We are So Close

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

We are so close. The Torah assures us that teshuvah and closeness to Hashem is extremely accessible and is something that is completely within our grasp (Deut. 30:11-14). “It’s not in heaven… and it’s not on the other side of the sea… For it is very close to you (“כִּי־קָרוֹב אֵלֶיךָ הַדָּבָר מְאֹד”), both in your mouth and in your heart to accomplish.”

There is another place where the Torah says that something is “כִּי־קָרוֹב”, close to us. In Parshat Beshalach, in describing the route the Jews took to leave Egypt, the Torah states that God did not allow them to pass through the Philistine territory, “כִּי קָרוֹב הוּא” – “because it was close” to the Egyptian border (Ex. 13:17-18). Hashem was concerned lest the Jews become frightened by the Philistines and turn back to Egypt.

Rabbi Yitzchak Yungerleib was a Hassidic Rebbe in the town of Radvil in western Ukraine in the early 19th century. He noted this connection and suggested that a Jew should keep both verses in his heart. On the one hand, spiritual closeness is very much within everyone’s grasp. The Torah is free to all to study and to draw inspiration. At the same time, there are many pitfalls in this life, and it is very easy to get distracted and waylaid by the vicissitudes and allures of the physical world.

God Himself is rooting for us, always hoping that we’ll make the right decisions, and not fall into the hands of the “Philistines.” This is why the Torah states, “וְלֹא־נָחָם אֱלֹהִים דֶּרֶךְ אֶרֶץ פְּלִשְׁתִּים”, which can also be translated as “God is inconsolable (לֹא־נָחָם) when His children go down the Philistine path.”

How does Hashem try to divert us from the Philistine path? The next verse in Parshat Beshalach states: “Hashem instead turned the nation toward the desert.” When one feels that sense of humility and loneliness, devoid of ego and arrogance, but rather barren and desolate like a desert, this is a sign that that one is on the right path.

Making ourselves vulnerable

We are approaching these Days of Awe. In order for them to have meaning for us, we ought to make ourselves somewhat vulnerable. We should acknowledge our shortcomings and the fact that we don’t have answers to everything, nor do we completely have our lives together. We should also acknowledge that while teshuvah is very accessible, we often neglect that access, and much to Hashem’s chagrin, choose the Philistine path, which sometimes seems like the more convenient path.

I would add that there is something unique about the “כי קרוב” in our text. It doesn’t just say here that our access to Hashem is close; it says “כִּי־קָרוֹב אֵלֶיךָ הַדָּבָר מְאֹד” – it is VERY close. While it’s true that we are also at risk of succumbing to the allures of this Philistine world, the Torah testifies that we are even closer and have more access to the truths of the Torah and to the teshuvah process, since they are already “בְּפִיךָ וּבִלְבָבְךָ” – in our mouths and hearts.

Rabbi Moshe David Valli, a student of the Ramchal, noted that there are many things that are “close.” You can have a neighbor who lives right next door. Our family members are even closer to us than our neighbors. We are even closer to our spouses than other family members. But the closest sense of kinship that we have is with the Divine Presence that is so close, that it rests in our mouths and hearts. There is a constant gnawing within us to seek out the truth and to see past the veneer of this world. The Torah acknowledges that we were all created with that inherent hunger to seek out a close relationship with Hashem.

Small adjustments, minor corrections

Because of its closeness, the teshuvah process is a very small step and we don’t have to travel far outside of our comfort zones. The story is told of Rabbi Yerachmiel of P’shischa (d. 1836), who was once sitting with his students. He related to them that he owned a watch that had stopped working, and none of the watchmakers could figure out what was wrong. He decided to take it apart himself.

He removed all the gears, wheels, and switches, and they all seemed perfectly in order. He finally discovered that the tiniest spring in the watch was slightly bent. All that had to be done was to bend it back into position, and all the gears started to move once again. The students understood that their rebbe was alluding to them that sometimes, our internal springs are bent out of shape.

Instead of having to replace all the parts, it’s sometimes the tiniest little adjustment that must be made in our lives to fix everything else that isn’t working. Because the solution is so close, all it sometimes takes is a small correction to our hearts to bring us back into alignment with our Yiddishkeit, our fellow man, and our God.

The call of the shofar

There is something else that is described as “כִּי קָרוֹב” in the books of the Prophets. In the book of Yoel (2:1), the prophet proclaims:

תִּקְעוּ שׁוֹפָר בְּצִיּוֹן וְהָרִיעוּ בְּהַר קָדְשִׁי יִרְגְּזוּ כֹּל יֹשְׁבֵי הָאָרֶץ כִּי־בָא יוֹם־יְקֹוָק כִּי קָרוֹב

Blow the Shofar in Zion, blast the noise in My holy mountain. Let all the inhabitants of the Land be frightened, for the day of Hashem is coming near (“כִּי קָרוֹב”). This is echoed in other verses, such as an Obadiah 1:15, that the day of Hashem is near, when Hashem will take His revenge on our oppressors and bring the Redemption.

As we prepare for the Shofar blasts of Rosh Hashanah, let’s recall that the “Day of the Lord” is coming, and what a great and awesome day it shall be. May our Shofar blasts this year bring us to the ultimate “Day of the Lord” at the time of our Redemption, bb”a.

Wishing you all a ketivah v’chatimah tovah, a joyous and blessed new year.

The Truth is Out There

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

The Torah commands that upon entry into Eretz Israel, the Jews were to take large stones and erect them on the eastern border. They were to inscribe the entire Torah on these stones, and according to the Mishnah (Sotah 7:5), it was translated into 70 different languages in order for the other nations approaching the borders of Israel to understand the text. Ostensibly, this was to post the “rules” for visitors entering the Land, so that any foreigner would know what was expected of them when visiting the Jewish homeland.

The Torah states that in addition to writing the Torah text on the stones, the stones needed to be coated with some kind of plaster or mortar, called “סיד” (or “שיד”) in Hebrew. There’s a debate in the Talmud (TB Sotah 35b) as to the relation between the writing and the plaster. Rabbi Yehuda says that the scribes chiseled the Hebrew text onto the bare stones and then plastered over the surface. Rabbi Shimon says that first the plaster was applied, and the scribes used a stylus to inscribe the text onto the soft plaster.

A message to the nations

At face value, Rabbi Shimon’s opinion makes eminently more sense. What would be the point of inscribing words onto stones that would then be covered by plaster? How would visitors to Eretz Israel gain access to the now hidden text?!

Rabbi Yehuda responds to this challenge: “HKB”H endowed the other nations with additional wisdom (Heb.: “בינה יתירה”) to know exactly what to do. When their scribes came to the border, they peeled off the plaster, transcribed the text underneath, and brought the text back to their respective countries.”

We are still left scratching our heads at Rabbi Yehuda’s Chelm-like depiction. Why conceal the Torah text, only to provide the visiting nations some miraculous knowledge to peel off the plaster? Why not display the Torah’s text out in the open? We might offer quite simply that R. Yehuda was concerned about the honor of the text, and did not feel that it would be appropriate for such holy scripture to be “out in the open,” subject to erosion and abuse.

But I believe that there’s a deeper explanation, in that this whole exercise was a learnable metaphor for the other nations of the world. To explain, let’s look at another passage of Talmud, the only other place in the Talmud (both Bavli and Yerushalmi) where someone is depicted as being endowed with this “בינה יתירה”, additional wisdom.

Women were created with “binah”

The Mishnah (Niddah 5:6) discusses the age at which a child has the status of an adult for particular laws. It states the well-known principle that a girl becomes “of age,” or Bat Mitzvah, when she reaches the age of 12. But a boy does not come of age until his Bar Mitzvah at age 13. Why, asks the Gemara (TB Niddah 45b), does it take a boy an extra year to come of age? Rav Chisda cites a verse from Eve’s creation (Gen. 2:22): “וַיִּבֶן יְקֹוָק אֱלֹהִים׀ אֶת־הַצֵּלָע” – “The Lord God ‘built’ (Heb.: “וַיִּבֶן”) the flank of man’s body into the woman, and brought her to Adam.”

In addition to the word “וַיִּבֶן” implying “building,” it is also a derivative of the word “בינה,” discernment and wisdom. Women were created with greater wisdom (“בינה יתירה”) than men, and this is why a girl matures faster than a boy, and is thus held responsible for her actions at a younger age.

Why did God create woman with a greater “binah”? The verse indicates that it has to do with her relationship to her male counterpart. Perhaps God was aware of the impending curse that would befall Eve, dooming women to be “subservient” societally and physically to their husbands (this has been the case for most of human history; thankfully, the social disparity between men and women has been reduced substantially in recent generations).

We have a principle in Judaism, “אין הקדוש ברוך הוא בא בטרוניא עם בריותיו.” – “God does not set up His creations for failure.” That is, if an individual being is created with some disability or disadvantage, Hashem will compensate for that disadvantage by endowing the individual with an enhancement that allows for success despite the handicap. For example, it has been scientifically demonstrated that people who are blind have enhanced abilities in their other senses.

It may be that Hashem, recognizing the disadvantages that women would have in dealing with their male counterparts, granted women an intellectual advantage, giving them a greater insight into the human condition, and infusing them with a certain intuition about life that men simply lack. From the very inception of woman’s creation, the imbalance was evident, and thus Hashem compensated for it accordingly. As Harry Belafonte sang, “That’s right, the woman is smarter,” and this is why girls become savvy a year before boys.

Universal message of the Torah

With this same principle, that God does not set up His creations for failure, Hashem wanted to symbolically show the other nations of the world that even though they were not at Mount Sinai, they were still not completely disadvantaged. The Law given at Sinai contains within it not only a specific message of behavior for the Jewish people, but also the universal messages of morality, ethics, and the imperative for man to look beyond himself in seeking a purpose for living.

Unfortunately, for reasons known to God, the other nations were not directly privy to this wonderful revelatory gift.

Hashem’s response to this handicap, to the nations visiting our borders, is this: Finding purpose in an existence that often seems chaotic and unfair is very difficult. You may suffer from the angst of not having the answers to so many questions about existence. If you had been granted the Torah directly, these questions might have been more easily answered. Realize, however, that the Torah’s message, while containing universal ideas, is still concealed with plaster, a “closed book” for the non-Jew.

So many aspects of the Torah are meant to be practiced and studied by Jews alone. I, God, nonetheless grant you an enhanced wisdom to know how to plumb the depths of this Jewish text, and bring it back to your own culture to provide answers for how to live a life of purpose and meaning. Don’t think that just because you weren’t at Mount Sinai, the Torah’s ideas are inaccessible to you. You’ve been endowed with a great sense of intuition, with a growling gnawing in your gut, and with an unrequited curiosity that will draw you to the borders of Eretz Israel. Don’t be satisfied until you have overturned every rock, and chipped away at the occlusive plaster that conceals the truth contained within the Jewish nation.

Universal access to Torah

There is so much concealment of truth in today’s world. The more we advance technologically, the more we have access to information. But that access has also been our curse, since so much information is completely unfiltered, haphazardly mixed with half truths and lies.

We believe, however, that as occlusive as our current society is, as much as it conceals the hidden nature of God and our reality, the truth can still be accessed by real truth-seekers who are prepared to chisel away at the facades of our modern society. Both Jew and non-Jew alike have this opportunity to arrive at the universal truths of the Torah.

Part of the responsibility of the Jewish people is to erect, metaphorically, those large stones on our borders and allow access, whether by lesson or by example, of the universal aspects – the ethics, morality, and kindness – of the Torah. The greater the confusion that is out in the streets, the greater the responsibility it becomes for those who possess the truth to share it.

King Solomon said (Pr. 25:2): “כְּבֹד אֱלֹהִים הַסְתֵּר דָּבָר וּכְבֹד מְלָכִים חֲקֹר דָּבָר” – “It is the glory of God to hide something, but it is the glory of kings to discover it.” That which Hashem conceals, He provides the opportunity for those worthy “kings” to discover. May we all merit to discover the truths of ourselves and our world and share it with others, so that we can finally envision the Redemption that is all around us, bb”a.

The Real You

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Our parsha is famous for its apparently disjointed mitzvot that seemingly have little or nothing to do with each other. We will point out a series of three mitzvot that present with this mysterious juxtaposition. In ch. 22, we find the following series:

v. 4: You may not stand idly by when seeing your friend’s donkey or ox falling down on the road due to its uneven load. Help your friend readjust the animal’s load and help the animal regain its footing.

v. 5: No woman or man may cross-dress. Transvestism is forbidden by the Torah.

v. 6: When you happen upon a nest with eggs or chicks, you must send away the mother bird before taking her offspring for yourself.

Shiluach HaKen

While there is no apparent connection between these three commandments, a comment by the Abarbanel on the mitzvah of Shiluach HaKen, sending away the mother bird, is very revealing. He understands that this mitzvah is a symbolic representation of something that occurs within each human being over the course of a lifetime.

We are composites of body and soul, and over the course of our lives, our soul feels imprisoned by the body. Our bodily desires draw us to indulge in physical activities that are completely distasteful to the soul, to the point where the soul feels sullied by being dragged along through life to participate in these activities.

The soul’s desires, on the other hand, are to engage in spiritually beneficial and virtuous activities. The soul constantly yearns to be liberated from the body and return heavenward. When the Torah tells us to free the mother bird, it is representing this ideal that we try our best to liberate our soul from the shackles of physical imprisonment.

We can do this while alive, by following the soul’s desires instead of the body’s, that is, by doing good acts instead of indulging our desires. By doing so, we are able to harvest the product of the soul’s yearnings, the spiritually beneficial acts of a life well spent. We keep the product of those efforts for ourselves for all eternity. This is represented by keeping the eggs or the chicks of the liberated mother bird.

The body and soul struggle

Taking the mitzvah in this light, we see that the Torah is addressing the dichotomous nature of man, and his constant struggle between body and soul. With this, we might better understand the first mitzvah in our series: When you see a person’s donkey or ox, his beast of burden, struggling under its load, help your friend out.

When you see that a person’s body is prevailing, that his priorities are more hedonistic than spiritually driven, help him or her with their struggle. Realign their sights, and help them from buckling under the tremendous allures of peer pressure, societal pressure, and the desires of the flesh. Help your friend move forward in a healthy relationship with his body, so that he can feed his physical needs without collapsing under them entirely.

This leads to the next mitzvah in the series, the prohibition against cross-dressing. In recent years, this practice has been all the rage in the news. It’s part of the “woke” culture that allows every person to define exactly who and what they wish to be.

One’s gender, it is argued, is not defined by one’s birth biology, but rather one’s mental and emotional state.

It’s certainly true that some biological males have feelings of femininity and some biological females have feelings of masculinity. Beyond the very binary gender of one’s biology, there’s greater fluidity and nuance in one’s psychological “gender”. So why does the Torah prohibit cross-dressing?

Firstly, there is a very real concern, as Rashi states in his commentary, that allowing men to dress as women may lead to licentiousness, when men can enter women’s washrooms and locker rooms and use this as an opportunity to exploit the opposite gender.

