The WebYeshiva Blog

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.

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Being Holy and Living a Balanced Judaism

In a perfect world, we would expect one’s ethical behavior to be directly linked to one’s religious behavior. Philosophers, scientists, and psychologists have been debating for centuries whether religion and ethics exist independently of each other, or if they are inexorably connected. Can atheists possess a genuine moral and ethical code if there is no absolute bedrock of Divinely revealed law to which they can moor their beliefs? Conversely, what about people of faith who cheat in their financial dealings? These are not easy questions to answer, which is why they are still being debated to this day. If Hashem felt that man is perfectly capable of charting his own moral and ethical destiny, why give us a Torah replete with morals and ethics? We conclude that there is an absolute, Divine moral and ethical code. While it is possible for every individual to arrive at moral boundaries based on logic and reason, the mind is not always a reliable instrument of truth, and someone can easily be deluded into thinking that something unethical or immoral is the opposite.

Mishpatim & Chukim

Despite this, our Sages observe that there are different categories of mitzvot. Some are Mishpatim, or what others call “natural law,” that which man would have arrived at using his own human intellect even if the Torah had not commanded us. Others are Chukim (statutes) and Eidot (testimonies), laws which without a Torah, we would not have necessarily intuited on our own. Because of Chazal’s delineation between the different kinds of mitzvot, we tend to think that there is a strong dividing line – be it psychological or ontological – between the two types. This would certainly explain why some Jews observe one kind of law with more emphasis over the other. Some are very cautious about “halakhah,” and don’t care as much about certain ethical imperatives. Others are more fixated on morals and ethics and deemphasize the more “religious” aspects of Shabbat, Kashrus, and the like. When we look at the verses in Parshat Kedoshim, however, we don’t see any kind of delineation between the two kinds of mitzvot. If anything, it seems like the Torah is deliberately grouping all different kinds of commandments together. After Hashem commands us to be “holy” – “קדושים תהיו” (19:1), He provides different examples of holiness. The Torah starts with what we would normally identify as “religious” laws: revering parents, observing Shabbat, not worshipping idols, and sacrificial laws. But then, in the same breath, the Torah instructs us how to provide for the poor, how to ethically treat our employees and others to whom we owe money by not withholding wages, not cheating, not bearing grudges, and so forth (19:13-18).

Wholly holy

That in itself is an important lesson: “Holiness” is a holistic principle that does not allow for compartmentalization of one’s religious persona. For an individual to be truly “holy,” one’s fealty to both Hashem’s laws and the image of God with which we were created must be comprehensive and not consigned to one area of life over another. That is, to be “holy,” one must be “wholly” committed. Rav Yaakov Leiner (in Beit Yaakov) observed that if we look at some of the laws cited above, we will see that in reality there is a common, unitary theme shared by all the mitzvot, and that the divisions between the different kinds of mitzvot are largely artificial. Let’s take two mitzvot which appear at the very beginning (19:3): We are commanded to revere our parents and to observe the Sabbath. When looked at more deeply, our relationship with our parents is a metaphor for our relationship with Hashem. Our parents gave birth to us; they raised us and provided us with the necessary tutelage as we grew and matured.

Independently Unaware

Often, parents of small children, out of a desire to give them a sense of independence, will conceal from them just how much in control they are. Imagine the parent of a toddler who is just learning to walk, standing behind the child ready to catch them as they wobble unsteadily with their first steps. The child may feel that he or she is walking independently and is unaware that the parent is walking closely behind, directing them where to go, and ready to catch them if they fall. Such is the relationship between God and every human being. Hashem grants us the illusory sense of independence and autonomy. The commandment to “revere” our parents is thus not only a mitzvah to treat our parents with respect, but also to retain in our minds that despite our personal autonomy, we are still all dependents of Hashem, and are powerless to do anything without His tutelage. This mitzvah corresponds to the commandment forbidding the withholding of payment from someone to whom we are indebted (19:13). Just as we cannot deny what we owe a benefactor, we can also not deny that Hashem is truly in control of our lives. The truly “holy” person sees no difference in these mitzvot because they are rooted in the same reality of paying those to whom we owe their due.

