Tag: Parshat HaShavua

A new covenant with the land

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

The phrase Chazak Ve’Ematz – ‘be strong and be determined’ is found twice in Parshat VaYelech. The first is when Moshe summons Yehoshua in front of the entire Jewish people and tells him, ‘Be strong and be determined (Chazak Ve’Ematz) for it is you who will come with this people into the land that the Lord has sworn to their forefathers to give them’ (Devarim 31:7), while the second is when Moshe or God speaks with Yehoshua privately, telling him, ‘Be strong and be determined (Chazak Ve’Ematz) because you shall bring the Israelites into the land that I promised them’ (ibid. 31:23). 

You will note that I used the words ‘Moshe or God’, and this is because the speaker in Devarim 31:23 is a matter of debate. According to the Ibn Ezra (on Devarim 31:15), since Devarim 31:22 involves Moshe, it seems that Devarim 31:23 was said by Moshe. Contrasting this view is that of Rashi (on Devarim 31:23) who understands that these words were said by God and were a continuation of God’s speech starting at Devarim 31:16 (nb. see Ramban on Devarim 31:23 who quotes both views while then endorsing Rashi’s interpretation). 

If we adopt Rashi’s approach, what this means is that Yehoshua is twice blessed and given chizuk – once by his mentor Moshe, and once by God directly. However, as Rabbi Menachem Klein notes in his Sha’arei Shlomo commentary on the Torah, this then raises a different question. 

The patriarchs and the land

When Moshe speaks to Yehoshua in Devarim 31:7 and tells him to be strong and determined, he states that Israel is, ‘the land that the Lord has sworn to their forefathers to give them’. But then, when God (according to Rashi) speaks to Yehoshua, He tells him that, ‘you shall bring the Israelites into the land that I promised them’ (ibid. 31:23). As Rabbi Klein explains, this second verse implies that a separate promise was made by God to the people about the possession of the land above and beyond the promise God made to our forefathers.

But as Rabbi Klein then adds, ‘we don’t find any place (in the Tanach) where God promises the land directly to the people’. Instead, whenever the promise of the land is mentioned in the Torah, it is always with reference to the patriarchs.

Rabbi Klein’s answer to his question is based on the idea that even though God promised the land to the patriarchs He knew from the very beginning that this particular generation would be the one who enters and conquers the land and that this knowledge, as the Rambam teaches us in Hilchot Teshuvah 5:5, is part of the mystery of God’s foreknowledge. Accordingly, incorporated within the promise of the land to the patriarchs was a promise to this generation of Am Yisrael. 

I would humbly like to suggest a slightly different answer to this question while reflecting on the command Chazak Ve’Ematz (be strong and be determined) and the two ways in which a people can acquire a land: through being given the land, and through acquiring the land. 

The value in fighting for something

Yes, our patriarchs were promised the land of Israel as a gift, and until this point when Moshe brought the people to the border of the land of Israel it was this promise which bound the people to the land. However, Yehoshua was about to lead the people into the land and the people were about to conquer the land.

They would conquer it because it was theirs on the basis of the covenant forged between God and our forefathers, but by conquering it, the land would become theirs as well. And so, God’s words to Yehoshua of ‘be strong and be determined (Chazak Ve’Ematz) because you shall bring the Israelites into the land that I promised them’ capture this major shift of relationship towards the land of Israel as a result of the efforts soon to be made by the people to conquer the land of Israel. 

It has been said that we value what we fight for. Yes, the people valued the land which they’d been given by God. But they valued it more when they knew that they’d need to fight for it. 

As we all know this year has been filled with pain, loss and struggle. At the same time, this year has shown us how much we value the land of Israel, what we are prepared to do in order to protect our people and our land, and how each time we are called upon to defend our land, we forge a new covenant with the land. 

As we end this year and begin another, I thank you for your ongoing encouragement and support and may we be blessed to hear good news with the return of our hostages and peace and security in the land.

Shabbat Shalom & Shana Tova!

Bikkurim & The Presence of God

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

The Bikkurim and 13 Attributes of Mercy

Gifting those in need

Chessed & Derech Eretz (Ki Tetze)

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

Among the various stories and laws recorded in Parshat Ki Tetze is a description of how Bnei Yisrael’s treatment by the nations of Amon & Moav:

‘An Ammonite or a Moabite shall not enter into the assembly of Hashem; even to the tenth generation none belonging to them shall enter into the assembly of Hashem forever, because they didn’t meet you with bread and with water on the way, when you came forth out of Egypt, and because they hired against you Bilam the son of Beor from Pethor of Mesopotamia, to curse you’ (Devarim 23:4-5). 

According to the Ramban, the structure of these verses is intentional so as to teach us that it was the Ammonites who did not provide Bnei Yisrael with bread and water, while it was the Moabites who demonstrated their ill-will by hiring Bilam to curse Bnei Yisrael. 

However, this then raises a question: Bnei Yisrael received their daily portion of heavenly manna in the merit of Moshe, while they drank from the miraculous well which accompanied them in the merit of Miriam. Given this fact, why did it matter to them that the Ammonites did not provide them with bread and water? They already had food and water?!

Showing common courtesy

The Midrash (Vayikra Rabbah 34:8) answers this question and while doing so provides us with a remarkable lesson about derech eretz (common courtesy):

‘Rabbi Simon in the name of Rabbi Elazar said: “Who was it that did not perform chessed (kindness) for those who were not in need of chessed? The Ammonites and Moabites towards Bnei Yisrael, as it is written: “because they didn’t meet you with bread and with water” (Devarim 23:5). But did Bnei Yisrael need additional bread and water? Is it not so that during all those forty years that Bnei Yisrael were in the wilderness that the manna fell for them, the water arose for them, the quail was provided for them, the clouds of glory surrounded them, and the pillar of cloud traveled before them?

Rather, it is derech eretz that one greets travelers with food and drink. And how did the Holy One blessed be He repay them as a result? “An Ammonite or a Moabite shall not enter into the assembly of Hashem” (ibid. 23:4). From here we can infer an a fortiori (kal vachomer). If God punished those who did not perform chessed for those who were not in need of chessed, then someone who does not perform chessed for one who is in need of chessed, all the more so [that God will punish them].”’

How to perform chesed

Clearly this teaching provides us with a powerful mussar lesson regarding how we must show derech eretz both to those not in need of chessed, and especially towards those in need of chessed. In fact, the Midrash then proceeds to explain that we learn from Avraham (who performed chessed by giving food to the angels even though they did not need food – see Bereishit 18:8), and from Boaz (who performed chessed by giving food to Ruth who was in need of food – see Ruth 2:14) how the performance of chessed brings rewards & blessing to those who do so. 

With this in mind, and as we near towards Rosh Hashanah, now is the opportune time not only for us to upgrade our general behaviour to ensure that we act with derech eretz, but also to look around our local communities while asking ourselves what acts of chessed can we perform – especially for those in need. 

Shabbat Shalom!

God is on our side (Shoftim)

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

Parshat Shoftim informs us that before Jewish soldiers would go out to battle the Kohen (priest) would deliver the following stirring words: 

“Hear Israel (Shema Yisrael), today you are about to engage in battle with your enemies; do not be fainthearted, don’t be afraid, or tremble, or be scared of them, for the Lord God is the One who goes out with you to fight for you against your enemies in order to save you” (Devarim 20:3-4). 

Significantly, though just the two words of ‘Hear Israel’ (Shema Yisrael) are used in this verse, Rashi explains that this alludes to the Shema prayer, and how its recitation by those about to go to battle girds them and strengthens them. But the question is: how?

The purpose of Shema

Maharal answers in his Gur Aryeh commentary that when a Jew recites the Shema, they declare their faith in the Oneness and Unity of God, and through doing so, they attach themselves to something greater than anything else, which overrides everything else. Accordingly, faith in Hashem Echad gives us hope and strength to fight against and hopefully overcome all the challenges we may face. 

Interestingly, the Midrash (Midrash Aggada) focusses in on the phrase ‘with your enemies’ on which it notes that though Jews can be unkind to each other, we are not viciously cruel to one another. In contrast, ‘if Jews fall into the hands of our enemies, they will show no mercy.’ As we sadly know from the past 11 months and from the recent sickening murder of six hostages, this lack of mercy is a chillingly accurate description of who our enemy is, and this is why we must continue to fight against them be victorious over them. 

