing that can stand before one's will."
As Jews, we believe in a all-powerful God, One who is Master of the entire universe and who can turn anything to His will. We believe that if we can tune ourself in to this spiritual energy, we may access huge amounts of power. Given this belief, we may in turn better understand some of the events to occur in Jewish history; how it is that we have seen off multiple great nations and empires including the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Assyrians, the Babylonians. We have witnessed them all come, leave their impression and then go. But the Jews still live on.
More recently, in 1967, Israel won the Six-Day war when the odds were stacked against us. It is said that the American military has a computer that processes all the recorded wars in history in an attempt to determine why the winning side was victorious and to gain insight as to what strategies and tactics can be used in the future. Apparently, this computer can "understand" all the wars put in its system, but for one. The 1967 Six-Day war is said to be incomprehensible; there was simply no way that the Jews should have won. There were thousands more troops fighting against Israel than for it. And yet we won.
The main idea to be understood is that part of being Jewish is to not be limited by nature. All the things described above are highly unlikely events in their own right. At the height of the Greek empire, who would have bet that the meek Jews would outlast the Greeks? And when the Roman empire was at its pomp, who would have cared to wager that the downtrodden Jews would be around long after they had disappeared? One lucky escape can be attribbuted to luck. But for this phenomenon to occur over and over again indicates something deeper at play; that the Jewish nation is not bound by nature's laws. If something has to happen; it will.
In the quote above from this week's Parsha, D'varim, Hashem shows B'nei Yisrael the land of Israel, telling them to behold it. Rashi explains here that if the Jews had gone in at that very moment, there would have been no need to fight to claim the land. But since they insisted on spying out the land, they were forced to take up arms and wage battle against the hostile people who were then residing in the promised land.
One of the things we learn is that if God wants something to happen, it makes no difference what the situation is - it will happen. If God wanted these hostile peoples residing in the land of Israel to quietly accept the arrival of the Jewish people, then that's precisely what would have happened.
Touching on the forthcoming fast of Tish'a B'Av, we know that the reason for the destruction of the Bet Hamikdash is because of Sin'at Chinam, baseless hatred, most clearly expressed in the Kamtza/Bar-Kamtza incident. This is the reason that is universally given for the resulting destruction, but Rav Ya'akov Chaim Sofer explains that if we look in the Talmud, we see that another reason is recorded in Masechet Gitin.
The account of one Yosef ben Matityahu, who lived through the time of this destruction, is recorded there. His account is completely different to the standard one, and he claims that the Roman army was large and strong, with healthy and well-armed soldiers. Standing against them, on the other hand, was the weak Jewish military. The Jews lacked food and arms. It was a total mismatch. Our would-be historian doesn't mention the Kamtza/Bar-Kamtza episode once. How can this be?
The answer is simple enough. As Jews, we don't care how it is that we lost in physical terms. We are more interested as to the spiritual causes of such events. As described above, there have been enough events over the course of history for us to know that our military disadvantage is wholly irellevant to the outcome of such a situation. If we could outlast all these other foes, there is no reason why we should suddenly capitulate in this battle. If you want to know how we lost the battle against the Romans and how the Bet Hamikdash was destroyed, refer to the words of Yosef ben Matityahu. But we don't want to know how, we need to knowwhy.
The message remains clear and relevant to this day. We need not worry about external threats. When it comes down to it, we need not fear at all. What we need to worry about is ourselves and how we relate to one another. If we really want to bring peace upon ourselves, we can do it.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and an easy fast next week.
Friday, July 09, 2010
Parshiot Matot and Massei – פרשיות מטות ומסעי
"וידבר משה אל ראשי המטות לבני ישראל לאמר זה הדבר אשר צוה יהוה. And Moshe spoke to the heads of the tribes, to the B'nei Yisrael saying, this is the word that Hashem commands."
~ Numbers 30:2
Normally I'd write about that which Moshe goes on to say but instead I'd like to discuss the manner in which Moshe speaks here.
The Sfat Emet raises the issue, noting that Moshe uses the opening statement "זה הדבר," as opposed to the word "כה," which is frequently employed by lesser prophets. The former phrase suggests a level of accuracy that the latter lacks - it roughly means, "This is exactly that which was said."
With this in mind, the Sfat Emet asks a question - why are some of Moshe's prophecies introduced with the word "כה?" The answer is simple but spectacular - that there are things in this world which cannot truly be understood or grasped. We can talk our way around these issues with analogies, allusions and the like, but our understanding will only ever be imprecise at best. We learn that one of the Rambam's 13 principles of faith is to believe that Moshe was Hashem's greatest prophet, a prophet who was far more highly receptive of God's will than any other man. And yet even Moshe, who had the ability to relate his prophecies with absolute precision, could sometimes not address the people with the words, "זה הדבר."
So what is this realm that we cannot really understand? The Sfat Emet explains that it is the "Olam HaZeh." (The World we live in, as opposed to the afterlife.) At first glance, this might seem a little odd; after all, don't we live in "Olam HaZeh," wouldn't the affairs of this world be things that we grasp? Wouldn't goings-on of the spiritual realm of the world to come, the "Olam Haba"; wouldn't they be more likely to be inaccessable to us?
On reading the words closely, we can understand the concept better. The word "Olam," of "Olam Hazeh," is linked to the word "Ne'elam," meaning hidden. The first word of the phrase, "Hazeh," serves to indicate something very specific - something that can be quantified and related to. When we say "Zeh" in Hebrew, or "this" in English, we typically refer to something that is a known quantity. If we put this two words together, we arrive at a contradiction; which world are we living in? Is it a hidden world or a revealed world? Is everything clear to us, or is it all hidden away?