The true self

Beyond that, there is a fundamental ideological mistake in practicing transvestism. If the mitzvot contained in our section address the difficult balance between body and soul, it’s important to realize that the body is not the main forum for establishing one’s true identity. My body, with all of its unique characteristics and flaws, was given to me by G-d via my parents’ genetics and other factors. I may be dissatisfied with my hair, my eyes, my nose, or other parts of my body.

Especially for those with disabilities, there is every reason to be dissatisfied with one’s body’s shortcomings. Certainly, when modern medicine allows us to repair the broken or malformed parts of my body, I should take advantage of modern medical amenities. But in the end, my body is not the real ME. My true self is contained in the metaphysical and the spiritual, and that it is the part of ME that I should strive to focus upon, cultivate, and develop.

One who cross-dresses, regardless of that person’s genuine motivations, is in effect not only rejecting G-d’s choice of physical gender for themselves. Because they are displaying who they are through dressing of the body, that person is also declaring that the main part of who they are as an individual human being is their body, not their soul.

The continuity of the verses for these three mitzvot can now be appreciated as three facets of the same theme, that of emphasizing the soul over the body:

Helping your friend’s struggling “animal”: We all struggle with our physical desires and vices. Don’t just take care of your own struggles; help your fellow human being with his or hers, too.

Cross-dressing: Don’t define your true essence by your bodily manifestations. Accept your body as a shell of the real you, which is your spiritual essence. Regardless of your mental or emotional state, maintain your body in the way G-d gave it you, and then focus on and nurture your soul. Your feminine or masculine identity will emerge naturally in your soul without you having to dress up your body artificially.

Send away the mother bird: Liberate your soul by freeing it from the fetters of your physical desires. By listening to your soul’s inner stirrings and acting upon your lofty spiritual calling, you will be able to reap the sweet fruits of a life well lived, the “eggs” of the “mother bird.”

Sharpening the message

Society’s new “wokeism” allows every person’s identity to be as fluid as they like. But this runs counter to this ideal of the duality of the human condition and the primacy of the soul in that hybrid composition. When we look at ourselves in the mirror and see only our exterior as our defining persona, then we are losing touch with the Torah’s message that the most “real” part of who I am is my soul.

Instead, we should embrace and celebrate the body that was given to us by Hashem, while at the same time placing our main focus of interest and effort on the good deeds and altruistic efforts in life that are reflections of the soul’s influence upon us.

It is becoming increasingly more difficult to hear the messages of the Torah amidst the din of social media and societal pressure. Our current culture has all but erased the spiritual essence of man. For these High Holidays, our goal should be to rediscover the muffled voice of our neshama, crying to be heard and recognized. May this effort usher in new blessings and redemption for the coming year, bb”a.

Be the Ruler!

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

What is the definition of a true leader? At the beginning of the third essay of the Kuzari, this is the very question that R’ Yehuda HaLevi had the Khazar King ask the Rabbi, but in a circuitous way. The Khazar King asked: “Tell me how saintly Jews behave.” The Rabbi responded: “A saintly person is one who is concerned with his country. He provides all its citizens with their every provision and need. He leads them justly, does not oppress any one of them, and does not give to any one of them more than their rightful share.

Thus, in his time of need they will come to his aid, and will rush to respond to him when he calls out to them. He can command them, and they will carry out his command; he can admonish them and they will accept his admonishment.” Puzzled with this response, the Kuzari challenges: “I asked you about a saintly person, not a leader!”

The Rabbi’s answer is very telling: “The saintly person is a leader. All of his senses and attributes – both spiritual and physical – submit themselves to his command. He thus leads them just like a real world leader, as it says (Pr. 16:32), ‘He who rules his spirit is greater than one who captures a city.’ He has shown that he is fit to govern – that were he to rule over a country, he would preside over it justly just as he has done with his own body and soul.”

Appointing a king

In this light, it should not be surprising that a number of commentaries look at the Torah’s commandment to appoint a king over the nation (17:14-20) as a metaphor for appointing a ruler over oneself, a guiding principle that allows one to lead a life of discipline, dignity, and integrity. We’ll extract just a few points from Rav Chaim Vital’s extensive use of this metaphor.

“When you come into the [Promised] Land…” There comes a point when we reach a certain age of maturity, that moment in your life when you realize you need to get serious and put aside all the distractions and entertainments of your youth. You will have “arrived” at the place you need to be in order to make important life decisions.

“You will say, I shall appoint a king over myself, like all the nations around me.” You notice that your peers have started to get serious about life. Each one has immersed himself or herself into something that preoccupies the majority of their waking life, whether it be their job, raising a family, or some other pursuit. You will realize that it’s time for you to create structure and a life plan for yourself as well.

Here the Torah admonishes us that we must choose our “king” wisely: “Appoint a king over yourself, one that Hashem selects for you. He must be from among your brethren, and you may not place a foreigner over yourself.” That is, there are many choices to make in deciding how you would like your life to be structured. Make sure that you choose the proper overarching principle that will guide your life decisions. That life code, or “king,” must be endorsed by Hashem, because it conforms to the values contained in the Torah. Don’t look at others’ choices, since their playbook may not be from the Torah. Don’t adopt a foreign value system, not “from your brethren,” to be the guiding principle of your life.

The king and his possessions

The Torah then commands the king to not have too many physical assets, and identifies three specific accumulations that the king must avoid: “He shall not amass too many horses… too many wives… too much gold and silver….” G-d is telling us: Even when you choose the right “king,” in that you have committed to live a life of Torah observance, this does not guarantee that your life will always be on the correct trajectory.

It is possible to live a “frum” life that is distorted by too much of the following: (1) “Too many horses” refers to fun activities. Even Orthodox Jews love taking vacations, playing games, and other recreational activities. When done in moderation, that’s fine. But don’t overdo it, and don’t make those moments the main focus of your life. (2) “Too many wives” refers to physical indulgences, even with your own spouse, or even when everything is glatt kosher. Eat to live, don’t live to eat at the fancy destination restaurant, for example. (3) “Too much gold and silver” doesn’t need any additional interpretation. Be happy with what you have and don’t obsess over accumulating additional wealth. “Who is wealthy? He who is happy with his lot” (Avos 4:1).

The king and a life of Torah

“When he ascends the throne, he shall write for himself a Mishneh Torah on a scroll, in the presence of the Kohanim.” The term “Mishneh Torah,” literally, a Torah of study, means a Torah that one can absorb and apply to their own life. Make sure the Torah you study has practical applications to you and is formulated and filtered in a language that speaks to you. Study that Torah in the presence of the “Kohanim” of your generation, the teachers and rabbis whom you respect, who will help guide you in applying the Torah’s teachings to your life.

“It shall be with him and he shall read from it all the days of his life…” Whatever you end up doing in life, whatever profession or vocation you choose, make sure that each and every day has some time carved out for Torah study. Whether it’s the Daf Yomi or even just five minutes of halakhah or mussar, reading from the Torah every day of your life will engender faith, a fear of G-d, and a commitment to continue following the precepts of the Torah through thick and thin.

“[He shall do all this] so that his heart not become haughty over his brethren… and in order that his rule will be of lengthy days, for both himself and his children in the midst of Israel.” The key to a successful life is the trait of humility. Even when you’ve “made it” professionally or financially, don’t allow your successes to convince you that you’re any better than your peers. If you live by these principles, then both you and your children will live a long and happy life, and will do so within the Jewish community.

Ourselves as king or our domains

In my travels over the last several days, I encountered a large amount of homeless people camped out in the streets. There is currently a scourge in society of people who don’t feel that they have any purpose or direction in life. They’ve basically given up on themselves and have not been able to find any redemption to their lives or reason to live with that sense of self-respect or dignity.

To me, this sight on the streets is the saddest of all human conditions. Society today has become so advanced; we’ve cured so many illnesses, and we’ve created so many luxuries and amenities that are within everyone’s grasp. But we haven’t succeeded in providing an overarching message of purpose and meaning within the life of the average citizen.

We’d be so well advised to follow the Torah’s charge. Become the king or queen that you were always meant to be! As we inch closer to the High Holidays, let’s examine the infrastructure of our lives. Have we instituted the proper priorities for ourselves and our loved ones? Are we leading disciplined lives of purpose? At the end of our lives, we all want to be remembered as people who led lives with meaning and who set a proper example for their family and friends. That’s a true king or queen.

May we ascend the throne of true royalty every day of our lives, and may this new year bring us to both personal and national Redemption, bb”a.

You are Loved

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

December 23, 1888 is one of the most famous moments in art history. It was on that day that a distraught Vincent Van Gogh “stepped into the bathroom and stared at his maniacal, menacing, hyena-wild reflection, rubbed his stubbled neck, lifted the razor and, grabbing his left ear, sliced it off in a silent scream, locking eyes with his reflection in the mirror.” Why did he do it? What led such a creative artist to become so destructive? Or, as fellow impressionist artist Claude Monet questioned, “How could a man who has loved flowers and light so much and has rendered them so well, how could he have managed to be so unhappy?”

Theories abound. One suggests that Van Gogh had gotten into a heated argument with his roommate, artist Paul Gauguin, who claimed in his memoirs that Van Gogh had threatened him with a razor before turning the instrument on himself.

Another speculation is earlier that day, Van Gogh received news of his brother Theo’s engagement, and was deeply concerned it would affect Theo’s financial support, which was crucial to the artist. Others suggest that he was simply an alcoholic and was suffering from the delusional and hallucinatory effects of either alcohol binging or alcohol withdrawal.

Van Gogh is one of the most famous cases where tormented geniuses or sensitive artists have punished and mutilated themselves physically. There is even a modern syndrome coined “Van Gogh syndrome,” also known as Nonsuicidal Self-Injury (NSSI). In many instances the individual feels that this is the only way to cope with unbearable pain or stress. Other times, the individual feels they deserve to be punished for some misdeed or failure.

The mitzvah against self-mutilation

The syndrome is not new, and was around in the times of the Torah’s writing. It forms the basis of a mitzvah in our parsha, which prohibits self-mutilation during moments of distress (14:1-2):

 .בָּנִים אַתֶּם לַיקֹוָק אֱלֹהֵיכֶם לֹא תִתְגֹּדְדוּ וְלֹא־תָשִׂימוּ קָרְחָה בֵּין עֵינֵיכֶם לָמֵת

 .כִּי עַם קָדוֹשׁ אַתָּה לַיקֹוָק אֱלֹהֶיךָ וּבְךָ בָּחַר יְקֹוָק לִהְיוֹת לוֹ לְעַם סְגֻלָּה מִכֹּל הָעַמִּים אֲשֶׁר עַל־פְּנֵי הָאֲדָמָה

You are children to Hashem your Lord. Do not disfigure yourselves, nor may you place a cut between your eyes over the dead.

For you are a holy nation to Hashem your Lord, and Hashem has chosen you to be His chosen nation from all the nations that are on the face of the earth.

If we look at the language carefully, we discover that the Torah seems to be providing two reasons for prohibiting self-mutilation, one at the beginning of the first verse, and one in the second verse: (1) You are Hashem’s children, and (2) You are Hashem’s holy and chosen people. What’s the difference between the two, and how do they serve as reasons for this prohibition?

A child’s view

Sfornu and Ibn Ezra comment on the first reason, that we should look at ourselves as Hashem’s children in quite a literal sense. Firstly, when we were young children, often times our parents would do things that we didn’t understand. Their actions may have appeared cruel or unfair, but as we got older we realized that their actions were reasonable and correct. This is how we are supposed to look upon tragic events. We may not understand why these events happened nor why they are for the best, but if we view ourselves as Hashem’s children, not yet capable of understanding our Parent’s actions, we can more easily reconcile ourselves and endure the pain of the tragedy.

Secondly, no matter what loss a person goes through, if they still have their parent, this is in itself a comfort. No matter how sad and empty the individual may feel, they may take comfort in knowing that their Father in Heaven is still there with them, supporting them and embracing them at every juncture, just as a father or mother holds their crying child in their arms to offer comfort.

The individual

This first reason for prohibiting self-mutilation is therefore directed at the truly distraught individual. Hashem is saying: Don’t do anything to harm yourself in order to drown out your pain or to punish yourself. First of all, you don’t yet understand how your own miserable state, even if brought by your own actions, is part of a larger plan that will work out in the end. Secondly, I am here with you to help endure your suffering. I still love you no matter what, no matter how much you think you may have failed, and I will always be here for you.

The nation

The second reason given in the Torah for prohibiting self-mutilation is completely different. Instead of Hashem offering consolation and reassurance, this second text charges us collectively as the Jewish people with a national duty. “You are a holy, chosen nation!” Your behavior sends a message to the entire world. If you mourn excessively to the point of self-flagellation, you are suggesting that God is not just and that life is wretched and miserable.

This runs counter to your duty to be a “light unto the nations.” No matter what happens to you, no matter how much you are punished, persecuted and hounded, you must always hold your head high and let the world know that you are proud to be alive as a Jew.

Even if you are crying bitter tears inside, never let the world see your unbearable pain, but rather suffer with dignity and moderation. Let the world hear the words, “Baruch Dayan HaEmet,” – “Blessed be Hashem, the true Judge!” Even when it’s hard for you to believe those words, it is nonetheless your duty to proclaim them so as to sanctify Hashem’s name throughout the world.

The needs of the many

The Talmud (TB Yevamos 14a) teaches, based on reading the words “לֹא תִתְגּדְדוּ” as deriving from the word “אגודות”, separate groups, that every Jewish community must try its best to create uniform practices for the entire community so that it does not appear that everyone is doing something different. What does this have to do with self-mutilation?

It reveals that when it comes to human suffering, sometimes a Jew has to put aside his or her personal pain in order to project a national image of positivity, just like sometimes an individual has to put aside his or her personal religious preference in order to conform to the greater good of the community’s minhag. Both interpretations speak to placing the community’s priorities before the individual’s.)

Everyone, without fail, experiences pain in life. Many of us have good and healthy coping mechanisms to deal with these painful and stressful situations. We have learned to laugh at our challenges, to decompress through physical exercise, education, music, and socialization. Others do not cope as well. In an effort to drown out the pain some over-indulge in various substances and activities that are self-destructive or hurtful to others.

You are never alone

To fulfill the directive to emulate God in everything we do, we must acknowledge the pain of others. Just seeing the other and reminding them that they are not alone can do wonders. You never know how much of a difference it makes in a person’s life just knowing that you are available to them when they need someone to lean on.

The month of Elul is upon us. This is the time to realign ourselves with what we know to be good and virtuous. Let’s try and remember the opening words of this mitzvah: “בָּנִים אַתֶּם לַיקֹוָק אֱלֹהֵיכֶם” – “You are Hashem’s son or daughter!” You deserve the best, and Hashem loves you no matter what. Don’t despair, and don’t punish yourself any longer. Arise and love yourself the way Hashem loves you.

As bad as things may be, realize that life is such a gift. Had Van Gogh realized how appreciated he’d become for his contribution to art, he probably would never have harmed himself on that terrible December night. You may not be appreciated today for who you are, and you may not even feel terribly good about yourself. But never forget that Hashem loves you as His child, and will always be with you. You are loved, and you are never alone. May we all move forward together with confidence and optimism to greet the Redeemer, bb”a.

