Rashi comments on the words - Ve'Eileh HaMishpatim, Vav Mosif Al HaRishonim"-the letter Vav connects this to what preceded it. Rashi explains what this means- that just as what's come before is from Sinai, so too what is about to be stated now is from Sinai.
Rav Shlomo Yoseif Zevin points out that the laws in this parsha are civil laws, mishpatim. Every civil society has such laws. People make laws and people changelaws. What is different about our laws? What separates us from the rest of the world is this one little letter, this connector,the VAV. We might mistakenly think that what makes us unique as a culture are ourritual practices and observances. While these are beautiful, modes of practice are not what truly set us apart as a society, because rituals abound in every culture. What's unique about our religious way of life is that our standards of civility are of Divine origin.
Rav Elchanon Wasserman points out that the true meaning of "Tzidkatcha TzedekLe'Olam VeToratchah Emet" – “Your justice is just forever, and Your Torahis true” is that Jewish law is fair because the Torah is true. It is that divinity of Torah that sets us apart and that makes our laws true.
Jews of all ages and backgrounds without exception need to constantly reinforce within ourselves our belief in the divinity of our laws, specifically the societal laws. Rabbinic tradition permeates the religious lives we live. Trusting and respecting the rabbinic system is key to our continued commitment to traditional Jewish life. It is possible, yet tragic, to emerge from an upbringing in a traditional Jewish community without respect for halacha as a true way of life. It is possible to live in an orthodox community and not get that the way we are to relate to and treat others is a holy, Divine matter.
The Vav that links the Mishpatim to G-d must be studied and our commitment to this connection must always grow stronger. May G-d bless us that it should be so.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Yitro: Eagles Wings, Consequence and Motion
"ואשא אתכם על כנפי נשרים ואביא אתכם אלי" "And how I bore you on eagle's wings." This line is provocative, asking to be felt and then understood (as TS Elliot once said of poems, that they are felt before they're understood). Here is one approach from the old school and one from the new.
G-d says that he'll carry the Jewish People on eagle's wings. The Seforno says that the meaning of the eagles’ wings is that they carry the eagle to a place where no one else can go. The concept is that G-d has taken us as His, separate and apart from all other nations and their ways. The Seforno is also consistent in his interpretation throughout this pasuk. Regarding what it was that G-d is reminding them that they’ve seen in Egypt, Seforno explains that G-d is reminding them how he entreated the Egyptians to leave their evil ways, not wanting them to die. Only because of their corrupt stubbornness did G-d G-d have to destroy them. The theme of the pasuk, according to Seforno is that there are consequences for evil behavior and that G-d expects better from us.
Aviva Zornberg explains that metaphor, in contrast to simile, provides space for interpretation. She writes that the metaphor of eagle's wings “strikes the reader with an exotic force” and at once creates a conception of “intimacy, protection, love, speed.” It is Zornberg's contention that by portraying G-d as the eagle carrying its young this pasuk suggests our lightness. The point is that, despite how we feel, our physical beings are in reality weightless. The Hebrew word for honor – kavod means weighty, and at this historic moment, as we were being uplifted and chosen by G-d, we were told not to be taken by a sense of our own grandiosity. In relation to
G-d’s greatness our delusions of grandeur are deflated, our own heaviness is put in proper, limited context.
Dr. Zornberg explains that the description of G-d carrying us on eagles’ wings creates images of carrying and being carried, old and young, strong and weak. It reminds us that as important as our past experiences make us feel, “history is driven entirely by G-d’s motion.” The reason a metaphor is employed here may be that the idea being conveyed is a hard one to accept. What Milan Kundera calls “the unbearable lightness of being” is difficult to embrace head on. We need to come to it through an image, to take it in, in a way that “the ear is capable of hearing". Have a great week.
Rabbi Neil Fleischmann
G-d says that he'll carry the Jewish People on eagle's wings. The Seforno says that the meaning of the eagles’ wings is that they carry the eagle to a place where no one else can go. The concept is that G-d has taken us as His, separate and apart from all other nations and their ways. The Seforno is also consistent in his interpretation throughout this pasuk. Regarding what it was that G-d is reminding them that they’ve seen in Egypt, Seforno explains that G-d is reminding them how he entreated the Egyptians to leave their evil ways, not wanting them to die. Only because of their corrupt stubbornness did G-d G-d have to destroy them. The theme of the pasuk, according to Seforno is that there are consequences for evil behavior and that G-d expects better from us.
Aviva Zornberg explains that metaphor, in contrast to simile, provides space for interpretation. She writes that the metaphor of eagle's wings “strikes the reader with an exotic force” and at once creates a conception of “intimacy, protection, love, speed.” It is Zornberg's contention that by portraying G-d as the eagle carrying its young this pasuk suggests our lightness. The point is that, despite how we feel, our physical beings are in reality weightless. The Hebrew word for honor – kavod means weighty, and at this historic moment, as we were being uplifted and chosen by G-d, we were told not to be taken by a sense of our own grandiosity. In relation to
G-d’s greatness our delusions of grandeur are deflated, our own heaviness is put in proper, limited context.