It would seem that the Sfat Emet is subtly teaching that this world has two parallel aspects. It isn't one or the other, but rather a composite of these two elements. There are times when everything seems clear, moments when we can say "Zeh HaDavar." But equally, even to the greatest and wisest minds, there are moments that can only be referred to as a moment when we only partially understand what's happening - a moment that is best defined by "Koh."
In Kabbalah thought, man is referred to as an "Olam Katan," a little world. I think we may see a parallel here, too. Every person has moments where they think that they know themselves inside out. But then we learn something new about ourselves. Nobody knows us like we do ourselves, but even we can be surprised by ourselves if we look and listen carefully enough. I think we may take this experience and apply it to the world at large. Many times I personally have caught myself thinking that I know a lot, only for me to be humbled and find out that my knowledge is actually relatively insignificant and sadly incomplete. It is up to us to learn how to deal with moments such as this; do we act arrogantly and defy what we are learning, or do we take a step back and admit to ourselves that we have much to learn? It's a terrible thing to be stuck in the same mindset and never to budge, even after hearing of a valid disproof to your ideas. I only hope that we can all grow and adapt to whatever new knowledge we may learn in life.
Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom :)
~ Numbers 30:2
Normally I'd write about that which Moshe goes on to say but instead I'd like to discuss the manner in which Moshe speaks here.
The Sfat Emet raises the issue, noting that Moshe uses the opening statement "זה הדבר," as opposed to the word "כה," which is frequently employed by lesser prophets. The former phrase suggests a level of accuracy that the latter lacks - it roughly means, "This is exactly that which was said."
With this in mind, the Sfat Emet asks a question - why are some of Moshe's prophecies introduced with the word "כה?" The answer is simple but spectacular - that there are things in this world which cannot truly be understood or grasped. We can talk our way around these issues with analogies, allusions and the like, but our understanding will only ever be imprecise at best. We learn that one of the Rambam's 13 principles of faith is to believe that Moshe was Hashem's greatest prophet, a prophet who was far more highly receptive of God's will than any other man. And yet even Moshe, who had the ability to relate his prophecies with absolute precision, could sometimes not address the people with the words, "זה הדבר."
So what is this realm that we cannot really understand? The Sfat Emet explains that it is the "Olam HaZeh." (The World we live in, as opposed to the afterlife.) At first glance, this might seem a little odd; after all, don't we live in "Olam HaZeh," wouldn't the affairs of this world be things that we grasp? Wouldn't goings-on of the spiritual realm of the world to come, the "Olam Haba"; wouldn't they be more likely to be inaccessable to us?
On reading the words closely, we can understand the concept better. The word "Olam," of "Olam Hazeh," is linked to the word "Ne'elam," meaning hidden. The first word of the phrase, "Hazeh," serves to indicate something very specific - something that can be quantified and related to. When we say "Zeh" in Hebrew, or "this" in English, we typically refer to something that is a known quantity. If we put this two words together, we arrive at a contradiction; which world are we living in? Is it a hidden world or a revealed world? Is everything clear to us, or is it all hidden away?
It would seem that the Sfat Emet is subtly teaching that this world has two parallel aspects. It isn't one or the other, but rather a composite of these two elements. There are times when everything seems clear, moments when we can say "Zeh HaDavar." But equally, even to the greatest and wisest minds, there are moments that can only be referred to as a moment when we only partially understand what's happening - a moment that is best defined by "Koh."
In Kabbalah thought, man is referred to as an "Olam Katan," a little world. I think we may see a parallel here, too. Every person has moments where they think that they know themselves inside out. But then we learn something new about ourselves. Nobody knows us like we do ourselves, but even we can be surprised by ourselves if we look and listen carefully enough. I think we may take this experience and apply it to the world at large. Many times I personally have caught myself thinking that I know a lot, only for me to be humbled and find out that my knowledge is actually relatively insignificant and sadly incomplete. It is up to us to learn how to deal with moments such as this; do we act arrogantly and defy what we are learning, or do we take a step back and admit to ourselves that we have much to learn? It's a terrible thing to be stuck in the same mindset and never to budge, even after hearing of a valid disproof to your ideas. I only hope that we can all grow and adapt to whatever new knowledge we may learn in life.
Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom :)
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Parshat Pinchas - פרשת פינחס
" צָרוֹר, אֶת-הַמִּדְיָנִים; וְהִכִּיתֶם, אוֹתָם. כִּי צֹרְרִים הֵם לָכֶם, בְּנִכְלֵיהֶם אֲשֶׁר-נִכְּלוּ לָכֶם עַל-דְּבַר-פְּעוֹר; וְעַל-דְּבַר כָּזְבִּי בַת-נְשִׂיא מִדְיָן, אֲחֹתָם, הַמֻּכָּה בְיוֹם-הַמַּגֵּפָה, עַל-דְּבַר-פְּעוֹר - Harass the Midianites, and smite them; for they harass you, by their conspiracy that they conspired against you regarding the matter of Peor, and in the matter of Cozbi, the daughter of the prince of Midian, their sister, who was slain on the day of the plague regardig the matter of Peor."
(Numbers 25: 17-18)
At first glance, one might regard the command above, vengeful and full-blooded as it seems, as stereotypically biblical. "Smite!" Always in vogue in the Bible, right? No harsher punishment for God to employ than to make use of the 'smite' button. Seriously though, and all jokes aside, we may learn a lot from the manner of punishment set aside for the Midianites. It's not just a simple matter of them crossing God's path and paying the ultimate price.