Conquering the Canaanite Within

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Part of Moshe’s parting words to his children, the Jewish people, was to provide them with a winning strategy for conquering Eretz Israel and maintaining a hold on their conquest. The Jewish people were informed twice – first by Hashem when they left Egypt, and second by Moshe when they were about to enter Eretz Israel – that Hashem had a deliberate strategy for their conquest of the Land:

I will not chase out [the indigenous clans of Canaan] in one year, lest the Land become desolate and the beasts of the field outnumber you. Rather, I will chase them out slowly, until you become more numerous and are able to inherit the Land (Ex. 23:29-20).

Hashem your Lord will move these clans away from you slowly; you will not be able to eradicate them quickly, lest the beasts of the field outnumber you. (Deut. 7:22)

Spreading monotheism to the world

Some people have looked back on this biblical text as proof that Israel should be devoid of all foreign entities and should not allow non-Jews to be part of Israeli society. But this is a mistaken interpretation. When Israel was a nascent nation, they were a novelty to the world, being the only monotheistic people in a regional sea of idolaters. Both their immaturity as a people and their stark contrast with the rest of the world made them an easy target for an overpowering assimilative force.

It was only due to the Jewish people’s vulnerability that they were called upon to eradicate all Canaanite idolatrous clans from the Land. Today, Bnei Israel are a mature nation. We have been around for millennia, and withstood the test of time. Furthermore, we introduced ethical monotheism to our Christian and Muslim cousins.

Allowing people of other faiths – especially those who have adopted ethical monotheism – is not only allowable, but is a reasonable and beneficial policy for Israeli society, no different from the biblical “ger toshav” – the righteous gentile – who is welcomed by the Torah to live among us (such as in 14:21, in next week’s parsha).

But there is a concerning theological question that bothers a number of commentaries. Hashem has a strategy, says Moshe. If He eradicates the Canaanites too quickly, you’ll be outnumbered by the animals of the wild, and you will be in danger. But isn’t God the one who is performing miracles to eradicate the Canaanites? Cannot the same God who miraculously sends wasps against the Canaanites (in 7:20) and helps the Jewish army defeat their enemies, be the same God who prevents the wildlife of Eretz Israel from attacking the small Jewish population?!

Different kinds of miracles

Perhaps the Torah is giving us an insight into the type of miracles Hashem perpetrates to help Am Israel. In a sense, it is “easier” for God to influence a psychological phenomenon within a society than it is for Him to manipulate animal behavior. Animals work exclusively on instinct; when a lion is hungry, it will attack its prey. When it’s sated, it will leave the antelope alone. Human attitudes are different; people are easily manipulated to all types of irrational behaviors by PR, the media, public opinion, and so forth.

For Hashem to strategically sway the Canaanites to become intimidated by Bnei Israel is much more of a covert miracle than repressing a natural hunger that the lions and bears of the forest may have. Hashem was instructing Bnei Israel that while they could expect a covert miracle like military victory in the conquest of Eretz Israel, they would still be susceptible to natural disasters, against which all human beings must protect themselves.

It’s as if Hashem was commanding: I’ll help you win the big battles, but make sure to wear a coat when it’s cold, and protect yourselves from wild beasts.

Despite this answer, the question still led a number of commentaries to interpret the verse homiletically. Shortly after World War II, the grand rabbi of Modzitz, Rav Shaul Yedidya Elazar Taub (1886-1947), read the verse as follows: “You will not be able to eradicate them quickly, lest you be overpowered to become the beasts of the field.” That is, if the Jewish army is fully and constantly immersed in warfare, they will eventually become bloodthirsty animals and will lose their humanity.

By waging war sparingly and intermittently, soldiers will be able to have breaks, go home, reintegrate with a peaceful society, and reclaim their humanity. Rabbi Taub concluded that he was personally witness to this phenomenon. Because they were immersed in violent and bloody warfare over a period of years, the Germans of his time eventually became dehumanized, like wild animals, and lived with complete abandon.

The quick fix

This verse might also refer to the person who wishes to fix everything too quickly. We know the type: a person may be a new ba’al teshuvah, someone who newly finds religion and enthusiastically makes quantum leaps in their Yiddishkeit and piety.

But there are real dangers of recidivism among those who take on too much too quickly. In your zeal to conquer the Canaanite within you, you may also lose sight of yourself, who you truly are, and will become overcome with dysphoria, depression, anxiety, and other mental or emotional misalignments that result from lifestyle changes too drastic in too short of a time.

We note that the first creature identified in the Torah as a “chayat hasadeh,” beast of the field, is the Serpent in the Garden of Eden (Gen. 3:1): “וְהַנָּחָשׁ הָיָה עָרוּם מִכֹּל חַיַּת הַשָּׂדֶה” – “The Serpent was the wiliest of all the beasts of the field…” The danger is that in your zeal to eradicate the evil “Canaanite” you might get overcome by an even worse evil, a debilitating form of regression that will cause you to nihilistically throw your hands up in despair and give up everything.

This is the work of the Serpent of the Garden, an even more toxic guise of the evil inclination than the Canaanite. At least the Canaanite, despite his idolatry and misplaced priorities, is human. But the Serpent represents a complete surrender and abandon. It would be tragic for the person who is aspiring to great spiritual heights to fall and end up lower than they were when they started.

Finding the right pace for each of us

This phenomenon happens to FFB’s (“frum from birth”) too, as they age and they become less passionate about their Yiddishkeit. When we are young, we have a fire in our belly, a passion for spirituality and becoming close with Hashem. As we age, these passions start to wane and we search for something to fill that void. But that effort to reclaim our inspiration must also be done deliberately and methodically so that it doesn’t backfire on us.

As we come to the realization that we’ve filled our lives with too much “narishkeit” (folly), we must also not get too far ahead of ourselves and quit “cold turkey” all of the frivolous behaviors that make up our current lives. Move slowly, rectify your foibles one by one, so that you don’t end up crashing and burning, succumbing to the “chayat hasadeh.”

As it pertains to each of us, let’s remember that Rosh Hashanah is just around the corner. There may be things that we would want to consider changing, whether it be waking up earlier in order to pray with a minyan, or just taking more time from our recreational activities and using that time more effectively to do an extra mitzvah.

The important thing is to transition slowly. In our verse, Hashem tells us that He’ll get rid of the Canaanites slowly, for if not, the beasts of the wild may take over. These are words to live by: As we slowly approach the month of Elul, try to slowly regain your footing in the world of productivity and goodness. Don’t move too quickly, lest you become disoriented and fed up. Slowly reassume all the good that you weren’t able to do in the past, and reclaim your life in a methodical, measured way.

May we all succeed in conquering the Canaanite within us so that we, too, take possession of the Promised Land, bb”a.

True Beauty is More Than Skin-Deep

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

We all know that part and parcel of what it means to be a Jew is to preserve one’s physical health. We aren’t permitted to take unnecessary risks, and we’re supposed eat, drink, exercise. Overall, we must treat our bodies responsibly. What is the source for this in the Torah? According to the Rambam (Hil. Rotze’ach UShemirat HaNefesh 11:4), it is based on two verses from our parsha. What is surprising, however, is that when looking at these verses, you’d never know that they were addressing taking care of one’s physical wellbeing from their context.

First, let’s examine a story from the Talmud (TB Berachot 32b-33a). The rabbis state that when in the midst of praying the Amidah, we are not permitted to interrupt our prayers for any reason. The one exception is if someone’s life is in danger. No mitzvah – with rare exception – takes priority over preserving one’s health. Thus, if a threatening authority figure walks past you while you’re davening, and if you remain silent you might face his wrath, you are supposed to interrupt even your Amidah to greet the ruler.

Mortal danger in proximity to davening

The Gemara relates a story of a devout individual who disobeyed this halakhah because of his extreme devotion, and continued his silent prayer even as a high-ranking gentile politician greeted him. The ruler was so incensed by this snub, that he waited for the Jew to finish davening and then said to him, “It says in your Torah, ‘רַק הִשָּׁמֶר לְךָ וּשְׁמֹר נַפְשְׁךָ’ (4:9), and ‘וְנִשְׁמַרְתֶּם מְאֹד לְנַפְשֹׁתֵיכֶם’ (4:15)! Both verses mean that one is obligated to preserve one’s soul. What right did you have to ignore me when I extended my greeting to you? Don’t you realize I could have you killed for that insurrection?!” The devout man succeeded in talking his way out of a reprisal from the (apparently wise and benevolent) ruler, and his life was spared.

The only problem with this story is that the context of the verses cited by the non-Jewish official have nothing to do with preserving one’s health. To the contrary, they deal with the obligation to remember the events at Mount Sinai and the prohibition of idolatry. Our parsha has Moshe warning the Jews that when they enter the New Land, they will encounter foreign cultures with enticing idolatrous practices. “Watch over and preserve your soul!” Moshe charged. Don’t stray after idols. Clearly, this has nothing to do with eating healthy, exercising, and avoiding risks.

Yet, the Rambam cites our text when stating: “One is obligated to remove and avoid at all costs any obstacle that presents mortal danger, as it says (4:9), ‘הִשָּׁמֶר לְךָ וּשְׁמֹר נַפְשְׁךָ’.” Where does this verse, which talks about the “soul” and is in the context of a religious admonition, allude to this new halakhah of preserving physical health?

The Netziv suggests that the clue is from the strange conjugation. If the verse was only referring to one’s spiritual wellbeing, it should have said, “ושמרתם מאד את נפשתיכם” – “Carefully guard your soul.” But instead the verse contains an unusual conjugation of “וְנִשְׁמַרְתֶּ֥ם… לְנַפְשֹׁתֵיכֶ֑ם”, which literally means, “You shall be carefully entrusted to your soul.” That is, there is something about “you” other than your soul that must be preserved together with your soul, i.e., the body.

Physical health & spirituality

We are still left with the question: Why did the Torah present the obligation to preserve one’s physical health in the context of preserving oneself spiritually and avoiding idolatry? Rav Hirsch offers a beautiful thought: What, after all, is idolatry? It is focusing on the physical trappings of existence, even to the point of ascribing physical characteristics to one’s deity, in order to draw religious inspiration. In reality, however, a Jew is supposed to infer that his Deity transcends the physical plane.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I know that there is much more to “me” than just my body. My soul is really the main part of me. As such, we all appreciate that a spiritual dimension exists that far transcends the veneer of our physical being, and is even more “real” than our physical existence. Once we recognize that the main part of a human being is their soul, it would be grossly incorrect to translate God, the completely transcendent Being, into our lower, physical plane by attributing any physical qualities to Him. The commandment of “preserving our souls” is thus a charge to look at our souls as the main reason for eschewing idolatry.

Under the physical façade

The mitzvah extends far beyond examining our souls. We live in a physical world, where all of our human senses perceive reality as the physical trappings of existence. It is so easy to get lost in our perception of reality and lose sight of the fact that there is so much more to existence than the physical façade. In taking inventory of the beautiful world Hashem created, it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that the external beauty of our world contains the source of all divinity.

Hashem warns: “You may see the form of an animal, or a bird who flies to the heavens. You may see insects, or fish, who inspire you. Or, you may look up and see the sun, the moon, and the stars. These are beautiful, perfect creations that reflect My glory (see 4:15-19). But do not think that true reality lies in those things, no matter how glorious and beautiful this physical world is. There is a spiritual reality which is far more real than anything on this physical plane. As such, be careful to preserve your body, not for the sake of your body, but for the sake of your soul.”

The beauty of living a religious life is that our vision penetrates far deeper than the surface. When we look at another human being, we’re not supposed to just see a living organism capable of advanced thinking; we’re supposed to see a neshama. When we look at the beauty of a sunset or a majestic landscape, we’re meant to translate that breathtaking beauty into a spiritual experience. When we look at a piece of produce, we’re supposed to see a gift from God, one that gives us an opportunity to feed the hungry as well as any number of mitzvot.

This is the essential nature of all mitzvot; taking something physical and being able to see a deeper reality behind the physical façade of that object with which we perform the mitzvah. An etrog is much more than a citrus fruit. The truly spiritual individual sees this more and more as one goes through life.

A universal truth

This is a universal message. One doesn’t have to be an Orthodox Jew or even Jewish to see this. This is why the Gemara cites a non-Jew as quoting the verse from the Torah, stating that a human being is much more than a collection of tissue, and that every moment of life is infinitely precious and should not be squandered. The entire justification of preserving our bodies is in order to enable our souls, the main part of who we are, to grow and be productive for as long as possible.

As the Talmud states when sanctioning Shabbat violation in order to preserve one’s health (TB Shabbos 151b): “Violate one Shabbat in order to observe many future Shabatot.” It can only be in the context of maintaining a healthy soul that we are charged with maintaining healthy bodies. For after all, what is the benefit to being “alive” if we are not being spiritually productive in that life?

In a world which has mistaken the façade of reality for reality itself, part of our role as individuals and as a community is to counteract that simplistic and occluding outlook. Our goal should be, with every bracha we recite, with every ritual we perform, with every kindness we extend, to look past the façade and appreciate that the physical body truly is a wrapper for the soul, and that Hashem’s world is far deeper than the surface. May we succeed in this holy endeavor which will usher in the Redemption, bb”a.

Paradigm Shifts in Retrospect

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Our Sages are often called “Sofrim,” which literally means “counters.” Many of our rabbis dedicated their lives to carefully counting every word, letter, and cantillation note of the Tanakh, as well as studying grammatical rules, in order to ensure the text’s integrity for all time. The work Dikdukei HaTe’amim was written in the 10th century by Rav Aharon ben Moshe ben Asher, one of these sofrim who focused on dikduk and other rules of Biblical cantillation and language. He taught that there are only three places in all of Chumash where a pasuk has a paragraph break in the middle of the verse. This is quite unusual, just as it would be in any language, including English.

Three broken verses

Let’s look at the three occurrences and see if we can find a lesson from these anomalies:

(1) In Parshat Vayishlach, when dealing with the story of Reuven’s sin with his father’s wife Bilhah, the Torah states (Gen. 35:22):

וַיְהִי בִּשְׁכֹּן יִשְׂרָאֵל בָּאָרֶץ הַהִוא וַיֵּלֶךְ רְאוּבֵן וַיִּשְׁכַּב אֶת־בִּלְהָה פִּילֶגֶשׁ אָבִיו וַיִּשְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל פ וַיִּהְיוּ בְנֵי־יַעֲקֹב שְׁנֵים עָשָׂר

It happened that when Israel dwelled in the Land, that Revuen went and lay with Bilhah, his father’s concubine; Israel heard, [paragraph break] and the sons of Yaakov were twelve.

(2) In Parshat Pinchas, in the aftermath of Pinchas’ act of zealotry which stayed the plague that came as a result of the Jews’ sin with Midianite women, the Torah states (Num. 26:1):

וַיְהִי אַחֲרֵי הַמַּגֵּפָה פ וַיֹּאמֶר יְקֹוָק אֶל־מֹשֶׁה וְאֶל אֶלְעָזָר בֶּן־אַהֲרֹן הַכֹּהֵן לֵאמֹר

It was that after the plague [paragraph break], Hashem spoke to Moshe, and to Elazar son of Aharon as follows.

This was the precursor to the commandment to take a census of the Jewish people.