Shabbat & Ethics

The mitzvah of Shabbat observance has a similar correspondence to ethical behavior. Our Sages teach that Shabbat is “מעין עולם הבא”, a semblance of the World to Come (TB Berachos 57b). Hashem chose to give us a taste of our future “wages” with the weekly gratification of the beautiful spiritual ambience of Shabbat. While Hashem could have reserved all of our rewards for the future, He wanted us to feel a sense of immediate satisfaction without having to defer all of the fruits of our efforts to the afterlife. According to the Arizal, the mitzvah of Shabbat thus corresponds to the mitzvah of paying our employees on time, immediately upon the completion of their job. This mitzvah is also part of the mandate to be holy, and thus appears shortly after the mitzvah of Shabbat (in 19:13). Rav Lainer continues on this holistic path in explaining the other mitzvot of our parsha. Overall, a pattern emerges that holiness is really about seeing the bigger picture of trying to make the world a better place by living the mitzvot holistically. We can only accomplish this through our ritual observance as well as emulating God’s behavior as a benevolent and caring being who takes care of every creature in His universe. All the mitzvot flow to the same outlet and to the same common theme.

Judaism as a Fitted Sheet

A rebbe of mine once explained that observing Judaism is like trying to make a bed with a fitted sheet that is just a tad too small to fit over all the corners properly. You pull one end of the sheet over one corner, and then the opposite corner pops up. When it comes to our religious commitments, we all have strengths and weaknesses, and mitzvot that we choose to emphasize while deemphasizing others. The important thing is to recognize this and to try and be respectful of those who are coming from the opposite direction. We all augment each other’s deficiencies with our own contributions to the spiritual fabric of our world. The irony is that we sometimes have such tunnel-vision in identifying what we consider to be true Judaism using our own particularized lens with self-defined parameters. Anything outside of those parameters is either “treif” or “fanaticism.” We’d do well to remember the definition of holiness, as a holistic embrace of all the commandments, since they all have one unitary theme from the same unitary God. The person who strives for holiness sees value in all the approaches to reach Hashem, even those which run contrary to one’s own chosen path. May we succeed all together in our aspirations toward holiness and achieve a sense of balance that will lead to the Redemption, bb”a.

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Finding Spiritual Greatness in Unusual Places

Allow me to share a story about an ancient king of Israel named Yerovam. Not the famous Yerovam ben Nevat, who was the first king of the northern Israelite kingdom and who introduced idolatry to that region. Rather, several generations later, another Yerovam reigned over the northern kingdom. His name was Yerovam ben Yoash, and scripture describes him as being deeply steeped in the idolatry of his time (II Kings 14:24). Yerovam b. Yoash reigned at a time when the Jews’ enemies were all around, and the Jews had no friends or allies. Despite Yerovam’s personal evil, Scripture states that he was an extremely successful king, and that Hashem enabled him to expand the boundaries of Israel to an unprecedented degree (ibid. 25-27). The Midrash (Tanna D’Vei Eliyahu Zuta 7) is perplexed: If Yerovam was such an evil person, why did Hashem enable him to be so successful and such a savior for the Jewish people? The Midrash answers based on another passage in Tanakh. The prophet Amos lived during this time in the town of Beit-El, which was in the kingdom of Judea. The local Kohen, Amatziah, would regularly get annoyed with Amos, because he wanted to be the only holy man in town. He had heard Amos prophesy about some impending doom that would befall the Kingdom of Israel. He therefore told King Yerovam that Amos was conspiring to get him killed (this is all recorded in Amos ch. 7).