The Yalkut Lekach Tov brings a beautiful D'var Torah posited by Rabbi Leib Chasman in his sefer, Or Yahel. He explains that the Midianites were accorded an unusually heavy punishment. If we compare the punishment reserved for the Midianites with the punishments handed out to the Edomites and the Egyptians elsewhere in the Torah, we see that this 'smite' option clearly wasn't the only one that God had at his disposal. These two nations had both put the Jews to the sword, seemingly a far worse crime to that of the Midianites and the Moabites. While their punishment was strong indeed, we find an intriguing caveat recorded in Parshat Ki Tetzei, "לֹא-תְתַעֵב אֲדֹמִי, כִּי אָחִיךָ הוּא; לֹא-תְתַעֵב מִצְרִי, כִּי-גֵר הָיִיתָ בְאַרְצוֹ - You shall not abhor an Edomite, for he is your brother; you shall not abhor an Egyptian, because you were a stranger in his land." (Deuteronomy 23:8) This seems rather unusual - why would we not abhor a people who tried to kill us? If not for people like this, then who?
To be sure, the Edomites and the Egyptians downright nasty to the Jews and The Torah certainly doesn't expect us to love them. But we are not to abhor these peoples - that level of distaste is to be saved for the nations who attempt to dissuade us from our religion. A few verses before the passage above, we read that "לֹא-יָבֹא עַמּוֹנִי וּמוֹאָבִי, בִּקְהַל יְהוָה: גַּם דּוֹר עֲשִׂירִי, לֹא-יָבֹא לָהֶם בִּקְהַל יְהוָה עַד-עוֹלָם - An Ammonite or a Moabite shall not enter into the assembly of hashem; even [after] the tenth generation; none of them may enter into the assembly of Hashem forever." (Deuteronomy 23:4) The reason given there is simple; not only did they fail to meet the parched Jews in the desert with bread and water, but they went out of their way to curse them.
All well and good. But why is it that the Egyptians and the Edomites get off lightly? The reason for the seemingly heavy punishment accorded to the Moabites and Ammonites may be sourced to a principle taught by the Jewish sages: "המחטיא את חברו קשה מההורגו." (Loosely rendered as "one who causes his fellow to sin is reckoned as worse than one who had killed him.")
Take for example our contemporaries who write theories decrying and mocking religion. Unfortunately, these are amongst the most highly respected people of our time. We might imagine that this while besmirching religion and perverting people's minds are certainly bad things, they surely cannot be as as evil as such a final act as killing one's fellow. Nevertheless, the Torah does not see things that way, as we have seen with the phrase above: "one who causes his fellow to sin is reckoned as worse than one who had killed him."
How can this be? Rabbi Chasman explains this different perspective well, pointing out that while a killer only kills his victim just the once, someone who perverts others tends to do so repeatedly. Once a killer dies, he can kill no more. But even after a writer and purveyor of sacrilegious and wickedness thought has left this world, their evil still lives on. Also the way in which they affect their victims is markedly different, as the Sages explain; "He who kills - in this world. But he who causes to sin - in this world and in the next world."
And now we may understand the logic of the decrees reserved for these respective nations. While it cannot be denied that the Egyptians, for example, committed a grave offence by murdering and oppressing the Jews, they only affected that generation of Jews. The punishment is very much measure-for-measure. The killer's affect is only temporary, we might say, and therefore the first three generations were denied to the right to enter the Jewish assembly. But nations like the Moabites who tried to curse the Jews forever, on the other hand, these people get exactly what they deserve and are denied that opportunity for eternity.
I think that there's a very relevant lesson we may take from this. We may not ever stumble across a Moabite or an Ammonite in our day-to-day lives, or ever get close to killing someone, we do each have the opportunity to affect other people's lives. We all are able to cause other people to act errantly.
Every day that we get into social situations where we can talk badly about others, for example. By allowing ourselves to enter such conversations, we legitimate them. Doubtless we would resent others talking about us that way, but we seem to care less when the subject of the conversation is someone else. Every single one of us is a leader to someone else, whether we know it, or indeed acknowledge it, or not. If we take care to act and talk in the right way, we can make a real impression on others for the good. And the same goes for the reverse. May we all understand our role in this world and only ever act as a good example for others.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom :)
(Numbers 25: 17-18)
At first glance, one might regard the command above, vengeful and full-blooded as it seems, as stereotypically biblical. "Smite!" Always in vogue in the Bible, right? No harsher punishment for God to employ than to make use of the 'smite' button. Seriously though, and all jokes aside, we may learn a lot from the manner of punishment set aside for the Midianites. It's not just a simple matter of them crossing God's path and paying the ultimate price.
The Yalkut Lekach Tov brings a beautiful D'var Torah posited by Rabbi Leib Chasman in his sefer, Or Yahel. He explains that the Midianites were accorded an unusually heavy punishment. If we compare the punishment reserved for the Midianites with the punishments handed out to the Edomites and the Egyptians elsewhere in the Torah, we see that this 'smite' option clearly wasn't the only one that God had at his disposal. These two nations had both put the Jews to the sword, seemingly a far worse crime to that of the Midianites and the Moabites. While their punishment was strong indeed, we find an intriguing caveat recorded in Parshat Ki Tetzei, "לֹא-תְתַעֵב אֲדֹמִי, כִּי אָחִיךָ הוּא; לֹא-תְתַעֵב מִצְרִי, כִּי-גֵר הָיִיתָ בְאַרְצוֹ - You shall not abhor an Edomite, for he is your brother; you shall not abhor an Egyptian, because you were a stranger in his land." (Deuteronomy 23:8) This seems rather unusual - why would we not abhor a people who tried to kill us? If not for people like this, then who?