(3) In Parshat Devarim (our parsha), in discussing the travels of the Jewish people that would eventually bring them to the Plains of Moav, the Torah states (2:8)

וַנַּעֲבֹר מֵאֵת אַחֵינוּ בְנֵי־עֵשָׂו הַיֹּשְׁבִים בְּשֵׂעִיר מִדֶּרֶךְ הָעֲרָבָה מֵאֵילַת וּמֵעֶצְיֹן גָּבֶר ס וַנֵּפֶן וַנַּעֲבֹר דֶּרֶךְ מִדְבַּר מוֹאָב:

We departed our brethren the sons of Esav, who were living in Se’ir, in the path of the plain, near Eilat and Etzyon Gaver [paragraph break], and we turned [northwards] and traveled toward the Moav desert.

Why are they broken?

Why do these specific verses have paragraph breaks in them? We suggest that they all share something in common: Each verse marks a significant paradigm shift and dramatic change in the narrative. (1) In Bereishit, the event of Reuven’s sin with Yaakov’s wife is the last event where our Patriarchs, Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov were the main characters. Up until this point in Genesis, all the stories revolved around these three men, the progenitors of the Jewish nation. From this point forward, after the story of Reuven’s sin, the narrative of Genesis deals with Yaakov’s sons as the main characters. Yaakov himself is relegated to being a secondary character beginning with the very next narrative in the story, that of Yoseph and his brothers.

(2) In Parshat Pinchas, the plague marked the very last time that Jews would die in the desert. In fact, Chizkuni states that this was also the last time that Jews would die in the desert, period, including those who were destined to die because of the sin of the Spies. This indicates that the stories of the generation of the desert were coming to an end, and that the rest of the Bamidbar narrative is preparing for entry into Eretz Israel.

(3) In Parshat Devarim, we read of the travels of the Jewish people through the desert. But we can divide those travels into two parts: (a) The first 39 years were years of travel, not headed toward Eretz Israel, but rather making various circuitous journeys throughout the desert. (b) In the last year, the Jews’ passage nearby Eilat and Etzyon Gaver next to Edom marked the very last stop that was not bringing them closer to entering the Land. After this stop, the Jews completely changed direction (as stated by Rashi). Instead of wandering aimlessly through the desert, they made a beeline toward the northeast so that they could enter Eretz Israel through the Moabite territory in the Transjordan.

Different kinds of change

If each narrative dramatically changed at the points of the paragraph breaks, why keep them in one pasuk (verse)? Why not break them into two verses, the first part ending the previous paragraph, and the second which starting the new paragraph and the new part of the story?

Here is where we get to the important lesson of each of these paragraph breaks: Sometimes in life, we can undergo a transformative and dramatic change, and not even be aware of it. That is, the one day when something truly monumental changes in our life might seem at the time to be no different from the day before or the day after. The events all seem like they’re part of the same verse and the same routine, when in reality something dramatic has changed.

Yaakov and his children had no way of knowing in real time when the baton had been passed from Yaakov as the main protagonist of the Biblical narrative over to his children. Bnei Israel had no way of knowing that the plague after the Midianite sin would be the end of death in the desert. Similarly, the Jews who traveled past Edom had no way of knowing that their new direction would take them directly into Eretz Israel. This is because sometimes in life, we can only realize the really important changes in retrospect, after seeing the entire panorama of our lives.

Certainly, there are times when we can see the dramatic shifts in life in real time: When we start a new job, get married, retire, move to a new city, when a baby is born, a child leaves home, etc., we see the changes as they occur. But then there are times when we don’t realize what’s happening until after the fact. Say, for example, you went to visit family in Israel at the end of 2019.

You had every intention of revisiting routinely three to six months later, but as it turned out, that trip would be your last for two years. Or, think about that first time when email became a thing, or when you got your first fax machine, PC, smartphone, etc. (depending upon how old you are, this will determine which technology you choose). You may have initially thought that it was just a fad, or that it had limited applications to your life, etc. It’s only in retrospect that we can look at something like the advent of a new technology or new social phenomenon as being a real game-changer in our lives, and pinpoint the moment of dramatic shifts in our life’s history.

Living life to the fullest

One lesson from all this is that we should live each day and each moment to the fullest. We do not always know when monumental moments in life are occurring. Instead of letting life pass us by, let us try and live every day as crucial and vital events to the rest of our life.

This is also an important and pertinent lesson as we enter into Tish’a B’Av. We’ve been commemorating this day for as long as we’ve been around. Ever since that fateful day on the night of the 9th of Av in the desert when we cried over the negative report about Eretz Israel by the Spies, this day has always been a day to remember our tragedies and our failures.

More specifically, it’s a day when we also think about the absence of a unified Jewish people, focused on the Temple in Jerusalem. But according to tradition, it’s also the day when the Redemption will begin. The seeds of our rebuilding have always been contained in the ashes of our destruction.

We have no way of knowing if this will be the last Tish’a B’av that we observe in Galut, sitting on the floor and lamenting the tragedies of Jewish history. It will only be in retrospect that we will look back and see all of the events that lined up in the world leading up to the Messianic Age. Certainly, we all have a role to play in trying to make this the last Tish’a B’av in mourning.

There are so many indicators in the world today, especially over the last few years, that the world is accelerating towards some kind of new world order. Social norms have dramatically shifted; Jews are making aliyah in unprecedented numbers; we are seeing some countries decline while others progress. No one has a crystal ball and it’s currently not possible to see where this is all headed.

But as we sit again on the floor this Tish’a B’Av, let us remember that “תשועת ד’ כהרף עין” – “the salvation of Hashem occurs in the blink of an eye.” It may very well be that this is the moment of our “paragraph break,” even in mid-sentence. We have every reason to be optimistic that our years in the Diaspora are numbered, and that all the Jewish people will return to their glorious Land to meet the Mashiach. May it happen speedily, bb”a.

The Glue that Holds Us Together

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

As Bnei Israel encamped near the borders of the Promised Land, two tribes, Gad and Reuven, approached Moshe to see if they could inherit the lands of the Transjordan instead of on the western side of the Jordan River. After seeing their pure intentions, Moshe acquiesced, and granted Gad and Reuven the lush lands and pastures of the Transjordan. Then Moshe did something completely unexpected. Not only did he award this property to Gad and Reuven; he also gave a portion to half of the tribe of Menashe (32:33). The Menashe tribe is not listed as part of the group who had petitioned Moshe for this land (from 32:2 and onward).

Why did Moshe choose to give this property to them if they hadn’t asked for it? Furthermore, why split up the tribe of Menashe, leaving half of them on one side of the Jordan, and the other half on the other? Did the Menashe clan present a threat or commit some crime to warrant being split up?

Perhaps we should look at Menashe from a different angle. Seeing that the Jewish people were now going to be divided geographically by a river that could potentially splinter the Jewish people, Moshe wanted to create some kind of glue which, despite the geographic divide, would keep all twelve tribes together and cohesive. He chose one tribe which he felt would be most propitious for this task of keeping all the Jews together, and so divided them across both sides of the Jordan to act as that glue that would hold the two parts of Bnei Israel together.

Menashe the Interpreter

But why Menashe? What’s so special about this tribe? I believe that the answer lies in looking back at the original story of Yoseph and his first-born son, Menashe. The Torah relates that when the brothers first came to Yoseph in Egypt to acquire provisions, Yoseph pretended to be an Egyptian. He set up an interpreter, a “Melitz (מליץ),” to translate their Hebrew into Egyptian (Gen. 42:23). The Midrash (quoted by Rashi) makes a point of identifying this interpreter, standing between Yoseph and his brothers, as Menashe.

This supports our claim that the original Menashe had something about him that could hold the family together. He was the “go-between” in a literal sense between Yoseph and his brothers. We also note that the word “Melitz” doesn’t just mean an interpreter, but also means an advocate (this is why we say about a family member who has passed away, “May he/she be a “Melitz yosher,” a proper advocate, for the family).

What personality trait did Menashe possess? Let us look at his name. Yoseph named his first-born Menashe, because, as the Torah quotes him (Gen. 41:51): “כִּֽי־נַשַּׁ֤נִי אֱלֹהִים֙ אֶת־כָּל־עֲמָלִ֔י וְאֵ֖ת כָּל־בֵּ֥ית אָבִֽי:” – “For Elokim has allowed me to forget my entire travail and the whole household of my father.” What was Yoseph saying? Is it virtuous to forget your family?! Yoseph was reflecting on all of his torment at the hands of his brothers. He must have harbored bitterness and resentment. But now, after having been liberated from prison, rising to the top of Egyptian society and building his own family, he was able to “let go” of the past and move on. He could forego all of his resentments after seeing how everything had turned out for the best.

Credit Where Credit is Due

Furthermore, Rav S.R. Hirsch understands the word “נַשַּׁ֤נִי” in the verse as more than just Hashem allowing Yoseph to “forget.” The Hebrew word derives from “נשה”, which, in other biblical contexts, means a creditor. That is, Yoseph was reflecting upon how, although in the past he had viewed his brothers as having been a liability, his destiny in Egypt demonstrated that in reality, they had provided him a great “credit” and benefit instead. Had it not been for them, he never would have ended up as the viceroy of Egypt.

The point is that Menashe possessed this ability to forgive and forget, to move on from the past and to view everything, even the adversities that one has suffered at the hands of others, to be part of the Divine plan and ultimately of benefit to oneself. This is probably the most important trait that one needs in order to be a bridge-builder and reconciler. One has to look past previous offenses and transgressions in order to create reconciliation and peace between two factions. This is why Menashe was chosen to be the tribe to create the bridge between both sides of the Jordan.

Letting Go Of the Baggage

Rabbeinu Bechaye provides a fascinating etymology to the term “בי נשא”. This is a phrase found in some versions of the ketubah, describing how the bride has come from her parents’ home. He suggests that this term is of the same root as the name Menashe, meaning to forget. When a man and woman get married, they need to put a certain amount of their past behind them in order to build a present and future with their spouse. This is certainly so when dealing with family and other loved ones. We must learn to put aside the acrimony and “baggage” of the past in order to properly build a healthy present and future.

I would suggest that there is no greater lesson for today, as we embark on the Nine Days of Av leading up to Tish’a B’Av. Let’s learn from the tribe of Menashe to be bridge-builders. Hopefully, with these lessons taken to heart, we can rebuild the Temple in time for Tish’a B’Av. May we see it, bb”a.

Seeing the Value in Tzelafchad’s Daughters and Ourselves

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

The daughters of Tzelafchad showed their great love and yearning for the Land of Israel by requesting an inheritance for their family of only daughters with no male heirs. After Moshe brought their petition to God, Hashem instructed him that for all time, whenever a man dies with only daughters, his daughters inherit his estate. So, too, the daughters of Tzelafchad were entitled to inherit their father’s portion in the Land. Immediately after this narrative, the Torah jumps to a dialogue between Hashem and Moshe (27:12): “עֲלֵה אֶל־הַר הָעֲבָרִים הַזֶּה” – “Ascend this mountain of the ‘Avarim (lit., the two sides).” You will be able to see the Land, but instead of entering the Land, you will die atop the mountain, because of your sin with the water at Mei Merivah (from Parshat Chukat).

Certainly, God is not cruel. Why, after instructing Moshe to bring the good tidings to Tzelafchad’s daughters about their award of a portion in the Land, did Hashem remind Moshe that he would NOT enter the Land because of his sin? Isn’t that just rubbing salt in the wound?

Rashi is sensitive to this question, and explains that because Hashem had just instructed Moshe to award Tzelafchad’s daughters a portion in Eretz Israel, Moshe made an assumption: since he had been the messenger to award them land, perhaps he’d be able to enter the Land in order to personally fulfill this charge. Hashem had to disabuse Moshe of any false impression, and therefore reminded him that he would, in fact, not be able to enter the Land.

Rashi’s explanation is fine, although some commentaries question why Moshe jumped to the assumption that just because he was delivering good news to the daughters, this signaled that he, too, might gain entry into the Land. Let us look a bit deeper and note something curious about the Torah’s text in the Tzelafchad’s daughters narrative.

The Letter “nun” – The Loneliest Number

After Tzelafchad’s daughters made their request, the Torah states (27:5): “וַיַּקְרֵב מֹשֶׁה אֶת־מִשְׁפָּטָן לִפְנֵי יְקֹוָק” – “Moshe brought their judgment before God.” In the Torah scroll, the letter “ן” is written larger than all the other letters. The commentaries try to understand the reason for this. What else do we know about the letter “nun”? We say the Ashrei prayer daily, which is written as an acrostic, starting with a line that begins with “aleph,” and ending with a line that begins with “tav.” The Talmud (TB Berachos 4b) notes that only one letter is not represented in this acrostic psalm, the letter “nun.” Why is the “nun” excluded?

The Maharal explains that the letter is unique in that when you line up all the Hebrew letters, including the “מנצפך” double letters, you end up with 27 letters of the aleph-bet. The 14th letter, the one letter in the very center, is the letter “nun,” making it the “odd man out,” so to speak. Furthermore, “nun” is 50 in gematria (numerology), which, when dealing with a decimal numerical system, can only be added to itself to arrive at the completion of the series, 100. That is, the letter “nun” represents a solitary, lonely letter, that doesn’t have any companions other than itself (If, as the old song goes, “One is the loneliest number,” then “nun” is the loneliest letter).

Ashrei is a prayer of Divine support and strength, and accordingly the letter “nun” which represents being alone without any support is the opposite of what Ashrei is meant to convey. This prayer instead affirms that we are always together with Hashem, and as a result we’ll always be provided for and protected.

Perhaps the daughters of Tzelafchad were trying to communicate that they knew that they were “loners.” They had no husbands and no children, and from a societal perspective, some might view them as having little independent worth. No one was supporting them or strengthening them; why should they receive a portion in the Land if they wouldn’t have the power or communal clout to properly build and cultivate their portion of land?

Out With the Old, In With the New

When they made their petition, Moshe pondered the situation, not knowing how to respond. On the one hand, it would be tragic for an entire family to be denied a portion of the Land. On the other hand, these women lacked the resources to properly maintain and develop their property on their own. As single women, how would they fend for themselves? Was it indeed appropriate for these people on the lower echelons of Jewish society to receive a portion of the Holy Land? Moshe genuinely didn’t know what to do, and so he presented this “shaila” of these loners to God. In other words, he brought the “משפט” of “ן” (“משפט-ן”) before Hashem.

As the commentaries note, Moshe was not denied entry in Eretz Israel as a punishment per se, but rather because his whole approach to his children, Bnei Israel, was “old school” and not what they needed to successfully conquer the Land. In order for the Jewish people to succeed, they would need to disperse from each other and learn how to gain a sense of individual personhood and independence.

While in the desert, our national persona was front and center, and each individual’s persona was all but invisible. But as we were about to enter the Land, it would be necessary for individuals to emerge as local and municipal leaders, and strong individual personalities would perforce emerge. Moshe was unaccustomed to this kind of frontier ruggedness that would emerge from individuals entering the Land. He still viewed his children as “sheep,” as he called them in our parsha (27:17).

Why Joshua And Not Moshe?

The whole reason why Moshe doubted the worthiness of Tzelafchad’s daughters, the reason why he presented their question to God and couldn’t answer them himself, is because he failed to see them as individuals, capable of taking the mantle of leadership and ownership of their property. Viewing them as just part of a larger flock, Moshe saw them as the weakest societal link.