Dr. Zornberg explains that the description of G-d carrying us on eagles’ wings creates images of carrying and being carried, old and young, strong and weak. It reminds us that as important as our past experiences make us feel, “history is driven entirely by G-d’s motion.” The reason a metaphor is employed here may be that the idea being conveyed is a hard one to accept. What Milan Kundera calls “the unbearable lightness of being” is difficult to embrace head on. We need to come to it through an image, to take it in, in a way that “the ear is capable of hearing". Have a great week.
Rabbi Neil Fleischmann
Friday, January 18, 2008
Beshalach: What Are We?
Moshe asked "Veanchnu mah? - What are we?" (Shmot 16:7). The Gemorah says he outdid Avraham in humility. Avraham referred to himself as a worm. (There's a mnemonic to remember the three great men who spoke a famous line of humility about themselves. ADA"M - Avraham, Moshe, and Dovid. Dovid referred to himself as a worm and not a man.) The usual understanding of this comparison is that it pits seeing oneself as nothing against saying you're a tiny something.
Rabbi Abraham Twerski cites a different perspective in the name of Rav Meir Shapira. Moshe was talking to people when he said he was nothing. Avraham was talking to G-d when he made his humble statement. While we don't come close to Avraham's greatness, we do all tend to be humble when we stand before G-d. It's when we deal with other humans that we feel like something special (or act that way as a defense mechanism).
Moshe's greatness was that despite his awareness of the fact that he was unique in having spoken to G-d face to face, taken the Jews out of Egypt, and received the Torah, he felt humble around other people. The people he spoke to were angry ingrates, and yet he said without sarcasm, "what are any of us?"
Rabbi Shapiro bolstered his approach with an event from the life of Rav Yonasan Eibschitz. Rav Eibschitz liked to stand to pray on Yom Kippur nearby someone who inspired him with their simple sincerity. One year at Mincha leading into Yom Kppur he overheard an elderly man paraphrasing a line from the prayers and adding with tears, "Yes, in my life I am dust, and how much more so when I die." He stayed close to that man, taking in his humility.
On Yom Kippur morning the man got an aliyah. And he shouted at the Gabbai, "Why did you give me Revi'i, and this guy got Shlishi!?! Is he more deserving of the Kavod then me?" Rav Yonason couldn't help but question the man, reminding him that yesterday he'd referred to himself as dust in this life. The reply was, "When I was praying to G-d I said I was dust because before Him that's what I am. But compared to this man - why I'm more Mechubad - worthy of honor than him!"
Perhaps the greatness of of Moshe's words lies in that it was a question. There's humility inherent in the fact that he asked about what he was, rather than declaring tha he was anything.
Moshe was open to the answer and we see that he lived his life as a something. This, despite the fact that he questioned G-d's nomination from the start.
The first (mistaken) notion that people have of humility is efacemnt of self. Denying your own worth is not humility. A more sophisticated understanding of humility is that it is knowing who you are. Great, humble men like the Chafetz Chayim and Rav Moshe Feinstein were cognizant of who they were and acted accordingly. What really rounds off the true Jewish view of humility is G-d. We gain perspective when we think of ourselves as what we are, creations of G-d. We are each a Tzelem Elokim, thus we are each great. And as much as we acheive we are all always men and not G-d, whether we speak before man or G-d.
May we be blessed with true humility.
Rabbi Abraham Twerski cites a different perspective in the name of Rav Meir Shapira. Moshe was talking to people when he said he was nothing. Avraham was talking to G-d when he made his humble statement. While we don't come close to Avraham's greatness, we do all tend to be humble when we stand before G-d. It's when we deal with other humans that we feel like something special (or act that way as a defense mechanism).
Moshe's greatness was that despite his awareness of the fact that he was unique in having spoken to G-d face to face, taken the Jews out of Egypt, and received the Torah, he felt humble around other people. The people he spoke to were angry ingrates, and yet he said without sarcasm, "what are any of us?"
Rabbi Shapiro bolstered his approach with an event from the life of Rav Yonasan Eibschitz. Rav Eibschitz liked to stand to pray on Yom Kippur nearby someone who inspired him with their simple sincerity. One year at Mincha leading into Yom Kppur he overheard an elderly man paraphrasing a line from the prayers and adding with tears, "Yes, in my life I am dust, and how much more so when I die." He stayed close to that man, taking in his humility.
On Yom Kippur morning the man got an aliyah. And he shouted at the Gabbai, "Why did you give me Revi'i, and this guy got Shlishi!?! Is he more deserving of the Kavod then me?" Rav Yonason couldn't help but question the man, reminding him that yesterday he'd referred to himself as dust in this life. The reply was, "When I was praying to G-d I said I was dust because before Him that's what I am. But compared to this man - why I'm more Mechubad - worthy of honor than him!"
Perhaps the greatness of of Moshe's words lies in that it was a question. There's humility inherent in the fact that he asked about what he was, rather than declaring tha he was anything.