To be sure, the Edomites and the Egyptians downright nasty to the Jews and The Torah certainly doesn't expect us to love them. But we are not to abhor these peoples - that level of distaste is to be saved for the nations who attempt to dissuade us from our religion. A few verses before the passage above, we read that "לֹא-יָבֹא עַמּוֹנִי וּמוֹאָבִי, בִּקְהַל יְהוָה: גַּם דּוֹר עֲשִׂירִי, לֹא-יָבֹא לָהֶם בִּקְהַל יְהוָה עַד-עוֹלָם - An Ammonite or a Moabite shall not enter into the assembly of hashem; even [after] the tenth generation; none of them may enter into the assembly of Hashem forever." (Deuteronomy 23:4) The reason given there is simple; not only did they fail to meet the parched Jews in the desert with bread and water, but they went out of their way to curse them.
All well and good. But why is it that the Egyptians and the Edomites get off lightly? The reason for the seemingly heavy punishment accorded to the Moabites and Ammonites may be sourced to a principle taught by the Jewish sages: "המחטיא את חברו קשה מההורגו." (Loosely rendered as "one who causes his fellow to sin is reckoned as worse than one who had killed him.")
Take for example our contemporaries who write theories decrying and mocking religion. Unfortunately, these are amongst the most highly respected people of our time. We might imagine that this while besmirching religion and perverting people's minds are certainly bad things, they surely cannot be as as evil as such a final act as killing one's fellow. Nevertheless, the Torah does not see things that way, as we have seen with the phrase above: "one who causes his fellow to sin is reckoned as worse than one who had killed him."
How can this be? Rabbi Chasman explains this different perspective well, pointing out that while a killer only kills his victim just the once, someone who perverts others tends to do so repeatedly. Once a killer dies, he can kill no more. But even after a writer and purveyor of sacrilegious and wickedness thought has left this world, their evil still lives on. Also the way in which they affect their victims is markedly different, as the Sages explain; "He who kills - in this world. But he who causes to sin - in this world and in the next world."
And now we may understand the logic of the decrees reserved for these respective nations. While it cannot be denied that the Egyptians, for example, committed a grave offence by murdering and oppressing the Jews, they only affected that generation of Jews. The punishment is very much measure-for-measure. The killer's affect is only temporary, we might say, and therefore the first three generations were denied to the right to enter the Jewish assembly. But nations like the Moabites who tried to curse the Jews forever, on the other hand, these people get exactly what they deserve and are denied that opportunity for eternity.
I think that there's a very relevant lesson we may take from this. We may not ever stumble across a Moabite or an Ammonite in our day-to-day lives, or ever get close to killing someone, we do each have the opportunity to affect other people's lives. We all are able to cause other people to act errantly.
Every day that we get into social situations where we can talk badly about others, for example. By allowing ourselves to enter such conversations, we legitimate them. Doubtless we would resent others talking about us that way, but we seem to care less when the subject of the conversation is someone else. Every single one of us is a leader to someone else, whether we know it, or indeed acknowledge it, or not. If we take care to act and talk in the right way, we can make a real impression on others for the good. And the same goes for the reverse. May we all understand our role in this world and only ever act as a good example for others.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom :)
Friday, June 25, 2010
Parshat Balak - פרשת בלק
"וַיִּפְתַּח יְהוָה, אֶת-פִּי הָאָתוֹן; וַתֹּאמֶר לְבִלְעָם, מֶה-עָשִׂיתִי לְךָ, כִּי הִכִּיתַנִי, זֶה שָׁלֹשׁ רְגָלִים. - And Hashem opened the mouth of the donkey, and it said to Balaam: 'What have I done to you, that thou have hit me these three times?' "
~Numbers 22:28
Quite why I'd never paid attention to the phrasing of this verse before now, I'll never know, but upon reading the passage above, I noticed something quote odd. The last words, "שָׁלֹשׁ רְגָלִים" are understood to mean three times, but the phrase literally means "three feet", which is the way the three "foot" festivals in Judaism are typically referred to. (They were known as foot festivals because the entire people would descend on Jerusalem, proceeding there by foot, in order to mark the holidays.) The normal way of saying three times in Hebrew would be "שלוש פעמים", so why unusual terminology here?
Rashi explains that the words were meant as "a hint to him [Bilaam]. 'You seek to uproot a nation that observes the three festivals each year'" was the message. Problem is, while this does explain the reference somewhat, it doesn't satifactorily identify why this specific aspect of the Jewish nation is referred to. After all, Jews have many unique characteristics; why not refer to our observance of Shabbat, Brit Milah, heck, even our big noses! What's so special about the Three Foot Festivals that they are specifically referred to here? Moreover, the Gur Aryeh notes that while the regular פעם and its plural form of פעמים appear over 100 times over the course of the Torah, this word "רגלים" appears just four times in the Torah: three times here and once more in Exodus when referring to the festivals themselves. Clearly, there is a connection, but what is it exactly?
The Sfat Emet asks exactly this question, and posits an answer that I find particularly brilliant and illuminating. His explanation is that these three festivals were a form of testimony that the land of Israel was part of the Jewish heritage, and that it was the place where the Bet Hamikdash would stand. (He sources this from a verse in D'varim: " שָׁלוֹשׁ פְּעָמִים בַּשָּׁנָה יֵרָאֶה כָל-זְכוּרְךָ אֶת-פְּנֵי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחָר--בְּחַג הַמַּצּוֹת וּבְחַג הַשָּׁבֻעוֹת, וּבְחַג הַסֻּכּוֹת; וְלֹא יֵרָאֶה אֶת-פְּנֵי יְהוָה, רֵיקָם. - Three times in a year shall all your males appear before Hashem your God in the place that He shall choose; on the festival of Matzot, and on the festival of Shavuot, and on the festival of Sukkot; and they shall not appear before Hashem empty." ~Deuteronomy 16:16)
The curse that Balak was trying to place on the Bnei Yisrael, through his messenger Bilaam, was to remove them from their deserved inheritance of the land of Israel. This actually makes a lot of sense with the text; earlier, Balak complains about that the Jews have "covered the eye of the land" (Numbers 22:5). Clearly, someone doesn't want the Jews to settle down in this particular spot.