We will be victorious

Finally, commenting on the words ‘for the Lord God is the One who goes out with you to fight for you’, Rashi explains that while our enemies, ‘are coming as flesh and blood to be victorious, the Jewish people are coming with the support of God to be victorious’, then adding, ‘[this is like the story of] the Philistines who came with Goliath to be victorious. But what was his end? He fell, and they fell with him!’

Taken together, these verses – which speak so deeply to us in these difficult times – serve as a reminder to us that we should continue to have faith in God and each other; that we should be kind to each other not only because it is the right thing to do but also because our enemies are so cruel towards us, and that when we continue to go out to battle, we should know that God is on our side and that we will ultimately overcome our enemies and be victorious. 

Shabbat Shalom!

If you are a man, woman or couple looking to grow or looking for guidance, then now is the perfect time to book your free, confidential, no-obligation discovery call to share what is on your mind and to find out about Rabbi Johnny Solomon’s #VirtualRabbi spiritual coaching and halachic consultation service. To book a discovery call, visit https://webyeshiva.org/about-virtual-rabbi/ 

What will happen when I die? (Parshat Re’eh)

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

Early on in Parshat Re’eh, Moshe refers to the ceremony which would occur when Bnei Yisrael entered the Land of Israel (see Devarim 11:29), and he then tells Bnei Yisrael what they must do upon entering the land and how they must destroy all traces of idolatry (ibid. 12:1-13:19). This includes the command to destroy altars that were used for idolatrous practices (ibid. 12:3), the prohibition to consume blood, the prohibition against idolatrous prophets and missionaries (ibid. 13:2-12), and the command to destroy apostate cities whose inhabitants have turned to idol worship (ibid. 13:13-19).

Then, Devarim 14:3-21 details the kashrut laws relating to the food which Bnei Yisrael would need to eat once the manna ceased to fall upon entering the land of Israel (see Yehoshua 5:12), while Devarim 14:22-29 details the tithe laws that would begin to apply once Bnei Yisrael enter the Land of Israel.

Self-harming when mourning the death of a relative

However, in between these sections we find two verses which seem to discuss something completely different. Specifically, Devarim 14:1-2 tells us about the Torah prohibition of self-harming when mourning the death of a relative: ‘You are children of the Lord your God. Do not lacerate yourselves or [pull out your hair to] make bald patches in the middle of your heads for the dead. For you are a people sacred to the Lord your God. The Lord has chosen you of all the peoples on earth to be to Him a treasured people’ (Devarim 14:1-2).

Of course, this prohibition may well have been rooted in idolatrous practices from that region and that time, and as such, this likely connects it to the previous section. However, this fact is not obvious from the verses. Beyond this, unlike the previous section and the section that follows, Devarim 14:1-2 does not seem to have any specific relevance to the land of Israel. Given this, what is the point of this seemingly random reference to mourning rituals in between these two sections of laws relating to life inside the land of Israel?

Chizkuni suggests that it is possible that these verses immediately follow the law of the apostate city to teach us that even if a parent, sibling or other relative is killed in an apostate city, we should still recognize that God’s commandments are just, that even if we don’t understand the ways of God they still have a purpose, and therefore, even in our hour of anguish and mourning, we should not self-harm.

Understanding Death

Beyond this, Chizkuni (paralleling the interpretations of the Ibn Ezra, Bechor Shor & Rosh) adds a further powerful insight which is that even if one’s parent has died, a Jew should remember that they are not orphans and that we are, ‘children of the Lord your God’ (Devarim 14:1). Accordingly, while an idolater who worships stones or trees whose parent dies might feel that they are now totally alone, a Jew who believes in God never truly feels alone because they always have their Father in Heaven.

However, alongside these remarks, I believe that these verses carry a further meaning. As we see from Bemidbar 11:11-12, Moshe regarded himself as a parent figure for the Jewish people. And as is clear from the previous chapters in Sefer Devarim, Moshe already knows that he will soon die. Given all this, while there is much talk about what will happen when the people enter the land of Israel, Moshe is also concerned that the journey of Bnei Yisrael might be jolted following their mourning of his death.

Death is part of life

Accordingly, I believe that the purpose of Devarim 14:1-2 is that it is a pep-talk that Moshe gives Bnei Yisrael about his upcoming death. It is here when he tells the people that death – and especially the death of a parent or a spiritual parent – is a part of life. And it is here where he tells the people that what makes the Jewish faith so special is that we are never truly orphaned because we always have God with us. Understood this way, this also helps us explain why these verses don’t mention the land of Israel, because unlike the laws that precede and follow this section, the focus of Devarim 14:1-2 is Moshe’s death – which takes place outside of the land of Israel.

Perhaps we may wonder whether Moshe’s pep-talk worked? The answer is ‘yes’ – as we see in the final lines of the Torah where we are told that, ‘The Israelites wept for Moshe in the plains of Moav for thirty days. And the weeping and mourning for him came to an end’ (Devarim 34:8). And why did it ‘come to an end’? It is because Moshe had previously told the people that even when he died they should not feel hopeless, that they still had their Father in Heaven, and that from his death onwards, they now had Yehoshua to lead them into the land of Israel.

Shabbat Shalom!

Cleave to God (Ekev)

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

Twice in Parshat Ekev we are taught about the mitzvah of dveikut – cleaving to God: ‘Revere the Lord your God and worship Him. Cleave to Him and swear by His name’ (Devarim 10:20); ‘If you carefully keep all of this command with which I am charging you, loving the Lord your God, walking in all His ways, and cleaving to Him’ (ibid. 11:22). 

Significantly, the Torah makes three further references to the mitzvah of dveikut (Devarim 4:4, 13:5 & 30:20). Nevertheless, in terms of the mitzvah of dveikut as classically understood, it is derived from our parsha (see Sefer HaMitzvot Asseh 6, Sefer HaChinuch No. 434). 

I stress the words ‘as classically understood’ because there are at least four different approaches to the mitzvah of dveikut, and whether or not word dveikut is part of your religious or spiritual lexicon is likely based on which approach you have adopted (or which you’ve been taught to adopt). 

The classical approach

The ‘classically’ understood approach to dveikut is found in the Sifrei as quoted by Rashi in his commentary to Devarim 11:22 who writes: ‘How is it possible to ask us to cleave to God? Is God not “a consuming fire” (Devarim 4:24)? Instead, this is understood to mean that we should cleave to Torah scholars and their students, and by doing so, God will consider doing so as if we are cleaving to Him.’ What this implies is that we can cleave to God by studying Torah and by cleaving to those who study Torah. In fact, the Gemara (Ketubot 111b) stretches this principle to claim that by marrying a Torah scholar, you are ultimately fulfilling the mitzvah of cleaving to God. 

A different approach to dveikut is offered by the Gemara (Sotah 14a) and is quoted by Rashi in his commentary to Devarim 13:5 who explains that we ‘cleave to His ways’ by bestowing kindness as God bestows kindness, by burying the dead as God buries the dead, and by visiting the sick as God visits the sick. This means that we cleave to God by imitating God (Imitatio Dei) and by following His ways. 

Communion with God

A third approach to dveikut considers this duty in its more literal form – namely communion with God. As the Ba’al Shem Tov explains in Likkutei Yekarim no. 175 (as quoted by R’ Lamm in The Religious Thought of Hasidism p. 156): ‘when you seek to achieve dveikut, you must first traverse the world of Asiyah. Then, in thought, you must soar much higher, and still higher, to the world of the angels and the ophanim, and after this to the world of Beriah, until you feel that your thoughts have soared as high as the world of Atzilut. In the Zohar this is called “thought in which there is no action.”’ As should be evident, and as Rabbi Lamm points out, this approach to dveikut is likely to be achieved ‘privately, in seclusion and isolation’. 

Finally, the Ramban (in his commentary to Devarim 11:22) explains that, ‘included in dveikut is remembering God and loving Him constantly; your thoughts never leaving Him when you walk, when you lie down, when you rise; so much so that when you talk with others, it is only with your mouth and tongue that you talk, but your heart is not in it because it is in the presence of God.’ As Rabbi Lamm observes, ‘what is especially noteworthy is the Ramban’s understanding of dveikut as taking place not in seclusion, but [instead] in the course of day-to-day life.’