Moshe was open to the answer and we see that he lived his life as a something. This, despite the fact that he questioned G-d's nomination from the start.
The first (mistaken) notion that people have of humility is efacemnt of self. Denying your own worth is not humility. A more sophisticated understanding of humility is that it is knowing who you are. Great, humble men like the Chafetz Chayim and Rav Moshe Feinstein were cognizant of who they were and acted accordingly. What really rounds off the true Jewish view of humility is G-d. We gain perspective when we think of ourselves as what we are, creations of G-d. We are each a Tzelem Elokim, thus we are each great. And as much as we acheive we are all always men and not G-d, whether we speak before man or G-d.
May we be blessed with true humility.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
BeShalach:Moshe's Hands
The text seems to say that when Moshe's hands were raised The Jews were victorious against Amalek and that when his hands were down thy suffered a loss. The Mishna asks "Is it possible that the hands of Moshe could make or break war? Rather, the Mishna states, when the Jewish People raised their eyes toward heaven they won and when they didn't then they lost." As cited in the Maayna Shel Torah (although I couldn't find it in the original work) the Sfat Emet says that it sounds like there's a connection between Moshe's hands being up and the people looking to G-d. Why then would he ever lower his hands? The Sfat Emet reads the Mishna to mean that when they looked to Heaven Moshe's hands got strength and when they didn't then Moshe's hands weakened.
The Sfat Emet's approach is strikingly powerful. He's saying that the leader needs to get strength from the people and then he feeds that strength back to the people. But if the leader's not getting from the people then it becomes harder, perhaps impossible. to keep his strength up, to keep giving. Thus Moshe could only lift up his hands to strengthen them if they were looking to G-d and inspiring him. It seems to me that this fits with why Moshe's hands were lifted by other leaders. He needed someone that was "into it" to give him support.
I don't hear this idea articulated often, but is ubiquitous in Jewish education. A friend of mine told me about being in a super class in high school. And the teacher shared a lesson with them that they ate up enthusiastically. The next day they asked her how it went over with the other class she taught it to. And she said, "They took notes," meaning that they didn't get it. This is a regular reality for teachers. It's not uncommon to have some students who thrive on what you teach and inspire you to work on your serve and others who don't even care about which side of the racket is up and that can make you less into it too. Teachers, like tennis instructors get recharged by students they can volley with.
This idea applies to all forms of leadership. It's hard when you give but don't get a response that reinvigorates you. This is why if you have any positive feedback for rabbis or teachers or lay leaders I urge you to tell them. In the end it's the community that wins or loses based on the strengthening of the hands that they provide or don't provide. If you're an looking to heaven along with them, they may know it and if they do it surely gives them strength. But sometimes a teacher or a preacher can't tell that they're being heard and they can start to lose their strength. They need to hear not just comments like "Nice speech," but things like "I was very moved by what you said about the need to learn with our children and to tell them stories, what book do you recommend." I actually heard someone say the latter to a rabbi and saw it give him strength.
I first heard of this Mishna in Rosh HaShana years ago in BMT. Rav Moshe Horowitz told us the idea and then led us in song, "Elaaaah Bizmaan..." The traditional explanation of this Mishna, the idea that our spiritual vision is key to our success, impressed me and has stayed with me. The Sfat Emet adds another dimension, that our attitude strengthens or weakens leaders and vice versa in a perpetual cycle. May we be blessed to look toward heaven in a way that leads to our success. May we be blessed to strengthen our leaders and in turn be strengthened by them.
The Sfat Emet's approach is strikingly powerful. He's saying that the leader needs to get strength from the people and then he feeds that strength back to the people. But if the leader's not getting from the people then it becomes harder, perhaps impossible. to keep his strength up, to keep giving. Thus Moshe could only lift up his hands to strengthen them if they were looking to G-d and inspiring him. It seems to me that this fits with why Moshe's hands were lifted by other leaders. He needed someone that was "into it" to give him support.
I don't hear this idea articulated often, but is ubiquitous in Jewish education. A friend of mine told me about being in a super class in high school. And the teacher shared a lesson with them that they ate up enthusiastically. The next day they asked her how it went over with the other class she taught it to. And she said, "They took notes," meaning that they didn't get it. This is a regular reality for teachers. It's not uncommon to have some students who thrive on what you teach and inspire you to work on your serve and others who don't even care about which side of the racket is up and that can make you less into it too. Teachers, like tennis instructors get recharged by students they can volley with.
This idea applies to all forms of leadership. It's hard when you give but don't get a response that reinvigorates you. This is why if you have any positive feedback for rabbis or teachers or lay leaders I urge you to tell them. In the end it's the community that wins or loses based on the strengthening of the hands that they provide or don't provide. If you're an looking to heaven along with them, they may know it and if they do it surely gives them strength. But sometimes a teacher or a preacher can't tell that they're being heard and they can start to lose their strength. They need to hear not just comments like "Nice speech," but things like "I was very moved by what you said about the need to learn with our children and to tell them stories, what book do you recommend." I actually heard someone say the latter to a rabbi and saw it give him strength.