Now that we understand what this fear was, and why this particular mitzvah of observing the three foot festivals was referenced, the Sfat Emet goes on to reveal an aspect of the blessing that Bilaam is forced into bestowing upon the Jews. This is the part of the Dvar Torah I most like. Famously, Bilaam pronounces, " כִּי-מֵרֹאשׁ צֻרִים אֶרְאֶנּוּ, וּמִגְּבָעוֹת אֲשׁוּרֶנּוּ: הֶן-עָם לְבָדָד יִשְׁכֹּן, וּבַגּוֹיִם לֹא יִתְחַשָּׁב. מִי מָנָה עֲפַר יַעֲקֹב, וּמִסְפָּר אֶת-רֹבַע יִשְׂרָאֵל; תָּמֹת נַפְשִׁי מוֹת יְשָׁרִים, וּתְהִי אַחֲרִיתִי כָּמֹהוּ - For from the top of the rocks I see it, and from the hills I view it: Behold! it is a people that will dwell alone, and shall not be reckoned amongst the nations. Who has counted the dust of Jacob, or numbered a quarter of Israel? Let me die the death of the righteous, and may my end be like his!" (Numbers 23: 9-10) This blessing is amongst the most notable in the Torah, and so I never really paused to consider the way it is phrased. The Sfat Emet, though, remarks upon the words "Who has counted the dust of Jacob." Upon consideration, I think we may agree that the word dust seems rather unusual. The answer the Sfat Emet gives is that this is another link, (Midah k'neged Midah, I might add) to the land of Israel. For just as Bilaam went out to deprive the Bnei Yisrael of their right to the land of Israel, he ultimately only goes to underscore it. As the Sfat Emet explains, the word dust here refers to the land itself and all the MItzvot that the Bnei Yisrael were given that could only be observed fully upon the land of Israel.
I think we might find this passage highly relevant to our times. In an age where there is an ongoing campaign to deprive the Jewish nation of their right to their homeland, it is important that we remember where we got this right from. Not from the League of Nations vote in November 1947, neither from our winning the War of Independence. No, the real reason why the Jewish people deserve to live in the land of Israel is because it is ours; an eternal heritage and our home. We would do well to remember this and that the source of our claim is biblical, no less. If we can remember this, stick to it and observe the Torah, the day will surely come when our claim to this land will be recognised by all. Amen!
This Dvar Torah was written in memory of Shaul Avraham Eliezer ben Shmuel Aryeh Leib, the father of a friend of mine who passed away this week. Kindly feel free to devote your learning in his memory, too.
Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom.
~Numbers 22:28
Quite why I'd never paid attention to the phrasing of this verse before now, I'll never know, but upon reading the passage above, I noticed something quote odd. The last words, "שָׁלֹשׁ רְגָלִים" are understood to mean three times, but the phrase literally means "three feet", which is the way the three "foot" festivals in Judaism are typically referred to. (They were known as foot festivals because the entire people would descend on Jerusalem, proceeding there by foot, in order to mark the holidays.) The normal way of saying three times in Hebrew would be "שלוש פעמים", so why unusual terminology here?
Rashi explains that the words were meant as "a hint to him [Bilaam]. 'You seek to uproot a nation that observes the three festivals each year'" was the message. Problem is, while this does explain the reference somewhat, it doesn't satifactorily identify why this specific aspect of the Jewish nation is referred to. After all, Jews have many unique characteristics; why not refer to our observance of Shabbat, Brit Milah, heck, even our big noses! What's so special about the Three Foot Festivals that they are specifically referred to here? Moreover, the Gur Aryeh notes that while the regular פעם and its plural form of פעמים appear over 100 times over the course of the Torah, this word "רגלים" appears just four times in the Torah: three times here and once more in Exodus when referring to the festivals themselves. Clearly, there is a connection, but what is it exactly?
The Sfat Emet asks exactly this question, and posits an answer that I find particularly brilliant and illuminating. His explanation is that these three festivals were a form of testimony that the land of Israel was part of the Jewish heritage, and that it was the place where the Bet Hamikdash would stand. (He sources this from a verse in D'varim: " שָׁלוֹשׁ פְּעָמִים בַּשָּׁנָה יֵרָאֶה כָל-זְכוּרְךָ אֶת-פְּנֵי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחָר--בְּחַג הַמַּצּוֹת וּבְחַג הַשָּׁבֻעוֹת, וּבְחַג הַסֻּכּוֹת; וְלֹא יֵרָאֶה אֶת-פְּנֵי יְהוָה, רֵיקָם. - Three times in a year shall all your males appear before Hashem your God in the place that He shall choose; on the festival of Matzot, and on the festival of Shavuot, and on the festival of Sukkot; and they shall not appear before Hashem empty." ~Deuteronomy 16:16)
The curse that Balak was trying to place on the Bnei Yisrael, through his messenger Bilaam, was to remove them from their deserved inheritance of the land of Israel. This actually makes a lot of sense with the text; earlier, Balak complains about that the Jews have "covered the eye of the land" (Numbers 22:5). Clearly, someone doesn't want the Jews to settle down in this particular spot.