Our ultimate friend

Clearly, some of these approaches to dveikut will likely resonate with us more than others. Still, the Torah speaks of this mitzvah five times. As such, we are dutibound to consider how we fulfil this mitzvah and how we choose to live our lives in a manner that is reflective of dveikut. 

I shall end with a beautiful thought of the Kotznitzer Maggid (in his Avodat Yisrael, commenting on Avot 3:10), as shared by the Slonimer Rebbe (in his Netivot Shalom: Devarim, in his essay on cleaving to God). The Gemara (Shabbat 31a) relates how a prospective convert approached Hillel and requested that he teach him the entire Torah while standing on one foot, to which Hillel responded: “What is hateful to you, do not do to your friend. That is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary, go and learn!”. 

In response to this teaching, the Koznitzer Maggid writes that he once heard his teacher explain that when Hillel referred to ‘your friend’, this refers God who is our ultimate friend. On this basis, Hillel’s lesson teaches us that the entire Torah is about acting in a way that shows sensitivity to our relationship with God towards whom we are commanded to cleave. 

Shabbat Shalom!

Hearing the flow of the Shema (VaEtchanan)

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

According to Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi (Avot 6:2), every single day a heavenly voice (bat kol) emanates from Mount Horeb to stir the Jewish nation to cleave to the Torah. The question we must ask is: Can this voice be heard? And if so, who can hear this voice?

To answer the first question, I would like to quote from Rabbi Yaakov Yosef of Pollonye’s Toldot Yaakov Yosef commentary (on Parshat Vayikra) who explains that when we are discussing a voice, it is not a physical voice speaking audible words. Instead, it is an internal ‘voice’ that is ‘heard’ as inner thoughts which encourages us to repent and to cleave to God and Torah. 

The voice of Tzadikim

On this basis we may assume that this voice is heard by us all. However, according to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Berditchev in his Kedushat Levi commentary (on Parshat VaEtchanan), this voice is specifically heard by the tzaddikim (the righteous) through the words of Shema Yisrael – ‘Listen, Israel’ (Devarim 6:4). This suggests that Shema Yisrael speaks to the righteous and instructs them to speak to the rest of the Jewish world to come nearer to God and Torah. 

Undoubtedly, there are those who connect deeply to the idea that tzaddikim can hear a heavenly call when reciting the Shema. However, maybe due to the fact that I am not a chassid (meaning that my spiritual worldview does not see tzaddikim as unique, flawless or supernatural beings*), and maybe due to the fact that the days and weeks after October 7th prompted so many less observant Jews to connect deeply to Judaism through the Shema Yisrael, I am less comfortable with this approach. 

Given this, I would like to share an alternative interpretation to Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi’s teaching as offered by the Maharal in his Derech Chaim commentary to Avot 6:2, who says as follows: 

‘Even though the bat kol (heavenly voice) can’t be heard, it is still felt and it still leaves an impact in this world amongst those who are not engaged with Torah. And while this bat kol is not heard, it’s mazal is nevertheless heard, and its mazal can most certainly inspire such people to connect to the Torah.’

‘Mazal’ of the bat kol

In direct contrast to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak who believes that the bat kol which emanates from Mount Horeb is heard through the Shema only by tzaddikim who are engaged in Torah, the Maharal understands that this bat kol is heard by those who are not engaged in Torah whom God is beckoning to reconnect. Still, what does the Maharal mean when he says that the ‘mazal’ of the bat kol is heard?

While, as Rabbi Yehoshua Hartman explains in his remarkable commentary, this idea seems to be an adaptation of a teaching found in Megillah 3a, I would like to explain it while stepping back and exploring the meaning of the word Mazal. 

Quoting the Radak (Sefer HaShorashim, Shoresh Nazal), the Ari z’l (as cited by the Erchei HaKinuyim, Erech Mazalot) and the Vilna Gaon (Yahel Ohr on the Zohar Bereishit 43b), Rabbi Chaim Friedlander (Siftei Chaim: Emunah V’Hashgacha Vol. 1 p. 187) explains that while many associate the word mazal with ‘luck’, it actually comes from the hebrew word nazal which refers to liquids that flow (see Devarim 32:2). 

Based on this definition, when the Maharal speaks about hearing the mazal of a bat kol, it means that we each have the capacity to catch the drips and hear the flow of a divine voice which calls upon each of us to connect. 

As mentioned, it is just Rabbi Levi Yitzchak who associates the bat kol with the Shema. However, I believe that if we combine his insight with the approach of the Maharal, we can come to better understand some of the events that we have witnessed over the past 10 months, and the incredible way in which the Shema Yisrael has become so prominent in the consciousness of so many Jews around the world. 

Feeling the flow

As we know, the Jewish people suffered a horrific attack on October 7th, and on that bitter day there were Jews hiding in safe rooms, cupboards, forests and kindergartens, as well as soldiers battling in tanks, in streets and in kibbutzim, who each found themselves connecting to the Shema in ways that they’d never previously done so. In those moments, they felt plugged into a flow of energy that was greater than themselves and which went back all the way back to Mount Horeb. And when they said Shema Yisrael, what did they express? That they knew who they were as a Jew. That they were connected to that voice from Sinai. That they knew that the land of Israel was promised by God to the Jewish people. And that whatever was happening around them, they believed in God and believed that God was with them.

Ultimately, Shema isn’t just a prayer. Instead, it is a pipeline to Sinai, and whenever a Jew says the words of the Shema, they have the capacity to open that pipeline and either hear the bat kol or feel and hear its flow. And in that moment, the Shema connects us to who we are and what we most value as members of the Jewish people. 

Shabbat Shalom!

The Ultimate Book of the Torah (Devarim)

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

Among the popular paraphernalia of Torah learners is the table-top ‘shtender’ (book stand/rest) whose purpose is to hold the sefer you are studying at a comfortable angle for ease of study, and whether you own your own shtender, or you’ve seen such things in your synagogue or in a local Judaica store, you will probably know that these stands are often adorned with a biblical verse with the most popular being Yehoshua 1:8 where Yehoshua is commanded that, ‘this book of Torah shall not depart from your mouth, and you shall meditate on it day and night in order to observe all that is written therein.’

In many ways, the reason why this verse is so ubiquitous is very simple. This is among the various biblical prooftexts which command us to study Torah day and night (see Menachot 99b, Rambam, Hilchot Talmud Torah 1:8). However, if we look at Rashi’s commentary to this verse, you may be surprised to know that it does not refer to the entirety of the Torah. Instead, it specifically refers to Sefer Devarim:

‘This book of Torah’ – The book of Mishne Torah (i.e. Sefer Devarim) was in front of him (i.e. Yehoshua).’

Looking a little deeper, we find that the source of this Rashi is the Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 6:9) where we are told that: 

‘Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai said: “The book of Mishne Torah (Sefer Devarim) was constantly with Yehoshua (i.e. it was always being studied and reviewed by him). And when the Holy One, Blessed be He, appeared to Yehoshua, he found him sitting with the Mishne Torah (Sefer Devarim) in his hand. He said to him: ‘“Be strong” Yehoshua, “be courageous” Yehoshua, “for this book of the Torah shall not depart…”’ (Yehoshua 1:6–8). He then took him and showed him to the orb of the sun. Yehoshua said to it: “As I have not been still from [reading] this [book], so, you shall stand still before me.” Thereupon, “The sun stood still, and the moon stopped” (Yehoshua 10:13).”

What we see here is that there is a deep connection between Yehoshua and Sefer Devarim. But what is the nature of this connection?

To answer this question we must consider what Sefer Devarim is – namely the book of reflection and instruction which Moshe writes and bequeaths to the Jewish people in weeks and days before his death. And as we see in Parshat Devarim, it is here where Moshe reflects on the Jewish people’s past successes and failures in order to ensure that lessons have been learnt and that the mistakes of the past are not repeated. 

More broadly, as the Yalkut Meam Loez explains (on Yehoshua 1:8), Sefer Devarim contains four crucial elements which speak directly to Yehoshua: a) It provides a summary of the Torah; b) It includes the laws that a king (and/or Jewish leader) must adhere to; c) It contains the laws of Jewish warfare, and, d) It contains the laws that the Jewish people need to fulfil once they cross the Jordan river and enter into the land of Israel. As such, it makes complete sense why Sefer Devarim was always being studied and reviewed by Yehoshua, because it speaks to his needs, his time, and his situation. 