I first heard of this Mishna in Rosh HaShana years ago in BMT. Rav Moshe Horowitz told us the idea and then led us in song, "Elaaaah Bizmaan..." The traditional explanation of this Mishna, the idea that our spiritual vision is key to our success, impressed me and has stayed with me. The Sfat Emet adds another dimension, that our attitude strengthens or weakens leaders and vice versa in a perpetual cycle. May we be blessed to look toward heaven in a way that leads to our success. May we be blessed to strengthen our leaders and in turn be strengthened by them.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Bo: Relate Into The Ears
Hashem said to Moshe, "Come to Par'oh,
for I have made his heart
and the heart of his servants stubborn
so that I shall place these signs of mine in his midst.
And so that you may relate in the ears of your son
and your son's son that I have amused myself with Egypt,
and my signs that I placed among them
- that you may know that I am Hashem.
We're instructed to tell our children of all that G-d did, specifically to tell it into their ears. I want to deal with the ears, but first an aside, which understands the command described here differently than the conventional understanding we will adhere to in the rest of this piece.
Rabbi Abraham Twerski addresses the question of why Moshe is not mentioned in the Hagada. He suggests based on a close reading of our text that the command herein described only applied to Moshe. His children were the only ones that didn't experience Yetziat Mitzrayim and therefore Moshe had to tell them about it. The reason Moshe's name is not mentioned is that it allued to his telling in which due to his humility he left himself out of the story. (And the moral is for us to learn from Moshe's humility).
Years ago I asked friends and students why ears are singled out here. Jeff Korbman, a dear friend, pointed out that "we whisper in ears at moments of intimacy and importance." Dani Rabinowitz, a student, said that "the Torah probably specifies ears to make sure that the children would actually hear what was being said and weren't just pretending". (She astutely added that today many are especially expert at feigning attention while actually tuning out what they're being told). These ideas echo the words of Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch who states that emphasis on ears indicates the imperative to "tell right into him, to impress it so deeply that through the ears it enters the heart".
Rav Yaakov Weinberg takes the mention of ears as a cue in the opposite direction. He takes speaking to ears as a metaphor for speech that is spoken only to ears, heard only superficially. Such words are spoken onc and not transmitted further (as in the expression "falling on deaf ears"). In Rav Weinberg's view we should tell very young children about the miracles of Mitzrayim despite the fact that they can't really comprehend. This is why we teach kids the fundamental statements "Torah tziva lanu Moshe…" and "Shma Yisrael". Words that enter ears even partially make an impression. There is the possibility that greater understanding will follow at a later time.
In Shma words of Torah are described as placed upon our hearts. The Kotzker Rebbe explained that words aren't always taken into a heart. But once stated they can rest on top, and when the heart opens they will be there to go in. This explains why children are taken to the Beit HaMikdash for the public Torah reading of Hakhel. This also explains why a day school education is important even if it may seem ineffective.
Perhaps this can help us deal with my friend Scott's haunting lament that Yeshiva taught him Gemora and Chumash and Tefila but not love of Torah. Perhaps the answer is the best anyone can do for anyone else is to place words in ears and on hearts. The absorption of truth and goodness is a private process, and a personal responsibility.
One last thought - Rav Weinberg noticed that the pasuk ends by stating that the result of teaching our children is that we will know what we taught. As Rav Yisrael Salanter said it's worth speaking even if only one person gets the message, even if that one person is you.
Rabbi Abraham Twerski addresses the question of why Moshe is not mentioned in the Hagada. He suggests based on a close reading of our text that the command herein described only applied to Moshe. His children were the only ones that didn't experience Yetziat Mitzrayim and therefore Moshe had to tell them about it. The reason Moshe's name is not mentioned is that it allued to his telling in which due to his humility he left himself out of the story. (And the moral is for us to learn from Moshe's humility).
Years ago I asked friends and students why ears are singled out here. Jeff Korbman, a dear friend, pointed out that "we whisper in ears at moments of intimacy and importance." Dani Rabinowitz, a student, said that "the Torah probably specifies ears to make sure that the children would actually hear what was being said and weren't just pretending". (She astutely added that today many are especially expert at feigning attention while actually tuning out what they're being told). These ideas echo the words of Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch who states that emphasis on ears indicates the imperative to "tell right into him, to impress it so deeply that through the ears it enters the heart".
Rav Yaakov Weinberg takes the mention of ears as a cue in the opposite direction. He takes speaking to ears as a metaphor for speech that is spoken only to ears, heard only superficially. Such words are spoken onc and not transmitted further (as in the expression "falling on deaf ears"). In Rav Weinberg's view we should tell very young children about the miracles of Mitzrayim despite the fact that they can't really comprehend. This is why we teach kids the fundamental statements "Torah tziva lanu Moshe…" and "Shma Yisrael". Words that enter ears even partially make an impression. There is the possibility that greater understanding will follow at a later time.