Now that we understand what this fear was, and why this particular mitzvah of observing the three foot festivals was referenced, the Sfat Emet goes on to reveal an aspect of the blessing that Bilaam is forced into bestowing upon the Jews. This is the part of the Dvar Torah I most like. Famously, Bilaam pronounces, " כִּי-מֵרֹאשׁ צֻרִים אֶרְאֶנּוּ, וּמִגְּבָעוֹת אֲשׁוּרֶנּוּ: הֶן-עָם לְבָדָד יִשְׁכֹּן, וּבַגּוֹיִם לֹא יִתְחַשָּׁב. מִי מָנָה עֲפַר יַעֲקֹב, וּמִסְפָּר אֶת-רֹבַע יִשְׂרָאֵל; תָּמֹת נַפְשִׁי מוֹת יְשָׁרִים, וּתְהִי אַחֲרִיתִי כָּמֹהוּ - For from the top of the rocks I see it, and from the hills I view it: Behold! it is a people that will dwell alone, and shall not be reckoned amongst the nations. Who has counted the dust of Jacob, or numbered a quarter of Israel? Let me die the death of the righteous, and may my end be like his!" (Numbers 23: 9-10) This blessing is amongst the most notable in the Torah, and so I never really paused to consider the way it is phrased. The Sfat Emet, though, remarks upon the words "Who has counted the dust of Jacob." Upon consideration, I think we may agree that the word dust seems rather unusual. The answer the Sfat Emet gives is that this is another link, (Midah k'neged Midah, I might add) to the land of Israel. For just as Bilaam went out to deprive the Bnei Yisrael of their right to the land of Israel, he ultimately only goes to underscore it. As the Sfat Emet explains, the word dust here refers to the land itself and all the MItzvot that the Bnei Yisrael were given that could only be observed fully upon the land of Israel.
I think we might find this passage highly relevant to our times. In an age where there is an ongoing campaign to deprive the Jewish nation of their right to their homeland, it is important that we remember where we got this right from. Not from the League of Nations vote in November 1947, neither from our winning the War of Independence. No, the real reason why the Jewish people deserve to live in the land of Israel is because it is ours; an eternal heritage and our home. We would do well to remember this and that the source of our claim is biblical, no less. If we can remember this, stick to it and observe the Torah, the day will surely come when our claim to this land will be recognised by all. Amen!
This Dvar Torah was written in memory of Shaul Avraham Eliezer ben Shmuel Aryeh Leib, the father of a friend of mine who passed away this week. Kindly feel free to devote your learning in his memory, too.
Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Parshat Chukat - פרשת חוקת
"אָז יָשִׁיר יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶת-הַשִּׁירָה הַזֹּאת: עֲלִי בְאֵר, עֱנוּ-לָהּ - Then Israel sang this song: Spring up, O well; sing to it"
(במדבר כא:יז)
I have an exam in about an hour, and as it's been a hectic last week of semester, I haven't had too much spare time this week to prepare a D'var Torah. Nevertheless, I do have a quick parsha thought I'd like to share with you. (Even if it's the same one as I wrote last year.)
In the quote above, we read how Am Yisrael sing of the "Be'er Miriam," the well that accompanied them during their travails in the desert and from which water miraculously flowed. While it seems reasonable enough to mention and praise this incredible phenomenon, a question begs to be asked; why is it only now that Am Yisrael recognise the blessing of this well? After all, they had been in the desert for many years - shouldn't they have made their gratefulness known earlier?
To understand this difficulty, we have to look at the situation in it's proper context. The generation who suddenly found themselves (quite literally) singing the well's praises had never fully appreciated what a blessing this Be'er was. This particular generation had been born in the desert. As such, to them, a rock that rolled around of its own volition and produced drinking water (in huge quantities) was of no great consequence. To them, it was no more miraculous than a rainfall or a sunrise.
When Hashem punished Am Yisrael for speaking against him a few verses earlier in the Parsha, the B'nei Yisrael finally understood what a miracle this well was. Until this time, they had never appreciated Hashem's benevolence and it was only when this blessing (which they had always had) was taken away that they grasped it's goodness and their dependence on Hashem.
Part of their punishment was that "הנחשים השרפים," "the poisonous snakes" that lived in the desert, were sent after B'nei Yisrael, and consequently bit and killed many Jews. In classic fashion, Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch notes with precision the phrasing of the verse, and highlights the letter ה - which means "the". Rav Hirsch teaches that the presence of the definite article here indicates that these snakes were not any old snakes. Rather, these snakes were already in the desert; they had always been there, even though Am Yisrael had not encountered them in their desert travels thus far.
Rav Hirsch teaches that we should understand that these snakes were kept away from the B'nei Yisrael in an act of kindness by Hashem. However, because they had shown themselves to be unappreciative of the kindness of the Be'er, Hashem punished them with the snakes so that they would appreciate all that Hashem had done to prevent them from experiencing hardship.
There is a vital lesson that we must learn from this incident. We cannot only be thankful for that which we are blessed with, rather we must appreciate all that we are not burdened with. Here we learn that the snakes had always been in the desert and only by Hashem's grace were the B'nei Yisrael spared being bitten by them. The B'nei Yisrael grew accustomed to the miracles that Hashem had done for them. The moment Hashem stopped sustaining these miracles, it became abundantly clear just how much we are dependent on his love and good will for us.
I'd like to credit Ezra Javasky for teaching me this D'var Torah last year. It's a lovely insight and I thank him for sharing it with me.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.
(במדבר כא:יז)
I have an exam in about an hour, and as it's been a hectic last week of semester, I haven't had too much spare time this week to prepare a D'var Torah. Nevertheless, I do have a quick parsha thought I'd like to share with you. (Even if it's the same one as I wrote last year.)