Taken together, whenever we see the words of Yehoshua 1:8 on a shtender or anywhere else, our task is to think of Yehoshua, of Sefer Devarim, and of this remarkable book which Moshe wrote to guide the people in their journey towards the holy land.

What this means is that Sefer Devarim is a book of courage which looks ahead towards upcoming challenges and battles. It is a book of morality which reminds us that even when faced with the most difficult of situations, we must never forget who we are and what we believe. And ultimately, by associating Yehoshua 1:8 with the overall endeavour of Torah study, what this means is that Sefer Devarim is the ultimate book of the Torah. 

Shabbat Shalom!

The Journey of Life

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

Earlier this week I heard a Dvar Torah by Rabbi Hagai Londin on Parshat Massei which I’d like to share with you as it conveys a deep idea about the journey of life.

This Shabbat we will be reading the final two parshiot of Sefer Bemidbar, Matot & Massei, with Parshat Massei listing the forty-two locations where Bnei Yisrael stopped along their journey from Egypt to Israel (see Rashi on Bemidbar 33:1).

Quoting the Maharal, Rabbi Londin explained that the number 42 signifies journeys and transitions, and he then mentioned how the stunning poem by the 2nd century Tana Rabbi Nehunya ben haKanah, titled Ana BaKoach, intentionally contains 42 words and is understood to reflect this same idea of journeys and transitions.

Rabbi Londin then spoke about the four occasions when we say Ana BaKoach:

i) In the prayers before reciting the Bedtime Shema – which points to the transition from waketime to sleeptime, and the journey that our soul makes each night when we go to sleep;

ii) Between Kabbalat Shabbat and Friday night services – which points to the transition and journey from the weekday to Shabbat;

iii) In the meditations preceding the counting of the Omer – which points to the transition and journey from Pesach to Shavuot, and from the Covenant of Fate to the Covenant of Destiny, and,

iv) At a Jewish funeral – which points to the transition and journey of the soul from this world to the next world.

What this teaches us is that we all experience transitions, and we all go on journeys every day and night, every week, throughout the Jewish year, and at the beginning and end of our life.

Faith and life as a journey

Holding this thought, Rabbi Londin then reflected upon some of the words and phrases of this beautiful poem, noting how Ana BaKoach petitions God to ‘strengthen us’, to ‘guide us’, and to ‘accept our entreaties and hear our cries’.

At the same time, it concludes with a proclamation that God is the ultimate ‘knower of mysteries’ – which serves as a reminder that there are moments in our journey through life when we don’t fully understand what is going on – at which point we rely on our faith in God who is the ultimate knower of mysteries.

To be clear, this idea of faith and life as a journey is not a new one. For example, Rabbi Sacks frequently spoke about the idea of faith-as-journey, writing that: ‘Faith is the space where God and humanity touch. For Jews it has always been symbolized by a journey, the journey begun by Avraham when he left his country and his father’s house to travel to an unknown land, the journey taken by the Israelites as they left Egypt for the promised land, the journey each of us could trace if we could follow our grandparents and theirs back through the generations as they wandered from country to country. The way is always further than we thought, the route more complicated and beset with obstacles. But we continue it knowing, sometimes obscurely, sometimes with blazing clarity, that this is what God wants us to do. For we know that so long as the way the world is, is not the way it ought to be, we have not yet reached our destination’ (Faith in the Future pp. 2-3).

Still, by applying the wisdom of Ana BaKoach to the various transitions and journeys of our life, we learn an important lesson which is that while there are parts of life which are easier to understand, there are other parts which are much harder. Yet even in those moments – or, expressed differently – perhaps especially in those moments, we should remember that we are not alone.

Shabbat Shalom!

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

When it comes to the Omer, Parshat Emor states that we should count 50 days (see Vayikra 23:16).

In contrast, later on in the Torah we are told to count seven weeks (see Devarim 16:9).

As Abaye explains (in Chagigah 17b), from here we learn that ‘there is a commandment to count days, and there is a commandment to count weeks’ – from which we learn that counting days is different from counting weeks, and that when it comes to Sefirat HaOmer we need to count both.

But how should we relate differently to the counting of the days and the weeks of the Omer?

Rabbi Meir Horowitz of Dzikov (1819-1877) explains in his ‘Imrei Noam’ commentary that the concept of ‘day’ refers to intellectual clarity (because the day is bright and clear), while ‘week’ refers to our values which give us a life of meaning and our character traits which thereby express our values. Put simply, day refers to מוח (mind), while week refers to מידות (character traits).

Understood this way, the process of counting both the days and the weeks of the Omer teaches us about the importance of both nurturing our thoughts and perfecting our values and character traits to be worthy to receive the Torah which we receive on Shavuot.

Shabbat Shalom!

Respect for the elderly

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

Among the various mitzvot listed in Parshat Kedoshim is the requirement to stand up and show respect for the elderly (see Vayikra 19:32). Significantly, this verse concludes with the words, “and you should revere your God; I am the Lord” (ibid.) which prompts our Sages (see Kiddushin 32b) to wonder what additional point is being made here?

They answer by explaining that this additional phrase refers to those who wish to close their eyes to avoid seeing an elder approaching them and thereby avoid the need to revere them. Instead, as Rashi explains, such an individual ‘should have feared the Creator who knows your thoughts [and who is aware of how you are] seeking strategies to become exempt from his commandments.’

In halacha

In terms of halacha, the Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh Deah 244:3) firmly rules that, ‘it is forbidden to close one’s eyes prior to coming within four amot [of an elderly person] in order to avoid the need to stand up for them [and show respect towards them]’.

However, as Rabbi Daniel Z. Feldman explains in his recently published ‘Letter and Spirit: Evasion, Avoidance and Workarounds in the Halakhic System’ (Maggid, 2024), this law serves as an example of how we shouldn’t avoid or evade the performance of mitzvot.

At the same time, as Rabbi Feldman explains throughout his book, there have been times when certain workarounds have been justified to avoid or evade the fullfilment of certain laws. Given this, why – specifically – are our Sages so insistent that we not avoid this particular law?

Increasing love of Torah

Rabbi Feldman answers by quoting Rabbi Yosef Shaul Nathanson (Responsa Shoel U’Meishiv, telita’ah I No. 120) who explains that ‘this commandment is specifically centered on increasing the love one has for the Torah and its scholars, and accordingly, actively embracing the opportunity is a part of its directive’ (Letter and Spirit p. 12).

Overall, what this teaches us is that while we should strive to fulfil all the commandments, though some may be side-stepped in certain situations, some – which go to the core of our values and beliefs – may not.

Shabbat Shalom!

Mind and Body

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

In his commentary to Parshat Tazria, the Netziv (Haemek Davar on Vayikra 13:44) explains that ‘the reasons for contracting Tzora’at on the body are not the same as those associated with Tzora’at on the head. Tzora’at on the body arises from the sins of desire (i.e. lust) that leads the body astray, while Tzora’at on the head comes for sins of the mind (i.e. heretical ideas).’

Having stated this distinction between body and head, the Netziv then explains that the reason why the Torah makes specific reference to cases of Tzora’at both on the back and the front of the head (see Vayikra 13:40-43) is because people come to heretical conclusions because of two very different reasons.

One is in response to confused philosophical analysis which then leads to errors in belief. According to the Netziv, this occurs in the front of the brain. However, a further way is through the absence of philosophical analysis which leads a person to develop their own faulty ideas about God and Judaism which, according to the Netziv, occurs in the back of the brain. Having made this point, the Netziv explains that because the Torah first speaks about Tzora’at on the back of the head, it comes to teach us that ‘errors in emuna [stemming from confusion] are much more common, and much worse, than mistakes resulting from erroneous intellectual analysis.’

As #theVirtualRabbi, I often find that clients who experience a spiritual crisis do so when their beliefs about God do not align with their personal life experience.

However, all too often it becomes clear that their beliefs about God are very confused due to the fact that they have had little serious exposure to Jewish philosophy.

And so the way I support these clients is by teaching them Jewish sources which address Jewish belief which thereby help them resolve some of the confusing beliefs which they have been holding onto. To find out more, and to book a free spiritual coaching discovery call, visit https://webyeshiva.org/about-virtual-rabbi.

Total Inner Withdrawal

By Rabbi Johnny Solomon

Beyond the inauguration of the Mishkan, Parshat Shmini also describes the sudden death of Aharon’s two sons. Yet notwithstanding this incredible loss, Aharon is instructed not to adopt the classic mourning rituals of growing his hair or tearing his clothes.