In Shma words of Torah are described as placed upon our hearts. The Kotzker Rebbe explained that words aren't always taken into a heart. But once stated they can rest on top, and when the heart opens they will be there to go in. This explains why children are taken to the Beit HaMikdash for the public Torah reading of Hakhel. This also explains why a day school education is important even if it may seem ineffective.
Perhaps this can help us deal with my friend Scott's haunting lament that Yeshiva taught him Gemora and Chumash and Tefila but not love of Torah. Perhaps the answer is the best anyone can do for anyone else is to place words in ears and on hearts. The absorption of truth and goodness is a private process, and a personal responsibility.
One last thought - Rav Weinberg noticed that the pasuk ends by stating that the result of teaching our children is that we will know what we taught. As Rav Yisrael Salanter said it's worth speaking even if only one person gets the message, even if that one person is you.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
VaEirah - Who's The Slave
The early parshiot of Shmot contain one blatant and one subtle story of slavery. Let’s look at the subtext, the bondage of a different type, which plays a crucial role in our tale of redemption.
Par'oh's refusal to release Am Yisrael is perplexing in light of the devastation he suffered. Par’oh becomes more understandable in light of the personality of an addict. For example: An alcoholic typically causes his downfall, then swears to make amends, then continues to destroy his life. He can't stop. Despite rationally knowing there would be consequences to his actions, Par'oh couldn't control himself. He felt compelled to pursue self-destructive behavior. Like an alcoholic.
Rabbi Abraham Twerski suggests that to different degrees we all mirror an alcoholic's personality. He proposes reading any book on alcoholism and substituting "alcohol" with "yetzer hara". The result would be a treatise on our daily struggles and temptations. Our compulsive drives do not differ greatly from those of any addict. Food, TV, gossip, sleep, video games, sports, movies, sex, politics, power… Each of us risks becoming hostage to our own physical selves like the despot who enslaved our ancestors in Egypt.
In Twerski On Spirituality, the author calls addiction"the most absolute type of slavery the world has ever known." This is because a person under the influence "is likely to do things he never thought possible, but when he is in the grip of addiction, the drug is a ruthless totalitarian dictator." Under his regime "the addict completely loses the unique human distinction of being free." Despite America's title as land of the free, many appear free while really, like Par’oh being enslaved in the worst possible way - to oneself.
A friend of mine pointed out the following: Being the addict that he was Par'oh (like all of us sometimes) dealt with his own insecurity by feigning power and control. Chazal tell us that he claimed to have no imperfections, and would go down to the Nile early in the morning to use it as a bathroom. He was enslaved to his role of a deity. He was consumed by baseless fear of Bnei Yisroel taking over. Then he enslaved others. This is not unusual. I suspect we have all seen a bully pick on others because of his own sense of inadequacy. The more Par'oh fought to claim control, the more he lost control, like the common addict, like the common man.
May we be blessed to learn from the overt and covert varieties of slavery present in our sojourn in Mitzrayim. May we win the battle against slavery of all forms.
If this thought was useful to you, please let me know.
Par'oh's refusal to release Am Yisrael is perplexing in light of the devastation he suffered. Par’oh becomes more understandable in light of the personality of an addict. For example: An alcoholic typically causes his downfall, then swears to make amends, then continues to destroy his life. He can't stop. Despite rationally knowing there would be consequences to his actions, Par'oh couldn't control himself. He felt compelled to pursue self-destructive behavior. Like an alcoholic.
Rabbi Abraham Twerski suggests that to different degrees we all mirror an alcoholic's personality. He proposes reading any book on alcoholism and substituting "alcohol" with "yetzer hara". The result would be a treatise on our daily struggles and temptations. Our compulsive drives do not differ greatly from those of any addict. Food, TV, gossip, sleep, video games, sports, movies, sex, politics, power… Each of us risks becoming hostage to our own physical selves like the despot who enslaved our ancestors in Egypt.
In Twerski On Spirituality, the author calls addiction"the most absolute type of slavery the world has ever known." This is because a person under the influence "is likely to do things he never thought possible, but when he is in the grip of addiction, the drug is a ruthless totalitarian dictator." Under his regime "the addict completely loses the unique human distinction of being free." Despite America's title as land of the free, many appear free while really, like Par’oh being enslaved in the worst possible way - to oneself.
A friend of mine pointed out the following: Being the addict that he was Par'oh (like all of us sometimes) dealt with his own insecurity by feigning power and control. Chazal tell us that he claimed to have no imperfections, and would go down to the Nile early in the morning to use it as a bathroom. He was enslaved to his role of a deity. He was consumed by baseless fear of Bnei Yisroel taking over. Then he enslaved others. This is not unusual. I suspect we have all seen a bully pick on others because of his own sense of inadequacy. The more Par'oh fought to claim control, the more he lost control, like the common addict, like the common man.
May we be blessed to learn from the overt and covert varieties of slavery present in our sojourn in Mitzrayim. May we win the battle against slavery of all forms.
If this thought was useful to you, please let me know.