In the quote above, we read how Am Yisrael sing of the "Be'er Miriam," the well that accompanied them during their travails in the desert and from which water miraculously flowed. While it seems reasonable enough to mention and praise this incredible phenomenon, a question begs to be asked; why is it only now that Am Yisrael recognise the blessing of this well? After all, they had been in the desert for many years - shouldn't they have made their gratefulness known earlier?
To understand this difficulty, we have to look at the situation in it's proper context. The generation who suddenly found themselves (quite literally) singing the well's praises had never fully appreciated what a blessing this Be'er was. This particular generation had been born in the desert. As such, to them, a rock that rolled around of its own volition and produced drinking water (in huge quantities) was of no great consequence. To them, it was no more miraculous than a rainfall or a sunrise.
When Hashem punished Am Yisrael for speaking against him a few verses earlier in the Parsha, the B'nei Yisrael finally understood what a miracle this well was. Until this time, they had never appreciated Hashem's benevolence and it was only when this blessing (which they had always had) was taken away that they grasped it's goodness and their dependence on Hashem.
Part of their punishment was that "הנחשים השרפים," "the poisonous snakes" that lived in the desert, were sent after B'nei Yisrael, and consequently bit and killed many Jews. In classic fashion, Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch notes with precision the phrasing of the verse, and highlights the letter ה - which means "the". Rav Hirsch teaches that the presence of the definite article here indicates that these snakes were not any old snakes. Rather, these snakes were already in the desert; they had always been there, even though Am Yisrael had not encountered them in their desert travels thus far.
Rav Hirsch teaches that we should understand that these snakes were kept away from the B'nei Yisrael in an act of kindness by Hashem. However, because they had shown themselves to be unappreciative of the kindness of the Be'er, Hashem punished them with the snakes so that they would appreciate all that Hashem had done to prevent them from experiencing hardship.
There is a vital lesson that we must learn from this incident. We cannot only be thankful for that which we are blessed with, rather we must appreciate all that we are not burdened with. Here we learn that the snakes had always been in the desert and only by Hashem's grace were the B'nei Yisrael spared being bitten by them. The B'nei Yisrael grew accustomed to the miracles that Hashem had done for them. The moment Hashem stopped sustaining these miracles, it became abundantly clear just how much we are dependent on his love and good will for us.
I'd like to credit Ezra Javasky for teaching me this D'var Torah last year. It's a lovely insight and I thank him for sharing it with me.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Parshat Korach - פרשת קרח
"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 8th 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.
(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 8th 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.
Monday, June 07, 2010
How to Start a Blood Libel in Four Easy Steps
This is a guest post by Yedidya Kennard.
STEP ONE - WRITE THE STORY
This is important. This is the story that you will have to stick to till the end, no matter what. It helps if part of the story is already well known - not true, but well known. For example, if your target is known to be an agressor, whether he is or isn't, this saves you a lot of work. For this reason it is important to keep a running campaign of libels, making all of them easily accepted.
The setting for your story is important. Boats are good, they bring to mind sun, beaches, deck chairs etc. If you can make it look like your target is bringing violence to a peaceful place, its always good. Of course, if your target is an army, you have an added advantage - soldiers are always associated with violence.
Try to link words with yourself that are associated with non-violence, that way even if you clearly are shown to be violent people will still be more inclined to believe you. Words like 'humanitarian' are good. Try and create a name for yourself involving words like 'freedom' or similar. It doesnt have to be relevant or true in any way, but if you can make it stick in the media they won't change it, no matter how clearly it is wrong.
STEP TWO - THE ACTION
It is important to be seen to lose. People like an underdog. Most people won't care who started or what happened; the main thing is the result. It may seem strange, but here you only win if you are seen to lose. After that, nothing else is really important. Also important is equipment, again you want to be seen here as the underdog. Words again are key. 'Guns' sounds bad, 'sticks' sound like a playground fight - even if you can kill people with them. 'Slingshots' are great too, remember, they are effective, they were once the long range weapon of choice, but now they sound like toys. Even knives and broken bottles sound harmless when put against guns. If you have to provoke at long range then you can still use this - call your rockets 'homemade' and all people will see is Grandma baking cookies. Harmless.
STEP THREE - GET YOUR STORY OUT FAST.
Speed is key here. Once the story is out there it won't stop being out there. Remember, journalists need stuff to report all the time, so if you get your story out there even 2 or 3 hours before the target gets his version out, you have a massive advantage. Journalists wont check if your story is true or not, as long as it is said by someone, they can report it. Once it is out there and there is no response from the other side, it becomes accepted as fact. It is far harder to change a story, or to challenge an established narrative, than it is to start one.
STEP FOUR - STICK TO THE SCRIPT!
This is perhaps the most difficult and most critical part. Once the other side get their act together they will of course challenge your account, and may even have evidence to back themselves up. What you have to understand here is that evidence is irrelevant. A story, however obviously wrong, will never die. However, some skill is needed to keep it as the mainstream version of events. You need to be able to lie with a straight face, despite the evidence against being right in front of you. You can practise this by looking at the sky and declaring 'The sky is green!". Once you can say this and even believe it, try to make other people believe it.
Remember, someone out there already believes your story; he will want to keep on believing it instead of seeing it being proven wrong. Help him - if he sees someone else denying the evidence, then it's easier for him to do so as well.
A great tactic to use here is emotive language. Put evidence against emotion, emotion always wins. Words again are key. If your side is seen using violence, call it 'passive resistance', it sounds good even if it's wrong. It has the word 'resistance' in it so it sounds plausible. If you can say it enough times, instead of seeing your person stabbing someone, all the viewer will see is an old wisened man in a loincloth. Also, if your words stick, then anyone challenging them is seen to be obviously changing the accepted version of events, which is very hard to do.