An Idolater with Derekh Eretz

According to the Midrash, Yerovam’s response was to harshly rebuke Amatziah for accusing Amos. “I don’t believe he prophesied as you say. And even if he did, it was from Hashem, not of his own volition”: The Midrash concludes that despite the fact that the entire nation at the time was idolatrous, and that Yerovam himself was an ardent idolater, Hashem enabled Yerovam to expand the borders of Eretz Israel. Why? Because Yerovam possessed the virtue of not accepting Lashon Hara against a good person. The Midrash concludes: “We see from this story that Hashem causes good things to happen via good people.” It’s ironic for the Midrash to depict Yerovam as a good man, because if we were to characterize Yerovam based on Scripture’s depiction of him alone, we’d deem him a Rasha! The Midrash says, look deeper: he may have been an idolater, but he had derekh eretz and compassion for his fellow Jew.

The Path Toward Redemption

Rav Yisachar Shlomo Teichtal wrote his landmark work, Eim HaBanim Semeicha, in Europe during the Shoah, while his community was getting deported and murdered on a daily basis. In it (beginning of ch. 2), he wrote about his dramatic theological change of heart. He was a Nitra chasid, and had been previously opposed to Zionism. But after seeing what was happening all around him, he wrote an entire sefer explaining why religious Zionism and a return to Eretz Israel was actually the correct approach. In one chapter, he discussed what redemption would look like in light of so many conflicting reports in the words of Chazal. He concluded that redemption could take place in a number of different ways, either miraculously and overnight, or slowly and progressively, via natural means. If the redemption takes place via natural means in an evolutionary fashion, he wrote, it would happen via righteous and good people who would lead the Jewish people back to Eretz Yisrael. His only caveat is that we have to put on the proper spectacles to make sure that we recognize exactly who is good and who isn’t good. If our idea of a good leader is someone who is shomer mitzvot and has a long beard, then we might not recognize the true redeemers. He pointed to this Midrash about Yerovam ben Yoash. Yerovam wasn’t righteous in the conventional sense, but he did have one saving quality: He cared deeply about his people and was willing to be moser nefesh (make great sacrifice) for them. He was genuinely upset if someone would suggest that a righteous Jew committed wrong, as he demonstrated in his protestations about Amos.

Derekh Eretz Is The Key

Rav Teichtal concluded that just because the leaders of the Zionist movement aren’t religious, does not mean that they aren’t good and worthy of leading our people back to Zion. Just look at Yerovam ben Yoash. We derive the same lesson from the normal Haftarah of Tazria-Metzora (which is preempted because of Rosh Chodesh), about the four Metzoraim, the four lepers. Despite being outcasts from their community, they were the heroes of the story, responsible for ending a siege and famine within the nation. The real key to redemption for Klal Israel is how we speak to each other, how we show proper derekh eretz to each other even when we profoundly disagree, and how we give others the benefit of the doubt and not speak or believe Lashon Hara about others. We should live and let live and recognize the greatness that exists in people regardless of their levels of observance. It’s important to recognize the Yerovam’s of our time and see their greatness for what it is. If we can do that, then we’ll truly usher in the redemption of all our people, may we see it, bb”a.

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

The Truest of Gifts

Three years ago, when the Coronavirus was just beginning to disrupt normal life in different parts of the world, an article appeared in Lehrhaus by Dr. Jeremy Brown, describing an old Jewish practice that was performed during times of plague. This practice became known as the “Shvartze Chassuneh,” or the Black Wedding, and it was performed as a measure to eliminate the plague from the Jewish community. It involved the Jewish community finding a destitute pair of orphans who had no parents to marry them off, making a shidduch between the two, and sponsoring their wedding. The additional twist was that the wedding was held in a cemetery, usually near the graves of the holiest people in the cemetery. In 1865, there was a terrible locust plague in northern Israel. The Jews of Safed made multiple Chuppot for orphans in the Safed cemetery, in-between the graves of the great tzadikim Rav Yoseph Karo and the Ari z”l. Shortly thereafter, there was a cholera outbreak in Jerusalem, and the Jewish community made a lavish wedding atop the Mt. of Olives. The wedding was attended with much fanfare by the entire community. Surely, during a time of plague, communal fasts are called for, collective prayer services with Tehillim, all that we understand. But why do a wedding? And why in a cemetery, of all places?!