As Rav Soloveitchik explains in his essay ‘Catharsis’, ‘Aharon belonged to no one, not even to himself… Therefore he was not even free to give himself over to the grief precipitated by the loss of his two sons.’

Of course, this was an incredibly tough ask of Aharon during such a difficult moment in his life. Yet the point which Rav Soloveitchik is making here is that there are times when we all need to practically or emotionally restrain ourselves for the sake of adhering to religious rules.

As he writes: ‘Once man enters the service of God, be it as high-priest, be it as an ordinary humble person… he is subject to the divine call for total inner withdrawal. Here the halacha intervenes frequently in the most intimate and personal phases of our lives and makes demands upon us which often impress the uninitiated as overly rigid and formal.’

Overall, what this means is that keeping halacha can be hard and that the observance of halacha can often require significant self-sacrifice. This is why, as we are told in Brachot 32b, so many of the core foundations of Jewish living – such as Torah study, good deeds, prayer and even earning a livelihood – require chizuk (encouragement), because even those already committed to Jewish practice can sometimes find things hard.

As you may know, I provide online spiritual coaching and halachic consultation services as #theVirtualRabbi exclusively through WebYeshiva, and many of the sessions I have with clients touch on topics such as this.

To find out more, and to book a free discovery call, visit https://webyeshiva.org/about-virtual-rabbi/

Restoring Structure and Happiness

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

In what way is reading about the Mishkan’s inventory and construction relevant to us today? How do we gain any kind of education or inspiration from the details, especially when, in our parsha, they’re merely a repetition of the past few sections? While there are many latent messages contained within these passages, we’ll focus on the name of our parsha, Pekudei, which literally translates into “inventory items.” The word introduces a list of all the raw materials that were collected for the construction of the Mishkan. As we’ll see, this word is one of the most elastic words in the Hebrew language, having so many different meanings depending upon context.

Let’s look at all the different meanings of the root of this word, which is “פקד”. The first time it’s used in the Torah, it means “to remember,” as in (Gen. 21:1) “וַיקֹוָק פָּקַד אֶת־שָׂרָה” “Hashem remembered Sarah” after years of barrenness, and blessed her with a child.

The second time the word appears, in the context of the Yoseph story, it’s conjugated to mean “appoint” or “command,” as in (Gen. 39:4) “וַיַּפְקִדֵהוּ עַל־בֵּיתוֹ” – “Potiphar appointed Yoseph in charge of his household.” This is how it’s used in modern Hebrew today as well, in that a “מְפַקֵד” is a commanding officer in the IDF.

When the word is conjugated in noun form, it means “assurance” or “collateral,” as in when Yoseph collected food during the years of plenty to act as an assurance (pikadon) for the years of famine (Gen. 41:36): “וְהָיָה הָאֹכֶל לְפִקָּדוֹן לָאָרֶץ לְשֶׁבַע שְׁנֵי הָרָעָב”, or when the Torah discusses a person who has a collateral item (pikadon) in his possession from a debtor (Lev. 5:21): “וְכִחֵשׁ בַּעֲמִיתוֹ בְּפִקָּדוֹן”.

It also means “to compensate,” either with a reward or a punishment, as in (Ex. 20:5) “פֹּקֵד עֲוֹן אָבֹת עַל־בָּנִים” – “Hashem compensates the sin of the fathers unto the children.” It can also refer to something lost or missing, as in (Num. 31:49) “וְלֹא־נִפְקַד מִמֶּנּוּ אִישׁ:” – “No man was lost from our army.”

The most common usage of the verb translates as “counting,” as in (Ex. 30:12) “כִּי תִשָּׂא אֶת־רֹאשׁ בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל לִפְקֻדֵיהֶם” – “When you lift up the heads of the Bnei Israel for counting.” The word appears this way multiple times throughout Sefer Bamidbar. Indeed, Bamidbar has so many counts of the Jewish men of each tribe, described as “פקודים” (pekudim), that the book is also called “חומש הפקודים”, the Book of Counts (see TB Yoma 70a), or, as we commonly refer to it in English, the Book of Numbers.

This seems to be how it’s used in our Parsha, Pekudei, where the Torah itemizes all the things that were donated. But how do we connect all these other meanings of “פקד”? What does “remembering” have to do with “counting,” “appointing,” or “compensating”? Plus: why are the mitzvot of Hashem called by the very same word as our Parsha (Ps. 19:9): “פִּקּוּדֵי יְקֹוָק יְשָׁרִים מְשַׂמְּחֵי־לֵב” – “The ‘pekudim’ of Hashem are upright,” and why in that verse are the mitzvot described as making the heart happy?

An objective with immediate results

Here’s a working definition of the root that will tie all the different meanings – remember, appoint, assurance, compensate, and counting – together: When the Torah wishes to describe someone focusing their attention on something or someone, with the objective of doing something productive immediately afterwards as a result of that focus, this is when the verb “פקד” is used.

When it was time for Sarah to have a child, Hashem was “פקד” Sarah, meaning He focused His attention upon her for the sake of granting her a child. The Malbim explains that this is the difference between the verbs “זכר” and “פקד”: “זכר” means I haven’t forgotten you. But “פקד” means that in addition to just remembering you, my memory is causing me to take immediate action as a result of that remembrance. This is why the language that Hashem employed when announcing that He was imminently bringing the redemption from Egypt was (Ex. 3:16): “פָּקֹד פָּקַדְתִּי אֶתְכֶם”

When Potiphar appointed Yoseph, or when Moshe asked for a leader to be appointed to replace him (Num. 27:16), the Torah uses the verb “פקד” to describe how they focused their attention on an individual to perform a certain task. A “פקדון” is an object that a creditor can focus upon as a source of collecting a debt in the event that the debtor defaults on the loan. When Hashem seeks to compensate a person for their deeds, He is “פוקד”, that is, He focuses His attention on their sins so that He can take the damage caused by those sins and place them upon the life of the sinner in the form of punishment.

“פקד” is used when counting a person or thing with the objective of using that number for some purpose. When Hashem told Moshe in the desert to count the Jewish men over 20 years of age, it was in order to know how to organize the Jewish army that would be shortly invading Canaan. As the Malbim explains, this is the difference between the verbs “ספר” and “פקד”: They both mean to count, but “פקד” means to count for the purpose of doing something with that knowledge of how many you have. And ultimately, this is how it is used at the beginning of our parsha, to describe the inventory of all the materials donated, which was important to know in order to use those materials in the construction of the Mishkan.

Pekudim = “mitzvot”

How is this all relevant? Sometimes, Torah text has multiple meanings. Pekudei doesn’t just mean a “count,” but also “commandments,” as in the verse from Psalms, above. As the Sfas Emes writes, a deeper reading of this opening verse tells us that the pekudim, that is, the Divine commandments, are what bring about the “mishkan,” the indwelling of the Divine Presence within each and every one of us.

Based on our definition, why are the Torah’s mitzvot called “pekudim”? Because they draw our attention to a particular action and spur us to make that action a part of our lives. I may instinctively sense that I should give charity, but when the Torah commands me to give charity, my attention is all the more focused on that activity. I may instinctively know that I need to unplug and take time off from the world, but the Torah commands (“פוקד”) and legislates that practice of Sabbath so that I have a greater sense of satisfaction that I’ve rested properly.

Letting Hashem into our lives

This is why King David said that the “pekudei Hashem” cause one to rejoice. We all know that there are things we would do in our lives even without a Torah. But the Torah provides us a manual, a structured set of protocols, that gives each of us the confidence and peace of mind that we’re doing something worthwhile with our lives. What greater happiness is there in life than knowing that Hashem is happy with your actions and you are living your life according to His dictates?

The Midrash teaches that the reason why Bnei Israel first believed Moshe when he told them that he was sent by God was specifically because he used the term “פָּקֹד פָּקַדְתִּי֙”, “I have surely remembered you.” The Jews in Egypt had a tradition that had been passed down to them all the way from Yaakov Avinu, who passed it down to Yoseph, who further passed it down to Serach bat Asher, who was alive at the time. “Any redeemer who uses this language is authentic,” she announced. What was significant about this term? It implies that the purpose of becoming the Chosen People is so that we may assume a structured lifestyle that is the most liberating of all, a life of “pekudim.”