Friday, December 28, 2007
They Cried
One of the great joys of teaching is learning from my students – “umitalmidai yoteir mikulam.” This year it has been my honor to learn a great deal so far from all my great students in all my classes. What follows is an idea of one of my students that I thought was outstanding.
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When Paroh dies the Jews cry out. The question arises, why did they cry out in pain and not celebrate when the king died. Many answers are offered and please think about your own answer before reading further.
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Talya Miller suggested that The Jews cried out because they were used to being slaves. When the king died there was a chance for freedom, but what did freedom mean? How would it play out? As Paroh’s servants they were victims, but they also had a set schedule and meals provided. Perhaps they were calling out in pain because they didn’t want to let go of the situation they were stuck in, which was not without its benefits.
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This fits with the fact that the Jewish People in the midbar were always yearning to go back to Egypt. They spoke of the food and the comfort. They feared the unknown and longed for what they knew. Perhaps this is foreshadowed in their cry when Paroh died.
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The Talmud tells the story of a sick rabbi visited by another rabbi with healing powers. The second rabbi asked the first "is your illness dear to you?" The meaning of this may be that before you can let go of something "bad" you have to decide that you really don't want the benefits it brings. Sometimes things we decry are dearer to us than we readily admit.
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G-d sought to take us out of Sivlot Mitzrayim. This is usually translated as the suffering of Egypt. But the word sivlot relates to the word savlanut, which means patience. Part of the problem was that The Jews had gotten used to their situation. We needed to lose our slave mentality and this was no easy task.
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May we be blessed in our own lives to not resist freedom, to let go of our suffering. May we be blessed with individual and communal redemption soon. And may we be blessed to cry out in joy rather than sadness when we are released.
.
When Paroh dies the Jews cry out. The question arises, why did they cry out in pain and not celebrate when the king died. Many answers are offered and please think about your own answer before reading further.
.
Talya Miller suggested that The Jews cried out because they were used to being slaves. When the king died there was a chance for freedom, but what did freedom mean? How would it play out? As Paroh’s servants they were victims, but they also had a set schedule and meals provided. Perhaps they were calling out in pain because they didn’t want to let go of the situation they were stuck in, which was not without its benefits.
.
This fits with the fact that the Jewish People in the midbar were always yearning to go back to Egypt. They spoke of the food and the comfort. They feared the unknown and longed for what they knew. Perhaps this is foreshadowed in their cry when Paroh died.
.
The Talmud tells the story of a sick rabbi visited by another rabbi with healing powers. The second rabbi asked the first "is your illness dear to you?" The meaning of this may be that before you can let go of something "bad" you have to decide that you really don't want the benefits it brings. Sometimes things we decry are dearer to us than we readily admit.
.
G-d sought to take us out of Sivlot Mitzrayim. This is usually translated as the suffering of Egypt. But the word sivlot relates to the word savlanut, which means patience. Part of the problem was that The Jews had gotten used to their situation. We needed to lose our slave mentality and this was no easy task.
.
May we be blessed in our own lives to not resist freedom, to let go of our suffering. May we be blessed with individual and communal redemption soon. And may we be blessed to cry out in joy rather than sadness when we are released.
Shmot: And A Man Went
Every word of Torah is an available jewel. Let's look at one pasuk. Please think about this sentence: "Vayelech Ish MiBeit Levi Vayikach Et Bot Levi – And a man went from the house of Levi and took a daughter of Levi.”
In the craft of writing each item can be described actively or passively, and experts say one should generally go with active phrasing. Why? Being active is more highly considered than passivity. Hakadosh Baruch Hu (The Author) is first of all impressing upon us the fact that this unnamed man was a go-getter. This is clear because the events described here with two verbs could have been described with none. The line could read, "A marriage took place.” Similarly, the Ramban says that the word Vayikach always indicates someone having the gumption to do something new.
That this man was a doer is no surprise, once we're told where he came from. The house of Levi was made famous not by pacifism, rather by their rapid responses to injustice. In his blessing Yaakov warns Levi about tempering their anger. And according to Rabbi S.R. Hirsch, Yaakov's words allowed for the fact that in difficult times such as those described here, their vigilant approach was positive, even necessary.
You have to wonder why this woman is referred to as "daughter of Levi" considering her advanced age of a hundred and thirty. According to Rashi her youthfulness in every regard is reflected by this image.
The idea that this was a second marriage is deduced from the existence of older children in addition to the baby born soon after this marriage. The Ramban explains that Amram and Yocheved married once, some time before the decree. The previous births are not relevant here, but the birth of Moshe is THE story and therefore mentioned now.
The Ramban addresses why the man and woman are not named; suggesting it’s a literary technique of conserving words. The focus here is the birth of Moshe Rabeinu. Later, we're told more about Moshe as redeemer. Once the plot line is developed Moshe’s entire genealogy is listed.
Rashi tells the story of little Miriam convincing her father that he must immediately remarry her mother rather than caving in to Par'oh's threat.
The Kli Yakar writes that this story is alluded to by the Torah’s carefully chosen words: "Vayelech – he went " should be followed by a geographic location. Due to the absence of a named place, Chapel reframed the definition of "Vayelech" here, based on this word's usage elsewhere, in the context of divorce (Devarim 24:2). That a woman is aptly referred to as the bayit-home is evident from the Gemorah where Rav Yossi states " I've never called my wife my wife, rather have always referred to my wife as my home" - Shabbos 118b). (See “You’re My Home - Billy Joel ad. Loc.) The name Levi is significant, as we know from Leah's naming of the original Levi:" Now my husband will become close with me". Thus, from the words comes the story: the husband separated from his wife with whom he had been intimate, only to return to "bot Levi" the woman with whom he had been close with and would be close with again.
Rabbi Yisoschar Frand explains why these parents are not mentioned by name via a striking statement of the Rambam. The Rambam states that anyone can be a tzadik like Moshe Rabeinu. If the parents were named, we might attribute Moshe's accomplishments to his parents. The mishna in Avot states that one shouldn't assume greatness will come based on lineage because "Aina Yerusha Lach-these things aren't automatically inherited."
Rav Hutner once received a letter from a distraught talmid who was suffering a slump. In his response Rav Hutner thanked him for his uplifting letter, explaining that feeling tension means the battle is half won. He proposes that we mistakenly imagine the Chafetz Chaim coming out of the womb as the inspiration of a nation. Rav Hutner writes that in all likeliness Rav Yisrael Meir Kagan underwent great, unimaginable turmoil towards becoming the Chofetz Chaim. Rav Hutner said that this talmid’s sense of frustration was an indication of his desire to reclaim his potential greatness. The comfort and complacency that sometimes accompany early success can be a curse in disguise, leaving a legacy of comfortable complacency. Perhaps (if we're allowed to say this) Moshe’s early disappointments in confronting both Par'oh and his own nation were necessary pieces of the process of his becoming Moshe Rabeinu.
None of us are born into a vacuum. And we are born in certain times and places for specific reasons. The Eben Ezra posits that Moshe Rabeinu was raised in Par'ohs palace in preparation for his role. There Moshe attained the assertiveness and lack of star-struckedness needed to depose the king of Egypt. Who our parents are can not be minimized as a major in who we become. However, there is also the concept of the crown of Torah's availability to all, and the statement of the Rambam about us all being able to achieve Moshe’s greatness, though often reinterpreted and weakened, must be reckoned with at face value.
May G-d bless us all to become who we're meant to be, through much joy, and with as little pain as possible.
In the craft of writing each item can be described actively or passively, and experts say one should generally go with active phrasing. Why? Being active is more highly considered than passivity. Hakadosh Baruch Hu (The Author) is first of all impressing upon us the fact that this unnamed man was a go-getter. This is clear because the events described here with two verbs could have been described with none. The line could read, "A marriage took place.” Similarly, the Ramban says that the word Vayikach always indicates someone having the gumption to do something new.
That this man was a doer is no surprise, once we're told where he came from. The house of Levi was made famous not by pacifism, rather by their rapid responses to injustice. In his blessing Yaakov warns Levi about tempering their anger. And according to Rabbi S.R. Hirsch, Yaakov's words allowed for the fact that in difficult times such as those described here, their vigilant approach was positive, even necessary.
You have to wonder why this woman is referred to as "daughter of Levi" considering her advanced age of a hundred and thirty. According to Rashi her youthfulness in every regard is reflected by this image.
The idea that this was a second marriage is deduced from the existence of older children in addition to the baby born soon after this marriage. The Ramban explains that Amram and Yocheved married once, some time before the decree. The previous births are not relevant here, but the birth of Moshe is THE story and therefore mentioned now.
The Ramban addresses why the man and woman are not named; suggesting it’s a literary technique of conserving words. The focus here is the birth of Moshe Rabeinu. Later, we're told more about Moshe as redeemer. Once the plot line is developed Moshe’s entire genealogy is listed.
Rashi tells the story of little Miriam convincing her father that he must immediately remarry her mother rather than caving in to Par'oh's threat.
The Kli Yakar writes that this story is alluded to by the Torah’s carefully chosen words: "Vayelech – he went " should be followed by a geographic location. Due to the absence of a named place, Chapel reframed the definition of "Vayelech" here, based on this word's usage elsewhere, in the context of divorce (Devarim 24:2). That a woman is aptly referred to as the bayit-home is evident from the Gemorah where Rav Yossi states " I've never called my wife my wife, rather have always referred to my wife as my home" - Shabbos 118b). (See “You’re My Home - Billy Joel ad. Loc.) The name Levi is significant, as we know from Leah's naming of the original Levi:" Now my husband will become close with me". Thus, from the words comes the story: the husband separated from his wife with whom he had been intimate, only to return to "bot Levi" the woman with whom he had been close with and would be close with again.
Rabbi Yisoschar Frand explains why these parents are not mentioned by name via a striking statement of the Rambam. The Rambam states that anyone can be a tzadik like Moshe Rabeinu. If the parents were named, we might attribute Moshe's accomplishments to his parents. The mishna in Avot states that one shouldn't assume greatness will come based on lineage because "Aina Yerusha Lach-these things aren't automatically inherited."
Rav Hutner once received a letter from a distraught talmid who was suffering a slump. In his response Rav Hutner thanked him for his uplifting letter, explaining that feeling tension means the battle is half won. He proposes that we mistakenly imagine the Chafetz Chaim coming out of the womb as the inspiration of a nation. Rav Hutner writes that in all likeliness Rav Yisrael Meir Kagan underwent great, unimaginable turmoil towards becoming the Chofetz Chaim. Rav Hutner said that this talmid’s sense of frustration was an indication of his desire to reclaim his potential greatness. The comfort and complacency that sometimes accompany early success can be a curse in disguise, leaving a legacy of comfortable complacency. Perhaps (if we're allowed to say this) Moshe’s early disappointments in confronting both Par'oh and his own nation were necessary pieces of the process of his becoming Moshe Rabeinu.
None of us are born into a vacuum. And we are born in certain times and places for specific reasons. The Eben Ezra posits that Moshe Rabeinu was raised in Par'ohs palace in preparation for his role. There Moshe attained the assertiveness and lack of star-struckedness needed to depose the king of Egypt. Who our parents are can not be minimized as a major in who we become. However, there is also the concept of the crown of Torah's availability to all, and the statement of the Rambam about us all being able to achieve Moshe’s greatness, though often reinterpreted and weakened, must be reckoned with at face value.
May G-d bless us all to become who we're meant to be, through much joy, and with as little pain as possible.
Shmot: Elusive Empathy
“And it was during those days, and Moshe grew up,
and went out to his brothers, and saw in their suffering.”
“I feel your pain.” “I hear you.” “That must be hard.” These are actual attempts we make at empathy. But do people really care? Is it possible to empathize?
.
Rashi says that Moshe “put his eyes and heart into suffering with them.” The Torah’s words indicate what Rashi is getting at, that Moshe truly put his whole being into the suffering of his brothers. He was aware of current events and did not stay insulated from the reality of his times. He grew from being a child and prepared himself to face the world as an adult. Beyond awareness understanding he actually picked himself up, left his own world and physically visited the situation of his brothers. Then he moved on to truly seeing their pain.
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The Medrash says that Moshe put his shoulder under their loads and shared the weight with them. While the help he could offer to a mass of enslaved human beings may have been negligible, the benefit he gained from putting his shoulder next to theirs was inestimable. He felt what they felt; he experienced the muscular soreness, the devestation of spirit.
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The rabbis list forty-eight ways through which one integrates Torah into his being. One of these ways of acquiring Torah is to carry the burden of another (“Nosei BeOl Im Chaveiro – Avot 6:6). Rabbi Yerucham Levovitz (the spiritual guide -mashgiach of the Mir Yeshiva in Poland. Lived from 1874-1936) points out that Torah means all of Torah. While many might perceive a religious person who is lacking in empathy as deficient in his Torah observance toward other people, it is broader than that. As Rabbi Abraham Twerski puts it, “ Since true empathy and sharing another’s burden is an essential for Torah, one cannot be Torah observant if one is derelict in this trait.”
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May we be blessed to truly empathise. G-d knows it’s not easy.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Vayechi - Yaakov/Yisrael
Rav Chaim Schmuelvitz suggests that the name Yisrael connotes happiness while Yaakov reflects sadness. He says this is clear at the start of VaYechi: “And it came to pass after these things that someone said to Yoseph: 'Behold, your father is sick.' And he took with him his two sons, Menasheh and Ephraim. And someone informed Yaakov, and said: 'Behold, your son Yosef is coming to you.' And Yisrael strengthened himself, and sat upon the bed.” (There’s an interesting literary parallelism – first someone tells Yosef something about his father, then his father is told something about him. Wonder what the message is in that little piece of Torah poetry.)
t
First sad, then reinvigorated; Yaakov then Yisrael. This reminds me of an interview I saw in which Robert Klein was asked if he sees himself or someone else when he watches videos of his old performances. He said that he actually sees different people, not him as he knows himself now. We are all (hopefully) different people during different ages, different moods, different times.
Yaakov was sometimes so sad that he was a different person. And yet he was always forefather and role model. Different states of mind are opportuniteies, not excuses. This is a difficult truth, true nonetheless. Wherever we're at and whoever we are at any moment we are expected to be our best, to do to our best to be close to G-d.
May we be so blessed.
t
First sad, then reinvigorated; Yaakov then Yisrael. This reminds me of an interview I saw in which Robert Klein was asked if he sees himself or someone else when he watches videos of his old performances. He said that he actually sees different people, not him as he knows himself now. We are all (hopefully) different people during different ages, different moods, different times.
Yaakov was sometimes so sad that he was a different person. And yet he was always forefather and role model. Different states of mind are opportuniteies, not excuses. This is a difficult truth, true nonetheless. Wherever we're at and whoever we are at any moment we are expected to be our best, to do to our best to be close to G-d.
May we be so blessed.
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