"Adam" vs "Ish"

At the beginning of Vayikra, the Torah launches into the sacrificial process (1:2):

דַּבֵּר אֶל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְאָמַרְתָּ אֲלֵהֶם אָדָם כִּי־יַקְרִיב מִכֶּם קָרְבָּן לַיקֹוָק מִן־הַבְּהֵמָה מִן־הַבָּקָר וּמִן־הַצֹּאן תַּקְרִיבוּ אֶת־קָרְבַּנְכֶם

The Torah describes a human being as an “Adam.” This is an unusual term to describe a person who wishes to bring a Korban. Nowhere else in Leviticus, when describing a person bringing a sacrifice, is the term “Adam” used. It’s rather used only when describing a person, like a leper, who contracts spiritual impurity. Why does the Torah open the sacrificial order with “Adam” and not with the more normative word for a person, “איש” – “Ish”? The simplest conclusion is that in order to bring a sacrifice before Hashem, which in and of itself is a humbling, self-abasing act, one needs to feel like they are like nothing, like the earth itself. Man is called Adam because he derives from the soil, the “אדמה” – “Adamah”. If we are describing a person who feels wretched about a sin they’ve committed and wishes to atone through a Korban, it’s natural to think that the word Adam should be used to describe him or her.

Adam HaRishon

But the Midrash has a different approach. The word “Adam” hearkens back to the very first man, whose hallmark was not humility, but rather great holiness, purity, and righteousness. As Rashi cites: “Just as original Adam did not bring his offerings from stolen property, since everything belonged to him, so shall you not bring your offerings from stolen property.” This is just one example for expressing how one has to be pure not only in intent but also in deed when bringing their offering. Why doesn’t the Midrash use the simple interpretation of Adam being a term of humility? Bartenura and others explain that the introductory verses of Korbanot do NOT refer to a person who is bringing a Korban because of sin; they rather refer to a person who is coming to the Temple because they are religiously inspired without need for atonement at all. Such a person may not feel wretched because of sin, but is nevertheless inspired to become close to God. This person is like the first Adam, who is holy and pure. The Midrash is teaching an additional lesson: If you wish to voluntary come to the Temple to bring offerings, make sure your motivations are pure, like Adam’s. Don’t come with animals to impress your friends or to feel important. Adam was the only person alive and so he didn’t need to impress anyone. He did it for the purest of intentions, and so should anyone wishing to bring a Korban voluntarily.

The Noam Elimelech & the “Shvartze Chasuneh”

One of the first recorded episodes of the “Shvartze Chasuneh” occurred in Poland in the late 18th century. The story is told about the great Chassidic tzadik, the Noam Elimelech of Lizhensk. He was once visited by a poor farmer who had a 36-year old single daughter, but had no dowry to offer a young suitor in order to marry her off. Since it was a time of plague, Reb Elimelech decided to arrange a wedding for the woman, and took Lizhensk’s 30-year old bachelor water carrier and arranged for the Chuppah. Some of the greatest early Chassidic luminaries attended: The Kozhnitzer Magid played the violin; the Chozeh of Lublin was the “badchan” (wedding jester). The dancing and singing were intense as everyone immersed themselves into the simcha. Reb Elimelech walked with his student, Reb Shmuel of Kariv, to see the celebration, and he noted that there was a great fire of holiness surrounding the entire assemblage. He remarked to his disciple: “Ribono Shel Olam, I declare that in the merit of this dancing that we have participated in, at least one hot coal awaiting us in Gehenna has been removed from all of us.” This story indicates that it wasn’t the fasting and sackcloth that helped to alleviate the plague. It was rather the selfless rejoicing for another. So often, we make celebrations to reflect to the world who we are. Even the weddings we make for our children are sometimes ways of shining a light on ourselves, and reminding ourselves and all of our friends how necessary we are to the bride and groom and how central a role we play in the lives of family and friends.

Appreciation for everything

It may be why the “Black Wedding” was held in a cemetery. It’s to remind those congregated that life goes on even without us. Every person who is buried here may have once thought: the world can’t function without me. But lo and behold, the world did just fine after they left. To really incorporate the lesson of a plague, we make a wedding for two orphans, people to whom we have no personal connection, whose wedding in no way is being made to impress ourselves or our friends about how important we are to the world and to the community. This young couple is NOT a reflection of us. We make the wedding for them, not for ourselves. This is the original “Adam”. Adam served Hashem with joy not because he needed to show the world what he was doing and to be the center of attention, but rather because he appreciated so much how everything that he had in his life was a gift from God. This is why Adam is associated with the very first Korban mentioned in the book of Vayikra. May we be similarly inspired to offer our gifts of thanksgiving to God while being unconscious of our image being projected to others. May we continue to hear the “קול ששון וקול שמחה” of every bride and groom of the world, in Yerushalyaim Ir HaKodesh, bb”a.

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

We’re All Connected

When all the Mishkan components were finally completed, Moshe felt it necessary to do an inventory of all the materials that were used. After all, Bnei Israel had donated mightily to this project, and Moshe wished to reassure the people that their donations were used properly, and that nothing had been pocketed by himself, the contractors, or the builders for personal gain. Our Sages teach us that even someone who is normally above reproach must make every effort to exonerate oneself in the eyes of the public. One example can be found in Tractate Shekalim (3:2), where it is recorded that the Kohen in charge of extracting coins from the Temple treasury to purchase animals for the Altar could not have any hems in his garment to ensure that no one could suspect him of secretly placing coins in the hem and embezzling Temple funds! This is based on the scriptural dictum (Num. 32:22): “You shall be clean from both Hashem and Israel,” meaning: that it’s not enough to know that you are innocent; you must also exonerate yourself in the public eye.

Moshe's inventory and corruption

The Midrash relates that after Moshe finished his inventory, he actually came up short. He could not account for 1,775 shekels worth of silver. He became quite nervous, because he knew that some people looked at him cynically, thinking that there was no way that Moshe would be able to resist the temptation of pocketing some of the donations for himself. Hashem Himself had to intervene and caused Moshe to lift his gaze up to the silver hooks – called “vavim” in Hebrew – that were used to link together the curtains of the Mishkan. Because of their small size, Moshe had completely forgotten to include them in the inventory, and these hooks accounted for the deficit. The Jewish people were thus appeased and their suspicions allayed. I recently discovered an addendum to this Midrash which is cited in some medieval sources. After Moshe had gone through this nerve-racking ordeal, he instituted the prayer, “Emes V’Yatziv,” which we recite every morning after the Shema in our daily Shacharis service. After we recite the word “Emes” (“Truth”) at the end of the Shema, we append to it these fifteen words:

וְיַצִּיב וְנָכוֹן וְקַיָּם וְיָשָׁר וְנֶאֱמָן וְאָהוּב וְחָבִיב וְנֶחְמָד וְנָעִים וְנוֹרָא וְאַדִּיר וּמְתֻקָּן וּמְקֻבָּל וְטוֹב וְיָפֶה הַדָּבָר הַזֶּה עָלֵינוּ לְעוֹלָם וָעֶד

—and firm, and certain, and enduring, and upright, and faithful, and beloved, and cherished, and desired, and pleasant, and awesome, and mighty, and correct, and acceptable, and good, and beautiful [is this Shema affirmation to us for all eternity.]

15 "vavs" that connect us all

Ra’avan HaYarchi (12th cent.) writes in his Sefer HaManhig that Moshe instituted these fifteen words, all relating to the truth and integrity of the words of the Shema. He made sure to have each word start with the letter “vav” – translated as “and” – in order to remind us of the fifteen “vav” hooks that Moshe found and which resolved the accounting deficit. The imagery of this Midrash is quite specific, in that Moshe had lost track of the “vavim,” the hooks. Why was this the particular inventory item that he had forgotten? Furthermore, it seems like it’s merely a play on words that “hooks” and the preposition “and” share the same “vav” in Hebrew. What’s the connection? Finally, why was the prayer of Emes V’Yatziv, which is an affirmation of our belief in G-d as expressed in the Shema paragraphs chosen as a reminder of this episode? What is the connection between our affirming the truths of the Shema and reminding us that Moshe was exonerated from suspicion? As many commentaries observe, it’s not a coincidence that a hook and the word “and” are both represented by the letter “vav” in Hebrew. The role of the hooks in the Mishkan was to unify and unite all the disparate curtains into one unified wall hanging in the Mishkan. We “hook” things together in order to unite them, and the letter “vav” serves the same function, which is to append one idea to another linguistically.

A full accounting

Why was Moshe so concerned about making sure that the inventory was correct? According to the Midrash he had heard certain cynical voices within the community who were critical of him and who didn’t trust him. Moshe’s mistake was not seeing the entire community, but rather allowing individual cynical voices to drown out the almost unanimous support that he had garnered as the people’s faithful redeemer and leader. By allowing Moshe to find the hooks, Hashem was teaching a lesson to Moshe, that it’s usually the outliers and those who view themselves as separate from the community who are the ones who are the cynics and naysayers. Moshe, you should not heed those voices, but instead look to the fabric which connects Am Yisrael. If you do so, you will see that the people are good and trusting, and that you have no reason to fear suspicion. When looked at in this light, Moshe was really the guilty party in thinking that his beloved people were cynical and mistrusting of him. Yes, there were individual voices, but he should not have vested so much weight in those cantankerous voices and should have instead seen the loving faces of the vast majority of the nation. As a way of making amends for his mistake, Moshe instituted the Emes V’Yatziv prayer not to remind Am Yisrael of HIS honesty, but to remind Am Yisrael that Moshe was mistaken about the nation’s cynicism and mistrust. My people, he was saying, you are an accepting and loving people, filled with trust and honesty of those who lead you. To prove my point, I will institute a prayer that you will say daily affirming your acceptance of the precepts of the Torah and your unequivocal trust in Hashem and His Torah. By doing so, Moshe was restoring Bnei Israel’s faith in themselves. Emes V’Yatziv is an affirmation of OUR faith and innocent acceptance of our Torah and our Torah teachers.

Combating cynicism's ugly truth

It is so difficult these days to rise above the cynicism and unadulterated lashon hara that pervades the media. I think that one of the lessons of this Midrash is that when we feel separate from others, we become cynical and mistrusting of everyone else. When we view ourselves as part of a larger group, we become more accepting of others, and the individual cynical voices are drowned out by our realization that we are part of a larger collective that is loving and accepting. Perhaps Moshe felt more mistrusted specifically because he was the leader of Israel, which perforce made him feel somewhat separate from the collective. We all, from time to time, give in to the cynical voices in our head. We allow ourselves to think the worst of our fellow man and our fellow Jew. But in reality, we’re just allowing ourselves to see the ugly outliers and we fail to see the beauty of the vav’s of the collective Am Israel who, as a whole, are beautiful, faithful, and trustworthy. When we forget the vav’s, the glue that connects us all, we allow the ugly voices to take over. Especially in a world of social media where people relate to each other from a distance without really knowing who our “friends” are, it’s easy to lose sight of the vav’s that connect us, and to see the worst in humanity emerge. Let’s try to reunite with each other in society, so that we can put aside those cynical voices and start to see the “Emes V’Yatziv” that is within each and every one of us. May our faith in humanity bring us to a greater faith in Hashem, and may this bring us to the ultimate Redemption, may we see it, bb”a.