The Kotzker used to ask: “Where is God? Anywhere you let Him in.” Let’s all bring the Mishkan, God’s Divinity, into our lives. We do that when we structure our lives with His pekudim. May we experience that joy in this new month of simcha, Adar 2, and may it usher the final Redemption, bb”a.

Moderation and the Half-Shekel

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

We have gone through a national tragedy, but the war seems to be abating. Should we be optimistic about the future, or have we gone from the frying pan into the fire?

In reality, it’s both. In our constant evolution and forward motion toward a utopian future, life is still fraught with pitfalls, so that for every two steps forward, it seems we’re taking at least one step backwards. This is the nature of our existence, and it’s actually reflected in the Half-Shekel tradition that we will read about this Shabbat.

When the Torah commands Bnei Israel to participate in the building of the Mishkan, the ultimate representation of communal participation, it mandates that each person must donate exactly one half Shekel of silver (30:15). “הֶעָשִׁיר לֹא־יַרְבֶּה וְהַדַּל לֹא יַמְעִיט מִמַּחֲצִית הַשָּׁקֶל” – “The wealthy may not add, nor may the poor subtract” from this prescribed amount. Surely, there are other donations that an individual can donate at their own economic level. What is the lesson of the Half-Shekel?

Defining “wealthy” and “poor”

Rabbi Yaakov Lainer (d. 1878) suggests that we expand the definition of “wealthy” and “poor”. These terms don’t just refer to one’s bank account, but rather to one’s sense of spiritual and emotional wellbeing. The “wealthy” person is someone who is endowed with a healthy amount of confidence and ego. They’re happy with the trajectory of their life and they are optimistic about a glorious future ahead. They feel connected to God and the Torah, and they have a true joie de vivre. The “poor” person is someone who is given to depression and pessimism about their own condition and about the future. They feel broken inside, distant from G-d, and they’re not sure whether anything can go right for them.

Obviously, there are pitfalls in both of these emotional states. But the Torah is commanding each of us, whether we’re more of the optimistic type of person, or the more pessimistic type of person, that we can’t overdo it. “The wealthy may not add, nor may the poor subtract.” The “wealthy” have to contain their pride and glory. Just because you feel good about yourself doesn’t mean that you should start posting on social media how amazing your life is. Live your good life humbly, and enjoy it with gratitude and modesty. Conversely, the “poor” have to be careful that they don’t allow their pessimism to cause them to fall into the abyss of utter despair and nihilism. Yes, maybe there are things that aren’t great right now, but tomorrow is another day, and realize that there is hope for the future.

Entering the “Pardes”

In Tractate Chagigah we learn about the four great sages who entered the “Pardes,” which is alternately translated as either mystical ascension to a spiritual dimension, or deep philosophical speculation. Three out of the four sages were adversely affected by this endeavor. According to a number of commentaries, the four sages represent four personality types. Particular attention is given by the Talmud to Ben Zoma, whose personality type emphasized the acquisition of knowledge and wisdom. Because Ben Zoma applied logic to every situation, when he entered into a realm that transcended human comprehension, he couldn’t handle it, and went insane.

The Talmud (TB Chagigah 14b-15a) states that at some stage, Ben Zoma was asked the following two questions: (1) Is it permitted to neuter a dog? Is the biblical prohibition to castrate animals only for those creatures that may be used for the Altar, or does it include all animals, including the lowly scavenger dog? (2) May a woman who is pregnant, but who physiologically also presents as a virgin, marry the Kohen Gadol (the High Priest, who can only marry a virgin)? The Talmud presents the possibility of a woman who never consorted with a man, but who could have been artificially inseminated. Is such a woman sufficiently “virgin” to marry the Kohen Gadol?

The middle path

Ben Zoma responded that (1) you may not neuter a dog, and (2) a Kohen Gadol is permitted to marry the pregnant virgin. Rav Lainer explains that the reason why these two questions were posed to Ben Zoma was out of a concern that perhaps his personality was the cause behind his failure in the Pardes. Ben Zoma’s genius may have also meant that he was given to extremes, and that he always pushed harder, even when it was unsafe. When one is spiritually lofty, one might assume that they need to go to an even higher spiritual extreme. That is, perhaps the Kohen Gadol, who is of the highest spiritual echelon within Jewish society, must always assume the extra measure of holiness because of his already lofty level. To that, Ben Zoma responded, no: The Torah only limits him to a virgin, but says nothing about her pregnancy status. As long as she has not been intimate with a man, don’t add extra holiness requirements to the Torah’s prescription.

Conversely, when one is on the lowest rung of social or spiritual standing, you might think that it’s alright to “kick ‘em while they’re down” and lower them even further. Perhaps a lowly dog may be further demoted by castration. To that, Ben Zoma responded, no: There are limits to how low one can permit themselves to go. Ultimately, we can never allow ourselves to be too holy or too profane. We can never overindulge in happiness or depression. No extreme is healthy.

Instead, be the “Half Shekel.” Follow the middle path and moderate between both extremes. This is especially vital when participating in communal activities, as a true communal leader must maneuver all the different personalities that emerge in the public sphere by staying the middle path. Only by practicing equanimity can we all succeed together.

This, too, shall pass

Returning to our present day, this message is as pertinent as ever. There’s a lovely story that has crept into Jewish folklore:

King Solomon asked Benaiah, his wisest servant, to perform a seemingly impossible task: to find something that did not exist. He requested a magic ring — one that, if a sad man wore it, he would become happy and if a happy man wore it, he would become sad. Benaiah was perplexed as to how to find such a ring, until an old jeweler took a golden ring and inscribed on it, “Gam ze ya’avor,” which means, “This, too, shall pass.”

When you are feeling down and suffocated by life’s challenges, remember that, “This, too, shall pass.” And when you’re riding high and life is glorious, humbly look at your ring and remember, “This, too, shall pass.” That phrase was never more important to reinforce than over these past two years of closures and illnesses. But it’s also important for us to remember the message during a time when we are emerging from dark times and life seems to be getting better. What awaits our world next? Be optimistic, but also realize that life is so fleeting, so it’s best to live in the present, since no one knows what tomorrow will bring.

Parshat Shekalim is the first of the four special Torah readings that we always read this time of year, when the weather is beginning to change and the celebrations of joy and redemption are approaching on our calendar. We’d do well to remember that as we plan our celebrations over this new wonderful chapter in our lives and the life of society, that we remember to be the “Half-Shekel,” not too confident, but not too humble, either.

I notice that in some Orthodox circles, celebrations involve significant indulgence and ostentatious celebration. Perhaps we should “lay low” even after it’s safe to gather socially. By all means let’s celebrate; but let’s do so without forgetting the valuable message of the Half-Shekel. In the meantime, let’s pray for our world and a swift peace throughout the world. May we see the day when every day is a full Shekel with the coming Redemption, bb”a.

One Chosen People is Enough

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Imagine an alternate universe where instead of there being one Chosen People, one nation who received the Torah in the Middle East 3300 years ago, there were actually two nations who received the Torah: One, the Jews who stood at Mount Sinai, and two, a group of Olmecs, an ancient civilization from Mesoamerica in the western hemisphere, who also experienced a revelation around the same time. Both peoples received the Torah, but one nation lived in the East, and the other in the West. The Jews were given Israel as their Promised Land, and the Olmecs were given Mexico as their Promised Land.

What are the repercussions of this alternate history? Would knowing that there is another Chosen People on the other side of the world affect my ability as a Jew to serve God? Furthermore, over the course of centuries, Judaism spreads and eventually influences the creation of Christianity and Islam. What religions on the western hemisphere would crop up as a result of the Olmecs and their Torah?

These questions may sound silly and pointless, until we look at a verse from our parsha. After the sin of the Golden Calf, Moshe prayed to Hashem to not only spare the Jews, but also to grant additional favors. One such favor was that instead of God sending an intermediary angel to guide the Jews through the desert into Eretz Israel, God would lead them directly. Moshe’s petition was (33:16):

וּבַמֶּה יִוָּדַע אֵפוֹא כִּי־מָצָאתִי חֵן בְּעֵינֶיךָ אֲנִי וְעַמֶּךָ הֲלוֹא בְּלֶכְתְּךָ עִמָּנוּ וְנִפְלִינוּ אֲנִי וְעַמְּךָ מִכָּל־הָעָם אֲשֶׁר עַל־פְּנֵי הָאֲדָמָה

For how shall it be known that both I and Your people have gained Your favor unless You go with us, so that we may be distinguished, both I and Your nation, from every nation on the face of the earth?

Different from all other nations

Moshe’s interest wasn’t just to have God closer to the people. He argued that this close contact would be how the rest of the world would recognize that the Jewish people were “distinguished” from every other nation of the world. Why was it important to Moshe that the world should recognize that the Jews were different from everyone else?

What’s even more shocking is the Midrashic commentary cited by Rashi. Not only was Moshe asking for God’s direct Divine presence to travel with the Jews, he also was asking God: Promise that You will never allow Your Divine Presence to rest on any other nation! Up until that time, prophets appeared to the other nations and offered Divine messages. Because of Moshe’s petition, all prophecies from the other nations ceased.

Why would Moshe ask for such a thing? What’s wrong with there being another nation that is communicated to by God? Shouldn’t we want the whole world to have a relationship with Hashem? Are we so proprietary and selfish as to want to deprive the world of a closeness to their Maker?

The Chatam Sofer (R. Moshe Sofer, d. 1839) addressed why Moshe wanted only the Jewish people to have prophecy, and why this request was related to the Golden Calf sin. Before the sin, Moshe would have been fine if God had chosen another nation to also receive the Torah. But now that the Jews sinned, Moshe was worried that if there would be another nation receiving the Torah, they might become God’s favorite nation. Maybe the Olmecs in Mexico would do a better job fulfilling the Torah’s edicts, and would never build a Golden Calf. This possibility caused Moshe great concern; he didn’t mind if other people had the Torah, but he didn’t want to make his people look bad by comparison to any other Torah-commanded nation.

Flawed but inherently holy

I have difficulty with this explanation. Who’s “team” was Moshe playing on: God’s team, or Israel’s team? Certainly, Moshe was an Israelite, but his devotion to Hashem should have trumped his loyalty to his own family. If, indeed, the Jews, this “stiff-necked people,” had character flaws that made them prone to sin, and if, indeed, there could be found another nation who did not possess this propensity towards idolatry and sin, then wouldn’t Moshe have wanted God’s Torah to be entrusted to such a superior people?! Why force God’s hand to deprive the Olmecs the opportunity of fulfilling the Torah completely, even if it meant outshining the Jews?

I suggest, therefore, that Moshe’s intention was deeper. Moshe understood the history of his people. He knew that the Jews had descended from exemplary patriarchs and matriarchs who passed down a legacy of morality and kindness.

He knew the centuries-long enslavement in Egypt, which further primed this nation of morally superior people with the requisite humility to submit themselves to Divine authority.

He reasoned: If, even after centuries of conditioning and superior genetics, the Jews are still prone to sin, imagine what would happen to a nation that did not have the great biblical patriarchs and matriarchs as their ancestors! Imagine the Olmecs being given a Torah; if the Jews failed so miserably despite their inherent greatness, then certainly the Olmecs would only distort and disobey God’s Torah in a worse way! This would invariably result in God’s anger being kindled even further, and would also result in an even greater Chillul Hashem – desecration of God’s name – than the sin of the Golden Calf! The Olmec Golden Calf, reasoned Moshe, would be even bigger and more flagrantly oppositional to Hashem’s will than the Jewish one.

Us or them

This was Moshe’s appeal to Hashem: Keep us as the sole Chosen People. I know my own people’s flaws, despite our coming from excellent pedigree. I can guarantee that when we sin, we won’t descend so low as to be completely beyond redemption. But if your Divine Presence rests upon another nation, they might debase your Torah in a way far worse than us. Over the course of the centuries, other religions that mutate from Judaism will emerge.

These religions will accomplish much good, but they will also wreak some level of havoc throughout the world. If you allow the Olmecs to have the Torah, their religion will also be distorted and repackaged by others over time. Their distortions will be far more harmful to the world than anything perpetrated by the outgrowths of Judaism.

This may explain why Moshe twice inserted himself by saying, “אֲנִי וְעַמֶּךָ” – “both I and Your people,” when requesting this distinction. At first glance, it seems egotistical for Moshe to put himself before the nation, yet we know that Moshe was exceedingly humble. He was conveying that he had as much confidence in his people as he had in himself. He knew that he, as a member of the Jewish family, was up to the task to be the giver of the Torah, and all he asked was that Hashem have the same confidence in Bnei Israel that He had in Moshe.

We look at what is happening throughout the world today, especially in parts of the world that have acquired their Abrahamic religious values – or lack thereof – from the Jewish Bible. We also note the current chaotic democracy that exists in Israel today, and the unresolved problems from before October 7. It’s easy to criticize what is happening in Israel from afar; but as has been noted for decades, the world is eager to criticize Israel. Moshe’s plea to God teaches that we are still the best hope for the future of decency and humanity in the world.

Let’s do our best to live the best version of our lives using the mitzvot and values of the Torah. We will thereby strengthen Moshe’s argument on behalf of our people, and will succeed in ushering the Redemption, bb”a.

The Spice of Life Makes Life Worth Living

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

The Torah ends our parsha with the commandment to make the golden Mizbach Ketoret, the Incense Altar. Many commentaries ask why this utensil’s instruction is deferred until the very end of Parshat Tetzaveh, long after all the other utensils had been specified in Parshat Terumah. It seems that the Incense Altar was not the same as the other utensils, which were integral to Temple service.

Rabbi Ovadiah Seforno suggests that all of the other Temple services and their respective utensils – the lighting of the Menorah, the offering of the sacrifices, the baking of the show-bread –were all necessary in order to create a repository for the Shechinah, allowing Hashem to rest His Divine presence within our people. But the Ketoret (incense) offering was not meant to bring the Shechinah. Rather, once the Shechinah was brought down by the other requisite Temple services, it was only fitting to offer incense as a show of respect to Hashem whose Presence was manifest in this holy place.

In the same vein, Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk demonstrates from the Talmud that the incense’s offering was not as reliant upon the specific altar utensil. For all other services, if the utensil was missing or deficient, the service could not be performed. For example, if the sacrificial altar was broken or missing a piece, all sacrifices could no longer be brought until the altar was repaired. But in the absence of an Incense Altar, incense could still be brought. This, too, indicates that there’s something different about the Ketoret service.

The menorah and incense

But this only begs the question: Why is the Menorah lighting, for example, so vital an ingredient to bringing Hashem’s presence among us, whereas the Ketoret offering was not? Why is it treated with less formality and strict protocol than the other services?

Furthermore, the Torah says (30:-7-8) that the incense of the Mishkan must be offered twice daily, once in the morning, and once in the evening. But the Torah makes this statement in an unusual context, pointing out that the incense must be offered in concert with the work done with the Menorah.

In the morning, the Kohen must offer the incense in the middle of his work in cleaning out the burnt out wicks of the Menorah. In the evening, the Kohen must offer the incense immediately before the lighting of the Menorah. Why does the Torah connect the burning of the incense with the lighting of the Menorah?

Although the entire Temple service is quite foreign to us, we can find deep meaning about the human condition in these arcane practices. The lighting of the Menorah represents and stimulates the sense of sight, whereas the burning of the Ketoret represents and stimulates the sense of smell. In this context, Maimonides suggests that the reason for burning incense in the Temple is to remove any offensive odor that one might encounter when entering the Mishkan with all of its freshly slaughtered animals on a hot day. The incense would alleviate the overpowering smell and would provide instead a positive olfactory experience.

The role of smell in our lives

Which sense is more impactful and necessary for human survival – the sense of smell or the sense of sight? One of the side-effects of the Covid virus was the temporary loss of smell and taste. Can you imagine if, instead of taking away one’s sense of smell, the virus took away one’s sight? There would have been absolute pandemonium and utter terror at the prospect of going blind, even temporarily. But lose your smell and taste for a few days? Not so terrible.

But we shouldn’t be quick to dispense with the importance of the Ketoret and the sense of smell. Note the role it plays in multiple stories in the Torah. It is the offering that Nadav and Avihu brought into the Holy of Holies, thinking that this would be most pleasing to Hashem (Lev. 10:1-2).