That’s what made him the wrong person to help the Jews settle this new frontier. They instead needed a leader like Joshua, who was a “man with spirit in him” (27:18). That is, because he was a unique individual with a healthy sense of ego, he was able to see each individual as a powerful and unique person, who could accomplish great things independent of the collective.

Hashem’s reminder to Moshe that he could not enter Israel, and that he had to stand at the mountain of “two sides,” was reminding Moshe about his leadership style. You were great for “this side,” when the Jews were just finding themselves and needed to learn the Torah from you, their strong leader who knew how to lead a flock. But now that they’re going to the “other side,” they’ll need someone new, someone who could be approached by Tzelafchad’s daughters, who would immediately see their great grit and determination, and would unhesitatingly grant them a portion in the Land of Israel.

This is why this interchange between God and Moshe takes place right after the story of Tzelafchad’s daughters, allowing Moshe to better understand that he was being denied entry NOT because Hashem was angry with him, but because the Jewish people needed a new leader for their next chapter of growth.

Finding the Individual in Each of Us

Entering the Three Weeks, we’re meant to rectify the animus that lingers within us. We sometimes fail to see the value in others, because we scrutinize only their “social worth.” Someone may be single, divorced, widowed, too young, too old, look different from the norm, dress differently from others, speak differently, or in other ways may not match up to what a community deems to be of value.

These people may be invisible to us because we fail to see them as individuals, and base their worth only on their social standing. We also might superimpose a view of them when they were much younger and more immature, and not see them for who they are today. But if we truly seek to move forward and change for the better, we should try and see every single person standing before us as someone with infinite value because of their holy neshama, created in God’s image.

Let’s not misjudge others in the room. The overlooked are often the ones who have the most to contribute and we’d only stand to enrich ourselves by seeing them in a different light. May our efforts at accepting others without prejudgment lead to our Redemption by the end of this season, bb”a.

You Can’t Beat the System

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

PLEASE NOTE: Because of the timing of the end of Shavuot, this week Balak is the Parsha in Israel and Chukat-Balak in the Diaspora. For the Parshat Chukat dvar Torah please click here.

Why Do We Need the Backstory

Although the story of Balaam and his attempt to curse the Jewish people contains multiple parts, we can boil the story down to two main sections: The first half of the story is the precursor and setup for the main event. It’s all about how Balaam had to be cajoled by Balak and his men to curse Bnei Israel, how he eventually traveled towards the Israelite camp – despite some bumps and obstacles along the road – and finally, how he prepared to curse them by constructing altars in an attempt to channel spiritual forces. The second part of the story is really the main event: the narrative of the actual words that Balaam pronounced. He attempted to curse Bnei Israel multiple times, but each time, words of blessing came out instead.

We certainly understand why the second part of the story is recorded in the Torah. Some of the most important and poignant pronouncements about the special character of the Jewish people and our relationship to Hashem are recorded in this section. But why is Balaam’s journey toward his destination so important as to occupy the entire first half of the parsha?

Let’s first note something about Balaam that is not clearly delineated in our text. Balaam was renowned as a powerful sorcerer. In fact, in recapping the story of Balaam and how he met his demise, the book of Joshua (13:22) identifies Balaam as “Balaam the sorcerer.” Furthermore, the Torah tells us that when Balak’s men came to greet Balaam they had (22:7) “קְסָמִים בְּיָדָם,” sorcerer’s tools with them. According to Rashi and others, they knew that Balaam was a sorcerer, and so they brought along some of his tools of the trade so that he’d be able to depart with them immediately without delay, and curse the Jews.

Balaam Not New to the Scene

Additionally, there are some extremely rich and fanciful Midrashim about Balaam. The Midrash states that when Moshe and Aharon first came to Pharaoh’s court demanding that he free the Jews, Balaam was one of those unnamed chief magicians present (the “חרטומי מצרים”, as in Ex. 7:11). Together with his two sons, Jannes and Jambres, Balaam succeeded in replicating many of the early miracles that Moshe performed in Egypt, including turning staffs into serpents.

The end of our parsha depicts how the Midianite women seduced Jewish men to sin, which caused thousands of men to die in a plague. This devious tactic of getting Jews to sin was concocted by Balaam. Perhaps the most fantastical imagery of sorcery depicted by the Midrash (see Rashi to 31:6) is when Balaam was being pursued by Pinchas in order to avenge the deaths that Balaam had caused. Balaam knew how to fly by means of sorcery, and so he took flight into the clouds in order to escape being captured. Pinchas had a trick or two up his sleeve as well. He flashed the Kohen Gadol’s “Tzitz,” the forehead plate, up at Balaam. One look at the Tzitz caused Balaam’s magic to fail, and he fell to the earth.

The Zohar relates that even after Balaam was captured, the Jewish leaders tried all types of weapons to kill Balaam, but his magic was so strong that no matter how much they tried, he wouldn’t die! Pinchas gave a special magic sword to Tzalya from the tribe of Dan. On each side of the sword was engraved the image of a serpent, and it was only through this sword that Balaam was able to be finally executed (Balaam’s death by the sword is recorded in Num. 31:8).

A New Test Upon Entering the Land

What are we to make of all this? I believe that Chazal are communicating to us why Balaam came into the lives of the Jewish people right before they were to enter Eretz Israel. When a person stands at the precipice of a truly formidable new chapter of his life, where one will have to work hard, and there is a chance that they may fail in their new endeavor, all kinds of negative thoughts come into one’s head. Besides fearing failure, a person may be tempted to try any shortcut he can in order to succeed. Instead of the hard work I know it will take in order to succeed, maybe I can figure out an angle to make myself look good, or figure out some way how to cheat the system, so that I’ll emerge with the same outcome without having to put in all that work.

Hashem wanted the Jewish people to know: while there are people like that in the world, that’s not what I expect of you. As Balaam himself remarked about the Jewish people (23:23) “כִּי לֹא־נַחַשׁ בְּיַעֲקֹב וְלֹא־קֶסֶם בְּיִשְׂרָאֵל” – “There is no divination in Jacob, no sorcery in Israel.” That is, despite the temptation to imitate those who look for easy shortcuts, the Jewish people put in an honest day’s work instead. We don’t seek the easy way out or try to beat the system. Especially when we were about to enter the Promised Land, when we would face formidable enemies and would have to be diligent in our efforts, this was an important message for our people to hear.

The Midrashim that depict Balaam as the snake-associated sorcerer who knows how to fly are cuing us into the personality of Balaam. Here was a man who was always looking for an angle of how to beat the system. Human flight in particular was a common motif in ancient and medieval mythological literature. Many such stories, like that of the Greek legend of Icarus, describe a tragic hero who used flight in an attempt to transcend the normal constraints placed upon a person who wishes to succeed. When the individual finds the normal path to success too slow and laborious, he “takes flight” and tries to circumvent the normal path, which usually ends with tragic results.

Putting in An Honest Day’s Work

This is the story of Balaam, and it is a cautionary tale to the Jewish people: Stop trying to beat the system. You won’t be able to conquer Eretz Israel through magic or other means that haven’t been endorsed by Hashem. The only way to succeed is to embrace the Torah and its prescriptions for success. Do the mitzvot, fear G-d, deal honestly in your business affairs, put in an honest day’s work, and you will do just fine. It may not be as easy, flashy, or impressive as other methods, but in the end it is the only means to true success.

I believe that this is why so much space is devoted to Balaam’s journey. He was such a twisted personality, always trying to figure out a new angle. He tried it with Balak’s men, and he tried it with the angel that he encountered on the road with his talking donkey. In these brief vignettes leading up to the actual blessings uttered by Balaam, we get a glimpse of why he was such a tragic figure who was doomed to failure. His constant efforts at trying to buck the system would inevitably cause his tragic downfall.

The Jewish community has its share of “shvitzers,” a term for ambitious young men who seek to make a quick buck by figuring out an angle to beat the system. Unfortunately, there are too many stories of members of our faith who failed in these efforts, and also the fallout to others who got caught up in these schemes. The story of Balaam reminds us that there is no way to circumvent Hashem’s intended path for each and every one of us. You may think you can slip through like a slithering serpent, or fly above the road when everyone else is walking down it. But in the end, Hashem runs the world and even the greatest sleight of hand will eventually catch up with you.

May we succeed in proceeding in a straight line, putting one foot in front of the other, and putting in one honest day’s work after another, toward success in our professional and spiritual lives. May our efforts bring us admiration from both G-d and men. May this admirable trait of the Jewish people bring us to Redemption, bb”a.

Instead of Knocking Down, Build People Up

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

PLEASE NOTE: Because of the timing of the end of Shavuot, Chukat is the Parsha this week in Israel and next week in the Diaspora. For Parshat Korach (this week in the Diaspora) please click here.

Miriam, Mei Merivah & Esav

Parshas Chukas picks up at the 40th year of the Jews’ sojourn in the desert (Ibn Ezra). The nation is getting very close to the end of their journey, and we read in these final parshios of Bamidbar some of the growing pains involved in getting ready for the nation’s imminent entry into Eretz Israel.

After Miriam dies, the events of Mei Merivah, where Moshe drew water from the rock, transpire (ch. 20). While unclear from the passages, Moshe and Aharon did something very wrong in Hashem’s view, and were therefore punished with being denied entry into the Promised Land. Immediately after the story of Mei Merivah, we read that Moshe sent emissaries from Kadesh, where the Jews were encamped, to the King of Edom, asking him for passage through his land (20:14). The King of Edom flatly refused and even threatened war if the Jews would attempt to tread on his soil. Because Edom were the descendants of Esav, our mishpacha, Hashem had instructed Moshe (as detailed in Deut. 2:2-6) that we could not provoke or in any way intimidate Esav’s descendants, and so we had to retreat. Our question is: why are these two stories connected? Why does the Torah connect the story of Moshe’s and Aharon’s failure at Mei Merivah to the story of having to circumvent Esav’s land?

The Midrash (Bamidbar Rabbah 19:15) answers this question by stating that this underscores Moshe’s piety, with a parable: Revuen entrusts his friend Shimon to invest his life savings. Shimon ends up losing all of Reuven’s money. The normal reaction of Reuven would be to seek to avoid Shimon and have nothing to do with him. But Moshe was different; even though he was punished because of the Jewish people, this didn’t stop him from loving them and wishing to take care of them. Even though he could not enter Eretz Israel, this would not stop him from trying to get them there as quickly and directly as possible, even if it meant ingratiating himself to the hostile Edomites. This Midrash is a beautiful message which contains a valuable lesson in leadership.

The Impact of Mei Merivah on the People

We offer a different possible connection. We can learn the nature of Moshe’s and Aharon’s sin by looking at the aftereffects and how the sin impacted Bnei Israel. Let’s examine the passages carefully: The story starts with “Moshe” first sending a message via proxies (20:17): “Let us pass through your land; we will not pass through field or vineyard, nor will we drink any well water. We will only walk on the king’s road. We will not veer to the right or left until after we pass through your land.” King of Edom refuses, saying (20:18), “You will not pass through me, lest I come out against you with the sword.”

But then, the story continues with not “Moshe,” but this time “Bnei Israel” sending a second petition (20:19): “Bnei Israel said to him: Let us pass through your back roads. If we drink any of your water, we’ll pay for it. It’s no big deal: I’ll just pass through by foot.” Why the second request? And, why in the first request did Moshe insist that they wouldn’t drink any water, but in the second request Bnei Israel said that whatever water they’d drink they’d pay for?

Here is where we learn about the demoralizing effect upon the people at Mei Merivah. Hashem had instructed Moshe to speak to the rock and it would miraculously flow its water. This was meant to be a lesson to the Jewish people, that at this stage of their development and maturation, now in their 40th year, they had truly grown up. Just as a mature child should be reasoned with and not brow-beaten, the Jews were now fully developed and ready to enter the Promised Land. But instead, Moshe struck the rock. This gave the Jewish people the false impression that they were still childlike and undeveloped. This made them feel unprepared and unconfident about their future. They weren’t even sure how long the water would continue to flow from the rock.

Insecurity in Bnei Yisrael

Moshe made his request on behalf of the princely Jewish people: “Let us pass through your land. We are the people of miracles and do not require any of your water, since we’ll be traveling with our own miraculous water supply. We are an exalted nation, who should only travel on the ‘King’s road,’ the path for sophisticates and aristocrats.” When the King of Edom refused, the rest of Bnei Israel thought that maybe if they made a more humble request they’d stand a better chance. They didn’t esteem themselves in the same way as Moshe had portrayed them. They therefore requested, “At least grant us passage through your back roads. We might need water on the way (since we’re not confident that our miraculous water supply will hold out), but we promise to pay for whatever we take. It’s no big deal to let a humble group such as ours walk through in this way!”

Sensing their lack of confidence in that second request, the King of Edom not only threatened them, but this time actually came out with an army, ready to attack. It was this weakness and lack of confidence that Moshe had signaled to the Jewish people which made it impossible for him to lead them into and conquer the Land, since he still saw the nation as his child-like students. Bnei Israel needed a new leader who would instill within them the confidence they needed to be great conquerors. This is why the story of Mei Merivah precedes our story; it is to demonstrate why Hashem was so harsh with Moshe and Aharon in denying them entry in Eretz Israel. Here is a concrete example of how their action at Mei Merivah left the people insecure and unconfident.

Confidence and Lack of

The Torah provides us with a very tangible lesson in how to build up our children and others under our influence. If we signal to them that we lack confidence in them, they will lack confidence in themselves. We should try our best to build our children up and express to them our confidence in their abilities. When children and young adults have low self-esteem, they feel unloved and unhappy with themselves. They fear taking risks, which is necessary for achieving excellence. We should instead give them a message of, “You can do it!” and then step aside so that they have the space to spread their wings.

Some have suggested that we live in an over-coddling age, where our children are smothered by their parents. They become “snowflakes” who are easily hurt and cannot tolerate confrontation and dissenting ideas. This not only engenders intolerance; it also signals to our children that we don’t have the confidence that they can handle adversity and take on formidable situations in life. There is no greater disservice to our children than making them feel that they can’t handle the world on their own.

May our children realize the confidence they need to be successful adults and successful servants of G-d. May we all have the confidence in ourselves and our people to realize together the Redemption, bb”a.

We’re All Responsible for Each Other

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

PLEASE NOTE: Because of the timing of the end of Shavuot, Korach is the Parsha this week in Israel and next week in the Diaspora. For Parshat Shelach (this week in the Diaspora) please click here.

We’re all familiar with the Talmudic aphorism (TB Shavuos 39a), “כל ישראל ערבים זה בזה” – All Israel are responsible for each other. This ‘Arevut, or acceptance of responsibility for each other’s behavior, is embedded within several verses of the Torah.

An example of just how far this communal responsibility goes can be found in the story of ‘Achan (Joshua ch. 7). When destroying the city of Jericho, Joshua declared that all the contents of the city were to be dedicated to Hashem, and that no one was permitted to take any of the spoils for themselves. Scripture (7:1) relates that “The children of Israel violated the ban on the spoils,” but in reality, only one man, ‘Achan, secretly took some of the spoils for himself. As a result, Hashem punished the entire nation.

The next battle the army fought suffered 36 casualties as a result. When asked why this happened, Hashem responded to Joshua, “Israel has sinned, and violated my covenant” by taking the spoils.

Communal Responsibility

This idea of communal responsibility seems deeply ingrained within our people. That is why it is so strange to encounter a passage where the leaders of Israel imply the opposite. After Korach gathered a group of 250 men with censor pans to rebel against the leadership, Hashem told Moshe and Aharon that they should separate from the people so that He might destroy them (16:21). Moshe and Aharon fell on their faces, and beseeched Hashem to change his mind, saying (16:22):

אֵל אֱלֹהֵי הָרוּחֹת לְכָל־בָּשָׂר הָאִישׁ אֶחָד יֶחֱטָא וְעַל כָּל־הָעֵדָה תִּקְצֹף

Lord! The G-d who knows the thoughts of all flesh. Shall one man sin and You become wrathful against the whole congregation!?

How do we make sense of this challenge? After all, Hashem was only proposing that which was already made known, that in Judaism, we are responsible for each other! If Korach and his men were sinning, then the rest of the community should have to bear some level of responsibility. Why were they arguing to the contrary?

What’s even more astonishing is a Midrash which discusses this idea of ‘Arevut. The Midrash quotes our verse, “Shall one man sin,” etc., but instead of reading it as a rhetorical question, the Midrash reads it as a statement of fact: “When one man sins, You, Hashem, become wrathful against the whole congregation.”

It then offers a parable to demonstrate the point: A group of people are all sitting in a boat. One man pulls out a drill and starts drilling a hole beneath him. His friends say, “What are you doing?!” He responds, “What do you care? I’m just drilling beneath my own seat!” They justifiably respond that by drilling a hole underneath his seat, he will sink the entire boat. How can the Midrash take a verse which argues against communal responsibility and use it to support that very value?!

Collective Punishment

I asked my two teenaged sons if they could help me answer the question. I posed the following to them: Let’s say one of your classmates in yeshiva commits some kind of infraction. Under what circumstances would you feel it fair for the entire yeshiva to be punished for that action, and under what circumstances would you feel that the sole perpetrator should be singled out for retribution? They answered that it depended on the type of crime committed. If the young man did something that was so out of character from the rest of the yeshiva, the yeshiva had done nothing to contribute to this person’s behavior, and the person’s behavior is not representative of the yeshiva, then it was not fair to punish the rest of the yeshiva. If, for example, the boy was caught in a night club in Tel Aviv, sans kippah, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, this would not be a case of ruining the yeshiva’s reputation and the young man should be expelled and the rest of the yeshiva left alone.

But if the young man’s behavior is in some way reflective of a certain character flaw that may exist within others in the yeshiva, and if this person’s action is a stain on the entire yeshiva, it would be fair for everyone in the yeshiva to bear responsibility.

Let’s say, for example, the young man went to Ben Yehuda St. with his yeshiva garb and then started smoking, drinking, and fraternizing with girls. This flagrant and open behavior indicates that there’s something amiss within the yeshiva culture, and the whole yeshiva would have to be disciplined, not just the young man in question.

One Bad Apple

Their response was helpful to me, in that it suggests that sometimes collective punishment is fair, and sometimes it’s not. In the case of ‘Achan, we’d surmise that he was doing something that was on the mind of a lot of people. His action did not occur in a vacuum, and it also reflected badly on the rest of the nation. This is why collective punishment was justified in that situation. Moshe and Aharon were arguing to the G-d who is described in the verse as “אֱלֹהֵי הָרוּחֹת לְכָל־בָּשָׂר” – the G-d who knows man’s innermost thoughts. You, Hashem, know that the Jewish people in general were never thinking about an insurrection against us. Korach is a sole bad apple who has incited others through his rhetoric and charm. His crime is not reflective of the true character of the people, and they therefore do not deserve to be punished.

It would seem to me that there’s one more distinction to be made in our story. In other cases where collective punishment is doled out against the people, the leaders weren’t warned in advance about G-d’s plan. However, in this case, Hashem notified Moshe and Aharon that He was about to destroy the entire congregation. This was a subtle cue to Moshe and Aharon that they were meant to intercede on behalf of the people (the same can be said of other episodes where Hashem tells Moshe that He’s about to destroy the people, as in the sin of the Golden Calf and the sin of the Spies).

This seems to indicate that during this incipient stage of learning about what it means to be a Jew, Hashem was patient with the Jewish people and was willing to extend to them an allowance of making mistakes that could be atoned by the proper corrective actions. Hashem was implying to Moshe: In reality, the entire congregation deserves to be punished. But this is still a foreign concept to this first generation of Jews. Let them know what they deserve, so that in the future if one of them sins, they should know that they will all have to bear responsibility.

Communal Responsibility

In this sense, Moshe and Aharon’s words were both a rhetorical question AND a statement of fact. For this first, innocent generation of early Jews, it was meant rhetorically. They weren’t yet versed in the ways of G-d and communal responsibility, and so it wasn’t fair to collectively punish them. But it was a statement of fact for future generations, who would be more aware of the Torah’s teachings, as well as feel a natural sense of kinship with the rest of their countrymen. This explains how the Midrash could turn Moshe and Aharon’s rhetorical question, “Shall one man sin and You become wrathful against the whole congregation!?” into an affirmative statement.

One might with to consider the issue of communal responsibility in light of every shul’s individual culture. If a small group of people speak in shul during tefillah, then it depends on what the synagogue’s culture is to determine whether this is a communal problem or that of individuals. If the behavior is considered normal for that congregation, then there may be something amiss in the entire congregation. If it’s an aberration of the kehillah’s decorum, that’s an entirely different story. It’s really up to all of us, members of our respective kehillot, to make things right. Let’s be mindful of how we can maintain the holiness and decorum of our Mikdash Me’at.

May we continue our holy journey together as a community, until we return to the Holy Land and Redemption, bb”a.

All Change is Difficult and Scary

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

PLEASE NOTE: Because of the timing of the end of Shavuot, Shelach is the Parsha this week in Israel and next week in the Diaspora. For Parshat Beha’alotecha (this week in the Diaspora) please click here.

Fear of change

We encounter different historical periods that represent quantum leaps of advancement. Some leaps are technological: The development of tools in the Bronze Age was one such leap; the printing press of the 15th century was another; another was the industrial revolution of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Other civilizational leaps occurred in the realm of social structures and ideologies. Written language, created some time around 3200 BCE, was one such game-changer. Demonstration of a heliocentric model for the sun and planets in the 16th century was another. For the Jewish people, the most pivotal era of ideological quantum advancement and change was probably the 40-year sojourn in the desert.

Change can be frightening. Man tends to be more at ease when surrounded by things and experiences that are familiar to him. Changes to those surroundings – even when the changes are positive – can be disorienting and threatening. Gutenberg’s printing press was attacked by monks in the 15th century because they believed that mass production of the Bible by machine would (a) put monks out of work and make them lazy, and (b) put the Bible in the hands of common folk, who weren’t sophisticated enough to interpret the Bible properly. In retrospect, we realize just how absurd these criticisms were. Fear of change has always been the driving force behind resisting advancement, and it continues to this day with what is called “techno-panic.”

A Traumatized Nation

The Jewish people also harbored this great fear, as they were undergoing so many changes all at once. Not only had they been violently ripped from their homes in Egypt; their whole societal system was evolving from a slave class to independent land owners. While an outsider could see how glorious this change was, we can only imagine the great trepidation the Jews experienced when considering all of these changes occurring in such a short span of time. This helps us at least sympathize with their anxious response when hearing the ten Spies’ negative report.

In looking carefully at their report, we note that at no point did the Spies ever dispute the fact that the Land was, as Hashem had promised, a “land flowing with milk and honey.” They used those very words to describe how lush and plentiful the land was, and even brought back produce to prove that point (13:27). In fact, their main complaint was not at all about the quality of the Land, but rather the fearsomeness of the inhabitants. “אֶפֶס כִּי־עַז הָעָם הַיֹּשֵׁב בָּאָרֶץ וְהֶעָרִים בְּצֻרוֹת גְּדֹלֹת מְאֹד וְגַם־יְלִדֵי הָעֲנָק רָאִינוּ שָׁם” – “The only thing is, the indigenous nation is strong. The cities are well-fortified, and we saw members of the [fierce] ‘Anak family there.” They further complained about the Amalekites, a hostile nation they had already encountered in the desert, as well as all the other formidable Canaanite tribes (13:27-28).

The Report of the Meraglim

The only statement we can point to where the Spies criticized the actual land is their words (13:32), “אֶרֶץ אֹכֶלֶת יוֹשְׁבֶיהָ הִוא” which is usually translated as, “It is a land that consumes its inhabitants.” But Rabbi Joseph ibn Caspi was bothered by this reading. How could they contradict their own glowing report of the beautiful land just a few verses earlier? He instead translated the verse as, “The inhabitants of the Land are consumers.” Instead of “the Land consumes its inhabitants,” it’s rather “the inhabitants consume their Land.” That is, even though the land produces a tremendous amount of bounty, the inhabitants are of such great size and strength, that they have ravenous appetites and consume everything that the Land produces. With this translation, the Spies’ never disparaged the Land itself.

This reading is quite revealing, because it not only was an intimidating testament of how powerful the indigenous tribes of Eretz Israel were. It was also a suggestion that by entering the Land of Israel, we, too, Bnei Israel – even if we do succeed in our conquest – might fall prey to the allure of the Land just as its current inhabitants have. They have become gluttonous consumers of the flowing milk and honey of the Land; what will become of us? Will we not also become the same insatiably hungry nation? Will our wealth and opulence do us in?! This was yet one more frightening adjustment that the Jews realized that they’d need to make, a socio-economic change from being impoverished slaves to wealthy and indulgent land barons.

Work Ethic and Purpose

This reading also provides a new meaning to their expressed fear about their wives and children (14:3): “נָשֵׁינוּ וְטַפֵּנוּ יִהְיוּ לָבַז”. While Onkelos understands the word “לָבַז” as “being taken captives,” the word can also mean “disgrace.” Perhaps what they were saying is that if the Land is so plentiful, then our success will be our failure. Our wives and children will lose their work ethic and become disgraceful couch potatoes instead. We should return to Egypt, so that we can instill within our children the ethic of an honest day’s hard work.

In this sense, Hashem’s decree that they would have to wander the desert for forty years wasn’t so much a punishment but a necessary waiting period of maturation and evolution. Seeing how the people couldn’t handle such a sudden shock to their infrastructures, Hashem decreed that entry into the Land would have to take an entire generation of adjustment before the next generation would be ready to become land owners.

After Hashem’s decree, the Torah details many mitzvos having to do with korbanos (sacrifices) and tithing. This makes sense if the fear of the Jews was that their newfound wealth would corrupt them. Hashem’s response to this legitimate concern was that while wealth can corrupt, it can also be used for very positive things, like bringing gifts from one’s blessings to Hashem and to the Kohanim. The Torah also repeats the laws of the sinner’s sacrifice, to remind the people that while wealth can induce sin, it’s also possible to atone for sin by using that very wealth.

The “מקשש”

This reading may also explain why our parsha concludes with the story of the “מקשש”, the person who violated Shabbos by gathering sticks. Why did he do it, especially in light of our Sages’ teaching that he was forewarned that his act was a violation of the Torah? Many of our Sages understand that he acted “l’shem Shamayim,” with virtuous intentions. He wanted Bnei Israel to witness that although they were not entering the Promised Land, the mitzvos were still binding upon them.

Perhaps a deeper meaning to his “l’shem Shamayim” was that he wanted to remind Bnei Israel that while their concern about excessive wealth was founded, they also needed to remember that if Hashem is bringing us to a luxurious Land where we’ll be able to occasionally rest, then it is something we can handle. Look how He commanded us to observe Shabbos, a day where we must desist from all work and resist the virtuous impulse for productivity. Note that the only other time that the verb “קשש” is used in the Torah is back in Exodus (5:7 and 5:12) when the Jewish slaves in Egypt were commanded to gather straw to make bricks for their taskmasters.

This man’s stick-gathering was to remind the Jews that hard work should not be romanticized to the point where we forget the suffering we experienced when hard work was taken to the extreme.

We’ve undergone multiple societal paradigm shifts in the last few years. These changes have brought an accompanying anxiety and fear to many within the civilized world. This anxiety has manifested in so many different ways, and it’s been important for the grown-ups in the room to try and restore a sense of calm and normalcy.

A Beautiful Future

Change also occurs within Jewish community. Communities invariably grow, shrink, integrate, or disintegrate. Let’s all try to respond to those changes with positivity and optimism. If you question the change, consider to yourself: Is my criticism founded on a genuine grievance that the change is a bad one? Or, am I romanticizing a past that was beautiful when it existed, but that cannot or will not be any longer?

May we learn to welcome change as part of Hashem’s unfolding plan of ultimate Redemption, may we see it, bb”a.

When the Right Instincts Kick In

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

PLEASE NOTE: Because of the timing of the end of Shavuot, Beha’alotecha is the Parsha this week in Israel and next week in the Diaspora. For Parshat Naso (this week in the Diaspora) please click here.

Miriam loved her little brother Moshe like a mother loves a child. She was the same Miriam who hid in the bulrushes all those years ago when baby Moshe was placed in the basket in Nile River. Her disparagement of her brother was made out of love and a concern that maybe he had gone off the deep end in some way, and that he was being excessive in his religious commitment as spiritual leader of the people. Nonetheless, she was punished with leprosy for having misunderstood who her brother really was, and slandering him to their brother, Aharon, in the process.

Seeing how his sister had been afflicted, Moshe cried out to Hashem with a five-word prayer (12:13): “אֵל נָא רְפָא נָא לָהּ: ” – “G-d, please, heal, please, her.” Some commentaries understand that Moshe used this word “נא” in his prayer twice, because the word has a dual meaning. “נא” means “please,” and it also means “now.” It seems that this word expresses the emotional desperation of its utterer, and a need which can be fulfilled by the person being petitioned. At the same time, it lets the listener know that there’s a timely urgency to that plea. Moshe was beseeching Hashem to heal her immediately, so that she wouldn’t have to undergo the humiliation of being sequestered outside the camp. Hashem responded aptly that Miriam needed to undergo some level of penance in order to expiate her sin. This is why, although Hashem did heal her, the second “נא” request of healing her immediately could not be fulfilled.

Short but Sweet

Rashi asks an interesting question: Why was Moshe’s recorded prayer so short? Why did he only devote five words of entreaty for his beloved sister? Was it because he resented the lashon hara? No, not Moshe. As a matter of fact, the Alshich understands the double usage of the word “נא” as a way of expressing to Hashem: “I know that Miriam has offended both You and me through her slander. Let’s both You and I forgive Miriam for her trespass, one ‘נא’ for You, and one ‘נא’ for me.”

Rashi instead offers two answers as to what Moshe intended by such a short prayer: (1) There’s a time for prayer and a time for action. Miriam needs to be placed into isolation and only then can she heal. I will therefore shorten my prayer so that we can address Miriam’s remedy with the greatest immediacy. (2) I’m concerned that if I pray lengthily for Miriam, the people looking on will think I care more about my own sister than I do about them. They will feel estranged from me and will be demoralized. I cannot afford to spend more time on my sister than on my “flock.” I need to show them that they are no less important than my sister.

Prayer vs Action

We find a fascinating parallel between this story and a story that occurred back when the Jews were first leaving Egypt. Let’s recall that the Jews found themselves trapped, with the Egyptians pursuing them from the rear and the Red Sea blocking their passage from the front. Hashem said to Moshe (Ex. 14:15) “מַה־תִּצְעַק אֵלָי דַּבֵּר אֶל־בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל וְיִסָּעוּ” – “Why are you crying out to Me? Tell Bnei Israel to go!” Notice that the very same verb of “צעק” is used in both passages, both when Moshe was crying out to Hashem to save the trapped Jews, and when crying out to Hashem to save Miriam.

Rashi comments on the words in Shemos, “מַה־תִּצְעַק אֵלָי” – “Why are you crying out?” with the following two explanations: (1) There’s a time for prayer and a time for action. The Jews need to act by proceeding forward into the Sea. You, Moshe, should therefore curtail your prayer and have them act. (2) If you pray lengthily for Bnei Israel, they will think that I’m only saving them because of your prayer, and not because I, as their loving G-d, actually care about them. That will make them feel estranged from Me and demoralized. I need to show them that they are important to Me, independent of your efforts on their behalf.

Effective Prayer

We see an uncanny similarity, both in the verses themselves, and in Rashi’s commentary. In both cases, we first learn a theological lesson about when prayer is to be used effectively. Only after you’ve exhausted all other intercessional efforts should you expend energy on lengthy prayer. But if there’s something proactive that you can do to alleviate the current plight, it’s not appropriate to take away time from that endeavor in order to pray. The second lesson is one of leadership, in that in both cases, the leader wished to provide assurances to his people that he loved them and cared for them.

Perhaps this is the reason why Moshe’s short prayer was recorded in the text in the first place. After all, the Torah did not record Moshe’s plea to Hashem at the Sea; it simply states that Hashem said to him, “Why are you crying out?” Why were the words of Moshe’s plea recorded here, when he was praying for Miriam? Consider what Miriam’s complaint against Moshe was in the first place: Moshe is acting as if he’s too holy and exalted for this terrestrial plane. As our Sages explain, Miriam felt that Moshe was incorrect in divorcing his wife and living a life of celibacy. “We, too, have been spoken to by G-d, and we’ve been able to maintain our prosaic marriages and lives. Why should Moshe feel he’s any different?” Hashem responded that Moshe was, indeed, on a completely different plane of holiness and Divine communication from all other prophets. He had transcended his humanity and was now much closer to level of the Divine than any other human being.

Close to the Divine

As a way of demonstrating this, Hashem chose to record Moshe’s very petition on behalf of his sister: See how his very attitude during his prayer demonstrates his newfound closeness to G-d. Previously, Moshe had to be instructed about when to pray and when to act. Previously, Hashem had to teach Moshe about how a leader needs to model his love and care for his flock. But look at Moshe now: He is so close to the Divine, in his fulfillment of imitatio Dei, in walking in G-d’s ways, that he intuitively and extemporaneously knew that he had to shorten his prayer. This act in itself demonstrates how different Moshe is from other human beings. He has fully internalized Divine behavior into the very fabric of his being.

Many of us remember the “Miracle on the Hudson” in 2009, when pilot Sully Sullenberger was able to successfully emergency land a plane on the Hudson River after striking a flock of birds and losing all engine power. At the time, one rabbi wrote that he was unimpressed by Sully’s heroic act because it was all done in a split second and no moral forethought was involved. Another rabbi responded with a scathing critique of the first rabbi, pointing out, correctly, that the years of training that Sully underwent to anticipate such an emergency demonstrates a moral courage that was so deeply embedded within the man, that it emerged spontaneously during that split second when it was needed. The same can be said about Moshe: he had so internalized the theological and moral lessons of Hashem and His ways, that even during an emotionally turbulent event of his sister falling ill, he was able to instinctively imitate Hashem.

The Cumulative Effect of Prayer

This is truly an admirable trait, and it is why we spend our entire lives engrossed in Torah study, prayer, and acts of kindness. We may not realize the cumulative effects that these behaviors have upon us, but rest assured that at those crucial moments in life, when we are called upon to act instinctively without the opportunity for premeditation, our Torah values and past behaviors kick in and cause us to act with virtue and in keeping with our tradition.

May we always rise to the call should it ever be needed, and may our Judaism be so deeply embedded so that it become second nature for us to walk in Hashem’s ways. May that commitment to the Torah lifestyle bring us ever closer to Redemption, bb”a.

Wondrous and Wonderful

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

PLEASE NOTE: Because of the timing of the end of Shavuot, Naso is the Parsha this week in Israel and next week in the Diaspora.

The word “פלא”

There’s a Hebrew word that keeps appearing in the context of the Nazir, the man or woman who takes a vow of abstinence from wine and hair grooming. The word is “פלא,” and it’s usually translated as a “wonder” or something out of the ordinary. For example, the very first time it appears in Tanakh is when Sarah laughed at the prospect of having a child at the age of 90. Hashem said to Avraham (Gen. 18:14): “הֲיִפָּלֵא מֵיְקֹוָק דָּבָר” – “Is anything too wondrous for G-d?!” And yet, in the context of the Nazir, the word is used to describe his or her vow of Nazirism (6:2):

דַּבֵּר אֶל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְאָמַרְתָּ אֲלֵהֶם אִישׁ אוֹ־אִשָּׁה כִּי יַפְלִא לִנְדֹּר נֶדֶר נָזִיר לְהַזִּיר לַיקֹוָק

Speak to Bnei Israel and say to them: When a man or woman wishes to utter a vow of Nazirism to become a Nazir to Hashem.

The word “פלא” is also used twice in the book of Vayikra to describe a pledge to the Temple, once for a sacrificial pledge (22:21), and once for an “’erchin” pledge, when one pledges a valuation to the Temple (27:2). Why is a word that describes “wonder” used to define to Temple pledges?

Shimshon’s birth

Furthermore, our Haftarah (from Judges 13) discusses the story of Shimshon’s birth, and how an angel came to Manoach and his wife to portend the birth of their son, and that he would need to be a lifelong Nazir from birth. In this narrative, the word “פלא” oddly appears twice. The angel first promises Manoach and his wife that they will have a very special son and that he must be a Nazir his whole life. When Manoach asks the angel his name, the angel responds (Jud. 13:18): “לָמָּה זֶּה תִּשְׁאַל לִשְׁמִי וְהוּא־פֶלִאי:” – “Why are you asking my name? It is wondrous!”

In the next verse, Manoach places a sacrificial offering to Hashem on a rock. The verse then says (13:19), “וּמַפְלִא לַעֲשׂוֹת” – “he,” ostensibly the angel, performed miraculous wonders by causing a fire to come down and consume the sacrifice, while Manoah and his wife looked on. There seems to be a clear correlation between Nazirism and this word for both “wonder” and “pledge.”

It would seem that this word “פלא” is descriptive of doing something extraordinary that transcends the nature of either the doer or the natural order of things. When Hashem is described as an (Ex. 15:11) “עֹשֵׂה פֶלֶא” – “a Doer of wonders,” it is in the context of His splitting of the Red Sea. This is where Hashem took a completely inanimate body of water, and brought it to life and had it do something which was completely against its nature. When a person takes a pledge to transcend their nature, they are doing something wondrous.

Just as a person who achieves an extraordinary athletic feat, like breaking a world record for speed for jumping, has done something “wondrous,” so, too, a person who goes beyond their own natural desires and tendencies, by taking a vow of abstinence, by giving up something of value for G-d, or by using a physical item for purely spiritual purposes, they are “מפליא,” doing something “wondrous.”

The Physical and Spiritual Working in Harmony

Another thing that goes against the natural order is bringing together the physical and the spiritual and having them work in harmony. This is why our Sages instituted a blessing that contains this word “פלא”, when describing the wonders of the human body. All of us have souls that occupy our bodies and animate our lifeless shells in a truly “wondrous” hybridization between the spiritual and the physical. The human body, in this sense, is truly “wondrous.”

That is why, after using the bathroom, a person proclaims their wonder and gratitude over this miraculous body that Hashem gave us, by saying, “רופא כל בשר ומפליא לעשות” – Blessed are you Hashem, who heals all flesh and acts wondrously. It is just as wondrous for the body to stay tethered to the spiritual soul as it is for the soul to remain tethered to the physical body.

The Nazir is truly “wondrous,” in that he or she transcends their instinctive tendencies for the physical. This is why an angel appeared to Manoach and his wife to portend Shimshon’s birth. An angel is a purely spiritual being, and his very presence in announcing the birth was a message that this child would need to transcend his physical tendency in order to fulfill his task of leading the Jewish people, at a particularly precarious juncture in the history of the nascent Jewish nation. That is why, when asked his name, the angel responded, “וְהוּא־פֶלִאי” – my name is my function – to provide the impetus to make sure that your son does wondrous things with his life! This is also why the next verse states, “וּמַפְלִא לַעֲשׂוֹת” – “he was doing wonders.”

This ambiguous phrase refers to both the angel, who performed spiritual manipulations of the physical, and Manoach, who, through his offering was performing physical manipulations of the spiritual. Once the angel created this exchange with his human counterpart, he knew that his task was completed and he could depart back to the heavens, which is described as a miraculous spectacle of the angel ascending through the fire of the altar in the very next verse (13:20).

Physicality from a Place of Spiritual Holiness

In the times of Shimshon, the Jews needed a savior who would manifest as a physically powerful being but would do so from a place of spiritual holiness. They needed this wondrous hybridization of the body and the soul, in order to impress upon them that they could physically defeat their Philistine enemies, but that their strength lay in their spiritual connection to Hashem. Shimshon embodied this message through his Nazirism and incredible physical strength.

Any time a person takes a vow of abstinence they are expressing a desire to transcend the purely physical nature of what defines them. Such an effort will not only aid the individual by allowing them to recalibrate an imbalance in their lives between the physical and the spiritual, but it will also trigger a Divine response of “פלא”. If a person wishes to see wondrous things in his life, they should first try and be wondrous themselves and transcend their nature.

Our bodies are amazing constructs and it behooves all of us to appreciate the tremendous miracle and complexity of the human body. We should be so thankful every time our bodies work properly, that our hearts are beating, our lungs are breathing, our blood is circulating, and our intestines are digesting. What’s more, it’s truly wondrous that we have the ability, through our heightened intellects, to appreciate the miracles of life. When we find ourselves misaligned in our priorities, we can take the step of transcending who we are right now, and be “מפליא” temporarily to become a figurative Nazir. But we should also express our own wonder at the amazing world and the amazing life that Hashem grants us every single moment of our lives.

May our expressions of wonder over this wonderful world bring us ever closer to its perfection, bb”a.

Sharing in the Pain, Sharing in the Joy

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Bamidbar is also known as the book of Numbers (חומש הפקודים), because it contains several counts taken of the Jewish people. In taking the mandated census, Moshe was commanded to have not only his brother Aharon with him, but to also invite twelve leaders, one from each tribe, to stand with him when he would take the census (1:4). The Torah then enumerates the names of each of these twelve men (1:5-15): Elitzur ben Shedeur, Shelumiel ben Tzurishaddai, Nachshon ben Amminadav, etc. We discover in next week’s parsha, Naso, that these are the exact same twelve men who inaugurated the Altar in the Mishkan by bringing special korbanos at the very beginning of the Mishkan’s operation (7:2).

Connecting the dots

Why were these twelve men chosen, and why did Hashem see fit to enumerate their names? Rashi (to 7:2) quotes a Midrash which states that these men were already leaders while the Jews were still in Egypt. But their leadership was anything but honorific. In fact, it was quite painful and abasing to represent the Jewish slaves, especially when, as is recorded at the end of Parshas Shemos, the Jews were expected to meet their brick quota while being denied the essential ingredient of straw in order to manufacture the bricks (Ex. ch. 5). There, the Torah states that the Jewish representatives to Pharaoh’s slave operation bore the brunt of the punishment when the Jews could not meet their quota (5:14):

וַיֻּכּוּ שֹׁטְרֵי בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל אֲשֶׁר־שָׂמוּ עֲלֵהֶם נֹגְשֵׂי פַרְעֹה לֵאמֹר מַדּוּעַ לֹא כִלִּיתֶם חָקְכֶם לִלְבֹּן כִּתְמוֹל שִׁלְשֹׁם גַּם־תְּמוֹל גַּם־הַיּוֹם

The Jewish officers who were appointed by Pharaoh’s taskmasters were beaten, because of the argument: “Why haven’t you fulfilled the quota as you had been doing previously?”

These men went to Pharaoh’s palace and begged for mercy, but to no avail. The Torah writes (5:19) that they found themselves in the terrible situation of requiring an impossible quota from their brethren. Instead of forcing their fellow Jews to overwork and be broken, they absorbed the painful beatings from the Egyptian taskmasters.

Rewarded for Being Punished

We may even find a slight allusion to this Midrash in the words of our parsha, which states, somewhat bizarrely that (1:17) “וַיִּקַּח מֹשֶׁה וְאַהֲרֹן אֵת הָאֲנָשִׁים הָאֵלֶּה אֲשֶׁר נִקְּבוּ בְּשֵׁמֹת:” – “Moshe and Aharon took these men, whose names were specified.” The phrase “אֲשֶׁר נִקְּבוּ בְּשֵׁמֹת” – “whose names were specified” is completely superfluous, and it’s also worded strangely. But perhaps it can also be translated as: “who were weakened / injured (since “נִקְּב֖וּ” can also be translated as punctured or weakened) in the book of Shemos.”  Because they took a beating for their brethren, they were rewarded with rising to greatness after the Exodus.

But it’s also quite apropos for their greatness to be manifest in these two incidents, both in our parsha, in joining Moshe and Aharon as census takers, and in next week’s parsha as offering inaugural sacrifices for their respective tribes. In order to properly take a census, one must have care, concern, and affection for each individual who is being counted, since each and every person counts. This is why the Torah uses the word “שא” when commanding the census. It doesn’t just mean “to count”, but also “to lift up” or hold in high regard. Imagine these twelve men, looking into the eyes of each person who passed before them for the census, thinking only about their connection to and feelings of love for each person for whom they had taken another blow of the club or whip back in Egypt.

The Ego

Similarly, in order for one’s korban to be effective for one’s entire tribe and to truly be considered a communal sacrifice, one must be able to completely lose one’s own ego and sense of self and think only of one’s tribesmen when offering the flour and animal on the Altar. We can certainly appreciate how each of these twelve men, who had demonstrated this kind of selflessness in the past, was able to put himself aside and think only of his people.

This is reminiscent of a Midrash that directly pertains to our upcoming festival of Shavuos. We read of Yitro’s visit to his son-in-law, Moshe, in the book of Shemot immediately before the Jews stand at Mount Sinai to hear the Ten Commandments and accept the Torah. There’s a verse that acts as a bridge between these two narratives and reads (18:27): “וַיְשַׁלַּח מֹשֶׁה אֶת־חֹתְנוֹ וַיֵּלֶךְ לוֹ אֶל־אַרְצוֹ:” – Moshe sent his father-in-law away, and he returned to his land. Why did Moshe feel it necessary to send Yitro back home, especially at this most crucial historical juncture when Bnei Israel were about to receive the Torah?

The Midrash answers using a verse from Proverbs (14:10): “לֵב יוֹדֵעַ מָרַּת נַפְשׁוֹ וּבְשִׂמְחָתוֹ לֹא־יִתְעָרַב זָר:” – “The heart knows its own bitterness; and during its happiness, no stranger may mix in.” If Yitro was at home, safe and secure, when Bnei Israel were entrenched in hard labor, he was oblivious to their bitterness. It would not be appropriate for him to enjoy their success at Mount Sinai. Only someone who truly suffers with the Jewish people can enjoy their sweet victories, the most important being the acceptance of the Torah.

Only these twelve men, who truly tasted the bitterest rod of affliction on behalf of their brethren, could enjoy Israel’s greatest moments of success during their glorious census and the inauguration of their holy place. How can we emulate them?

Being Counted Amongst the Jews of Eretz Yisrael

Today, Bnei Israel living in the Land of Israel faces danger and travail. We trust, hope, and pray that this danger is fleeting, and that Israel’s enemies come to their senses and realize that violence is never the pathway to peace. But it seems that Israel is alone in its suffering. The heart of Israel knows its own bitterness, but the rest of the world watches on with apathy and defends violence by creating moral equivalencies and media distortions of the facts on the ground.

It is so important, especially today, to share in the burden of that pain, the pain of the millions of Jews in Israel. We share the pain of the death, damage, and trauma to our family in Eretz Israel. If we are to participate in the simcha of our brethren, we must also participate in their bitterness. If we wish to celebrate and be counted with the Jewish people in Eretz Israel, to receive the Torah with them, to enjoy the successes of the modern State of Israel, and eventually to see the rebuilding of our Temple and our Altar, we must first share in the sadness and trauma. We can do so even from afar, through our prayers and good deeds on behalf of our loved ones in Israel. As the Psalmist writes (126:5), “הַזֹּרְעִים בְּדִמְעָה בְּרִנָּה יִקְצֹרוּ:” – Those who plant with tears, will reap with joy.

Not only did these twelve men merit to be part of the census and the Mishkan’s inaugural; they were also each identified by name TWICE in the Torah. This was a special gesture of appreciation shown to them for their valor and sacrifice on behalf of the rest of Klal Yisrael. When Mashiach comes, wouldn’t it be great if your name appears in the list of people who cared, prayed, and sacrificed for our brethren? We have that opportunity today and every day. Let’s make sure that our names are counted as well. Take this Shabbat and this Shavuot as a time not only of reaccepting the Torah, but also of reaccepting your brothers and sisters throughout the world. Let us stand “כאיש אחד בלב אחד” and feel for each other. May our efforts trigger the ultimate Redemption so that we can all return to Eretz Israel swiftly, bb”a.

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Divine Judgment

We all know that Rosh Hashanah is the Day of Judgment, when man’s fate is decided for the coming year. It would follow, then, that Hashem had decided this past High Holidays all that would transpire over this year. But it’s not that simple. Let’s study a Mishnah together on the topic of Divine judgment (Rosh Hashanah 1:2):

בארבעה פרקים העולם נידון: בפסח על התבואה בעצרת על פירות האילן בראש השנה כל באי העולם עוברין לפניו כבני מרון שנאמר (תהלים ל”ג) היוצר יחד לבם המבין אל כל מעשיהם ובחג נידונין על המים

The world is judged at four intervals during the year: On Pesach, judgment is made for grain. On Shavuot, judgment is made for tree produce. On Rosh Hashanah, all mankind passes before Him single file… On Sukkot, judgment is made for water.

The Mishnah acknowledges that agricultural success depends upon Divine judgment, and that the judgment for seasonal farming – water during rainy season, crops during harvest season, etc. –takes place immediately before that particular season begins. The beginnings of the rainy season, the grain harvest season, and the tree fruit harvest season are Sukkot, Pesach, and Shavuot, respectively.

Global Judgment and Individual Judgment

But what about Rosh Hashanah? As many of the commentaries observe, if man is judged for the totality of his wellbeing on Rosh Hashanah, including his livelihood, would not that judgment also include how much water and harvest he’ll receive from his farms for the coming year? So what actually happens during those other intervals – hasn’t everything already been decide on Rosh Hashanah?!

This is a complex theological topic that cannot be treated properly in a short d’var Torah. But for our purposes, we cite R’ Yom Tov Lipman Heller (16th cent.), the author of the Tosafos Yom Tov commentary to the Mishnah. Rav Heller distinguishes between individual judgment and global judgment. Regarding global events, such as rainfall levels to the world, fruitful crops to whole regions, and so forth, God decides before each seasonal event how and in what measure that event will take place. These Divine decisions affect entire populations. But how the individual will be affected by those global decisions does not take place until Rosh Hashnah.

On Rosh Hashanah, all mankind pass before Him in single file, and each individual’s fate as an individual is determined. For example, it may have been predetermined on Pesach that the farmland in a particular region would yield a million tons of wheat. But to what degree the individual Farmer John will be the beneficiary of that blessed yield is determined on Rosh Hashanah.

Curses Before The New Years

This insight allows us to understand another cryptic Talmudic passage (from TB Megillah 31b): When the prophet Ezra instituted weekly Torah readings, he made sure that we would read the curses in Parshat Ki Tavo before Rosh Hashanah. He did so “כדי שתכלה השנה וקללותיה” – so that the curses would be behind us before starting the New Year, and we can start the New Year with a clean slate. He also instituted that the reading of the curses in Parshat Bechukotai would always fall out before Shavuot, “so that we could have the curses behind us before the New Year of Shavuot begins.” What does that mean – since when is Shavuot a New Year? The Talmud answers that Shavuot is also a day of judgment in that on Shavuot, God passes judgment on how the trees will produce their harvests.

I believe the deeper meaning of this passage is based on the above. One of the differences between the curses that appear in Leviticus and the curses in Deuteronomy is that the curses in Leviticus address the Jewish people in the plural: “לפניכם”, “לכם”, “אתכם”, etc., whereas the curses in Devarim address each Jew as an individual: “עליך”, “לך”, “אתה”, etc. This is in recognition that we wish to put an end to the curses that befall an individual before Rosh Hashanah, and so the Torah speaks to the individual’s curses. By contrast, before Shavuot, which represents global judgment, we wish to address the curses affecting the nation as a whole, and therefore the Torah speaks to the plurality of the Jewish nation. We put those global curses behind us before Shavuot arrives.

Shavuot & Global Judgment?

But why did Ezra choose Shavuot as the symbol of global judgment? What about Pesach, when the world is judged for wheat, and Sukkot, when the world is judged for water? Here, too, we need to penetrate deeper into the symbolism of this Talmudic passage. Shavuot isn’t just the beginning of the tree harvest season. It’s also the time when Bnei Israel accepted the Torah. As the Talmud states (TB Shabbos 88a), the fate of the world hung in the balance when the Jews came to Mt. Sinai. If they had not accepted the Torah, God was prepared to destroy the world and return it to “chaos and void.” The most global of all judgements, therefore, takes place every Shavuot, when God looks to the Jewish people to see if we’re prepared to accept the Torah once again. And every year since those 3300 years ago, we’ve kept the world running by our annual reacceptance of the Torah.

In having us read the curses before Shavuot, Ezra was signaling that the global decisions affecting the entire world are triggered to some degree or another by the Jewish people’s commitment to their God and to His mitzvoth, which is what we do every year when we reaccept the Torah. If we wish to put the curses of the past year behind us, we’ll need to reaccept the Torah fully, so that the “chaos and void” of last year does not carry over into the future. Instead, our commitment to serve Hashem faithfully will bring peace and tranquility to this chaotic world. Shavuot thus represents a new year of sorts, and provides us an opportunity for new beginnings and second chances.

Let’s take advantage of the role we play for the world. Let’s reaccept the Torah, and use its teachings to make the world a better place. We can do this metaphysically as we’ve mentioned, by affecting God’s choices to reinvigorate the world with His blessings for creation. But we can also do this on a very simple level any time we make a Kiddush Hashem as we interact with our fellow human beings and share good examples of our humanity that are informed by the Torah. May the world be healed and recreated as a result, bringing us to the ultimate redemption, bb”a.

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Using our Material Gifts to Sanctify the World

The 8th Day of an Animal’s Life

Parshat Emor should be familiar to us, because we read a section of it twice over Sukkos and once over Pesach. We do so because the parsha contains a discussion of the Mo’adim, the Jewish festivals. The paragraph that precedes the Mo’adim (22:26-33) tells us a series of laws having to do with bringing animal sacrifices. It begins by telling us that when a newborn animal is born, it must first be seven days with its mother. Only from the 8th day of its life may it be brought as a korban. The next sentence teaches that two animals that are parent and child may not be slaughtered on the same day. The paragraph concludes by teaching that abiding by these and other sacrificial limitations will help to avoid a Chillul (desecration of) Hashem and will create a Kiddush (sanctification of) Hashem.

Why is it necessary to wait until the 8th day of a calf’s or lamb’s life before bringing it as a korban? How does obeying this mitzvah create a Kiddush Hashem? And why is this the prefatory paragraph to the Mo’adim?

Compassion For All Creatures

The Midrash and the Zohar debate as to why one must wait until the 8th day. The Midrash (Devarim Rabbah 6:1) compares this law to the mitzvah of sending away the mother bird before taking its eggs (Kan Tzipor). Hashem is compassionate to all creatures, and wants a calf to have its strength before subjecting it to traumatic slaughter. Similarly, Hashem is compassionate to a newborn infant boy and wants us to wait until the baby’s 8th day before his bris, so that the child will have sufficient strength to endure the procedure. In short, the Midrash portrays this mitzvah as one of compassion that Hashem has upon His creations.

As Rav Meir Simcha of Dvinsk explains (in Meshekh Chochmah to 22:26), the entirety of the Torah is designed to engender within man a sense of compassion and kindness, unlike some of the ancient idolatrous rites, which called upon its adherents to act cruelly and violently when offering both animal and human sacrifice. The commandments of waiting until the 8th day of an animal’s life, as well as the commandment to not slaughter a parent and child on the same day, help man become more sensitive to all of God’s creatures. This in itself creates a “Kiddush Hashem,” in that the world sees that the adherents to Hashem’s Torah are compassionate and kind, just like the Torah’s author.

Embracing Spirituality Through Physicality

The Zohar (Emor 91a-b), however, sees it differently. The mitzvah of waiting until the 8th day, both for an animal being brought as a korban, and a child having his bris, is based on the requirement that both the animal and the infant experience a Shabbat before being brought for Divine service.  Apparently, a full weekly cycle imbues the newborn with some kind of spiritual endowment that primes the animal for its sacrifice and primes the baby for his bris.

Here’s one way of understanding the Zohar: The objective of the Torah is to connect heaven and earth, the transcendent with the physical. We are meant to view the physical objects of our existence as tools to spiritually elevate ourselves and everything around us. This is not an obvious point; Plato and his followers viewed the spiritual and physical realms as being in perpetual opposition to each other. This dualist view, that the soul is the ideal state of man, and that his body is forever pulling him away from that ideal state, also finds support in some Jewish writings which discuss the need for man to eschew “gashmiyut” (physicality) and embrace only “ruchniyut” (spirituality). And yet, the very means of embracing spirituality in Judaism is through physical acts, which involve using the very same material world that Plato rejected.

Ultimately, by placing us in this physical world, Hashem indicates to us that we’re not supposed to try to escape the physical realm, but rather to elevate it. Instead of living as hermits and ascetics, we’re meant to embrace the amenities and comforts of the material world, and utilize those items as a means of showing gratitude and love to the Giver of those amenities.

Being “of” This World

This is the message of the Zohar. In order for an animal to be usable as a korban, it must first be “of” this world. It has to go through a full weekly cycle, including a day of Shabbat, so that it can live through and absorb the essence of the physical world. It needs to go through a Shabbat in particular, because Shabbat is demonstrative of how time, which is the fourth dimension of our physical existence, can be sanctified. Similarly, in order for a male child to undergo a circumcision, which represents his spiritual elevation, he must first become a part of the essence of the physical realm before having his physicality “elevated” through his bris.

This is how we sanctify God, or make a Kiddush Hashem. By taking the objects that are already a part of this world, and elevating them through their use in spiritual rites, we confirm Hashem’s objective in creating us as part of this physical realm. The world understands through our observance of the mitzvos what Hashem wishes for all of humanity: instead of rejecting one’s physical aspect, instead of fasting and self-flagellation, Hashem wants us to enjoy the physical life He gave us so that we may appreciate our lives and our Sustainer. Every time we make a bracha on a piece of food, every time we make a Shehechiyanu on a new garment, we affirm this Divine plan.

Being Real

There is one caveat, of course: We need to sincerely mean it. Giving lip service to the idea but then indulging for the sake of indulgence accomplishes the opposite of our goal of elevating the physical. Many make a point of purchasing special clothing or special foods for Shabbat and Yom Tov (See Shulchan Aruch 242). I love the phrase that some people say before taking their first spoon of chicken soup Friday night (from the teachings of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Rimanov and others): “L’chavod Shabbat Kodesh!” – “This is in honor of the holy Sabbath.” By making a verbal declaration, we remind ourselves that our enjoyment of Shabbat is to exalt Hashem, not to fill our stomachs.

Taken in this light, we might better understand why this paragraph about waiting until the 8th day acts as the preface for the Mo’adim. We are charged with sanctifying holy days on the calendar. We are supposed to take all of our hard-earned bounty from the fields and use those gifts in the service of Hashem. We take unleavened bread and use it for Matzah. We take the first barley harvest and use it for the Omer offering. We take loaves of bread and multiple animals from our livestock and offer them to God on Shavuot. We take four plants from our fields and wave them on Sukkot, while sitting in the Sukkah that is adjacent to our homes. In short, we use the physical gifts of our lives to sanctify the physical world.

The Mo’adim: Indulgence of the Physical

We suggest that this is how the Mo’adim figure into the book of Vayikra, which is all about creating holiness. The commandment to “be holy” is subject to multiple interpretations. Lest one think that being holy requires us to merely remove ourselves from the pleasures of the physical world, the Torah presents us with the Mo’adim as a way of reminding us that sometimes the highest form of holiness is found within the indulgence of the physical.

There is truth to both the Midrash and the Zohar. The mitzvot are meant to engender sensitivity and kindness, even to the smallest of God’s creatures, as per the Midrash. As society increasingly recognizes the evils of “factory farming” and the cruelty to animals that takes place in these large egg, milk, and meat producing plants, we should be part of the societal voice that calls for greater compassion in the treatment of animals, even when we can justify using them for food. The mitzvot also remind us that despite the pitfalls of overindulgence, this world is a gift from God, meant for us to harness in making ourselves holier beings. May we appreciate these messages of kindness and holiness as we continue the perpetual effort at arriving at the ultimate Redemption, bb”a.