That's it! It all comes down to the words, whether they have any bearing on reality at all is totally irrelevant. Get your story out first, get the media to accept your words and the story will run and run. Of course, if you have a media and a population for some other reason ready to accept your version, so much the better! Always remember, the truth is irrelevant, it's the Story that counts.
STEP ONE - WRITE THE STORY
This is important. This is the story that you will have to stick to till the end, no matter what. It helps if part of the story is already well known - not true, but well known. For example, if your target is known to be an agressor, whether he is or isn't, this saves you a lot of work. For this reason it is important to keep a running campaign of libels, making all of them easily accepted.
The setting for your story is important. Boats are good, they bring to mind sun, beaches, deck chairs etc. If you can make it look like your target is bringing violence to a peaceful place, its always good. Of course, if your target is an army, you have an added advantage - soldiers are always associated with violence.
Try to link words with yourself that are associated with non-violence, that way even if you clearly are shown to be violent people will still be more inclined to believe you. Words like 'humanitarian' are good. Try and create a name for yourself involving words like 'freedom' or similar. It doesnt have to be relevant or true in any way, but if you can make it stick in the media they won't change it, no matter how clearly it is wrong.
STEP TWO - THE ACTION
It is important to be seen to lose. People like an underdog. Most people won't care who started or what happened; the main thing is the result. It may seem strange, but here you only win if you are seen to lose. After that, nothing else is really important. Also important is equipment, again you want to be seen here as the underdog. Words again are key. 'Guns' sounds bad, 'sticks' sound like a playground fight - even if you can kill people with them. 'Slingshots' are great too, remember, they are effective, they were once the long range weapon of choice, but now they sound like toys. Even knives and broken bottles sound harmless when put against guns. If you have to provoke at long range then you can still use this - call your rockets 'homemade' and all people will see is Grandma baking cookies. Harmless.
STEP THREE - GET YOUR STORY OUT FAST.
Speed is key here. Once the story is out there it won't stop being out there. Remember, journalists need stuff to report all the time, so if you get your story out there even 2 or 3 hours before the target gets his version out, you have a massive advantage. Journalists wont check if your story is true or not, as long as it is said by someone, they can report it. Once it is out there and there is no response from the other side, it becomes accepted as fact. It is far harder to change a story, or to challenge an established narrative, than it is to start one.
STEP FOUR - STICK TO THE SCRIPT!
This is perhaps the most difficult and most critical part. Once the other side get their act together they will of course challenge your account, and may even have evidence to back themselves up. What you have to understand here is that evidence is irrelevant. A story, however obviously wrong, will never die. However, some skill is needed to keep it as the mainstream version of events. You need to be able to lie with a straight face, despite the evidence against being right in front of you. You can practise this by looking at the sky and declaring 'The sky is green!". Once you can say this and even believe it, try to make other people believe it.
Remember, someone out there already believes your story; he will want to keep on believing it instead of seeing it being proven wrong. Help him - if he sees someone else denying the evidence, then it's easier for him to do so as well.
A great tactic to use here is emotive language. Put evidence against emotion, emotion always wins. Words again are key. If your side is seen using violence, call it 'passive resistance', it sounds good even if it's wrong. It has the word 'resistance' in it so it sounds plausible. If you can say it enough times, instead of seeing your person stabbing someone, all the viewer will see is an old wisened man in a loincloth. Also, if your words stick, then anyone challenging them is seen to be obviously changing the accepted version of events, which is very hard to do.
That's it! It all comes down to the words, whether they have any bearing on reality at all is totally irrelevant. Get your story out first, get the media to accept your words and the story will run and run. Of course, if you have a media and a population for some other reason ready to accept your version, so much the better! Always remember, the truth is irrelevant, it's the Story that counts.
Friday, June 04, 2010
Parshat Sh'lach Lecha - פרשת שלך 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 I thought of myself: 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. 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. Benjamin Netanyahu spoke earlier this week of the hypocrisy of the world's leaders. He was absolutely correct. He asked how they would have reacted when faced with terrorists and supporters of terrorists. The world leadership and media have been quick to condemn Israel and declare it an illegal, immoral and apartheid state. Not many have thought through their stance and declared that they would like to have seen things done differently, and then explained how a better plan should have been formed. Israel is surrounded by shocking hypocrisy. But it remains up to us to ignore such inane criticism and try to conduct ourselves to the highest moral standard possible.
This week's Dvar Torah is dedicated to the soldiers injured in the operation against the flotilla terrorists*. May they heal quickly and may they not be discouraged from their holy cause of protecting the people of Israel.
Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom!
*They were injured by gunshot wounds, stabbings and being beaten. I think I can safely call these people terrorists.
(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 I thought of myself: 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. 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. Benjamin Netanyahu spoke earlier this week of the hypocrisy of the world's leaders. He was absolutely correct. He asked how they would have reacted when faced with terrorists and supporters of terrorists. The world leadership and media have been quick to condemn Israel and declare it an illegal, immoral and apartheid state. Not many have thought through their stance and declared that they would like to have seen things done differently, and then explained how a better plan should have been formed. Israel is surrounded by shocking hypocrisy. But it remains up to us to ignore such inane criticism and try to conduct ourselves to the highest moral standard possible.
This week's Dvar Torah is dedicated to the soldiers injured in the operation against the flotilla terrorists*. May they heal quickly and may they not be discouraged from their holy cause of protecting the people of Israel.
Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom!
*They were injured by gunshot wounds, stabbings and being beaten. I think I can safely call these people terrorists.
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