It is also the offering that Korach’s 250 elders brought in their censer pans, thinking that Hashem would choose them over Moshe, only to discover that their offering brought about their destruction (Num. 16:35). The Ketoret was also used by Aharon to stay a plague in Parshat Korach (17:11-13). What is this quality of the Ketoret that makes it attractive as an offering, and why does it have this ability to stay a plague?

A beneficial relationship or not?

Consider that it may very well be that the less vital role of the Ketoret – and its accompanying sense of smell –is the very thing that makes it so desirable and special. All of the korbanot that are offered to Hashem on the main altar – animal flesh, flour offerings, and libations – have nutritive qualities that represents the concept of “feeding” the Almighty His due, in the hopes that He will reciprocate and feed us that which is vital for our existence: parnassah, health, etc. (in the same way that the sense of sight is vital to our existence).

But the truly righteous person is inspired to serve G-d NOT because he or she wishes to garner some benefit from the Almighty. Rather, he or she wishes to show honor and homage to their Creator without the expectation of anything in return. The greatest gratification is not doing something which garners things in return, but rather knowing that you have made a difference in the larger scheme and that your Creator loves you because of it.

The Ketoret represents specifically that ingredient in life that is NOT vital to our survival, but nevertheless makes life worth living. This is what sweet-smelling fragrances achieve as well. We can certainly survive without fragrance, but what a bland and tasteless life it would be without our olfactory senses intact. This is why Nadav and Avihu felt that the Ketoret was the appropriate offering for an extemporaneous show of their love to Hashem. It wasn’t in order to curry favor for any of their needs, but rather to show their love and desire to achieve ultimate closeness as the inherent gratification for their offering.

Ketoret and a ‘higher’ place

This is also the key to the Ketoret’ ability to stay a plague. The fragrance of incense represents the higher sense of quality of life. One who takes time to smell the roses is not just surviving, but is living in the moment. It is that high sense of living that wards off the Angel of Death and allows a person to survive a plague. It is also the reason why, immediately after Shabbos when our “neshamah yeteirah” (added soul) leaves us, we revive ourselves with incense, demonstrating that despite Shabbos’ departure, we will still find life purpose in the days ahead.

We are all “surviving” in the midst of war, a war that is taking a great toll on so many. We look forward to a time when we no longer be in survival mode, but rather living with the added “fragrances” of life. Indeed, it is still possible to live in the moment even during difficult times. Our goal should be to find the daily pleasures of life even amidst the pain.

Finally, in describing the Messiah, Isaiah says that he will be imbued with the unique ability to see people for whom they really are. The navi thus says that instead of judging people with his eyes and ears as one would normally, the Messiah will (Is. 11:3) “וַהֲרִיח֖וֹ בְּיִרְאַ֣ת יְקֹוָ֑ק” – “smell out the fear of G-d” within people. The Ibn Ezra explains that the sense of smell is uncanny in its truthful detection: “Sometimes the sense of hearing errs in that it might hear something that’s not really there. The sense of sight might also mistake something stationary as moving.

Only the sense of smell never misperceives.” As we continue to rebuild our people from the ashes of tragedy, we will continue to regain our sense of smell. I encourage you to smell the roses and resume living your life to the fullest. Let’s imbibe the sweet fragrance of the Ketoret together in the days to come. Let’s see the Temple service once again, together in Yerhushalayim, bb”a.

“Mishkan” vs. “Mikdash”

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

What is the correct Hebrew name for the Tabernacle that God commanded the Jews to construct in the desert? That’s easy: It’s called the “Mishkan.” However, the very first time the Torah identifies the structure, Hashem calls it a “Mikdash” (25:8): “וְעָשׂוּ לִי מִקְדָּשׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם” – “They shall make for me a ‘Mikdash,’ and I will dwell in their midst.” The edifice is mentioned by name an additional 19 times in our parsha, but each time it is called “Mishkan!” What, then, is the difference between a Mikdash and a Mishkan, and why are there two terms for the very same thing?

The Talmud acknowledges that the correct term for the temporary portable edifice that the Jews built in the desert is “Mishkan,” and the correct term for the Temple in Jerusalem is “Mikdash.” The reason why the Torah first calls the Mishkan a “Mikdash” is to teach that the technical halachot of ritual impurity and other holy protocols apply equally to both the Mishkan of the desert and the Beit HaMikdash, the Temple in Jerusalem.

I might have thought, the Talmud explains, that there are certain additional holy aspects to each edifice, and so Scripture needed to connect them, demonstrating that both structures occupy the same level of holiness.

But we are still left with the question: Why are two different words used to describe two buildings which have essentially the same function, namely, a holy edifice for worshipping God? The commentaries note a number of differences between the words, “Mikdash” and “Mishkan.” Here are some of those differences:

Two building, two names

1. On the basic level, the word “Mikdash” is a sanctified place. This word describes the job of the Jewish people in building the edifice. They needed to “sanctify” it and make it distinct and separate from their own homes and other structures. In exchange for building a holy place that is habitable for Hashem, God promised, “וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם” – “I will dwell in their midst.” The word “Mishkan” derives from the word, “Shekhinah,” the infusion of God presence, as it were, into the edifice that Bnei Israel had sanctified. Put another way: “Mikdash” represents Israel’s role in this project, and “Mishkan” represents God’s reaction to that effort.

2. The Mishkan was a portable edifice; whenever the Jews encamped in a new place in the desert, they reconstructed the Mishkan, and it regained its holy status. The Beit HaMikdash, by contrast, was fixed permanently on one piece of real estate, on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, never to be relocated.

3. As per the Talmud cited above, the Mishkan’s holiness was temporary. The edifice was only meant to be utilized until Bnei Israel would find a permanent place for building a Temple. By contrast, the Temple was meant to last perpetually. Even after its destruction, the Temple Mount retains its sanctity.

4. Both the Mishkan and the Temple were meant as places for communion with God. However, the method of Divine communion in the Mishkan was primarily achieved when God rested His Shekhinah among the people in order for Him to communicate the laws of the Torah to Moshe. Sacrifices were also brought in the Mishkan, but this was only its secondary function. The Temple, by contrast, created Divine communion solely through the Jews’ bringing their korbanot (sacrifices). God never communicated Torah law via the Temple.

Mikdash and mishkan today

We might apply these four distinctions between Mikdash and Mishkan to our own lives:

1. The Kotzker was known to say: “Where is God? Any place where you let Him in.” Our job is to construct the “Mikdash.” If we live our lives with dignity, moderation, and morality, then we can expect Divine influence in our lives. The Shechinah can only rest upon those who properly invest in living a life dedicated to Torah study and mitzvot, and create a welcoming place for God to rest within.

2. There’s value in knowing that there are two types of holy places: the portable ones, and the ones fixed in place. Tradition teaches that we should assign specific places and times for spiritual efforts. That is why we have designated holy days, and designated places of holiness. The authorities advocate that a person should designate one spot, known as a makom kavua, whether in the synagogue or in the home, which is reserved for prayer.

The human psyche reacts better to the idea of transcendence when it is bounded by specific times and places. At the same time, we often find ourselves traveling through the deserts of the world, whether literally or figuratively. We should attempt to create holiness even in places where holiness is not to be found. In the desert, we anointed the Mishkan utensils in order to imbue them with a holiness that was not endemic to the desert environment.

We can do the same while in our own deserts. Whether it’s assembling a minyan at the airport, or putting together a minyan amidst the rubble in Gaza, we can create holiness anywhere. We should never be embarrassed to express ourselves religiously in public.

3. Rav Kook teaches something profound: The Mishkan was a prerequisite to the Temple in Jerusalem. Something as transcendent and holy as the Divine Presence could not initially rest in something permanently ensconced within our physical world. The Mishkan needed to be a temporary edifice in order for Hashem’s transcendence to feel “comfortable” descending into it.

Only after Moshe and the Jewish people expressed great love and desire for a more permanent home, did Hashem allow His presence to rest in a permanent edifice. I was just at a new restaurant in the neighborhood, where they advertised that they were having a “soft launch.” I asked the owner why he didn’t just open up fully right away. He responded that both he and his partner were not coming from the foodservice industry, and they needed to ease themselves into this new venture before committing to a full-service restaurant. The same is true with any spiritual endeavor.

No one should go from zero to 100 in one fell swoop. We always advise baalei teshuvah and others who are assuming new responsibilities in life: Take it slow, and ease your way into your new role. This is the only way to succeed, especially when attempting something that is spiritually monumental.

4. