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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 .

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.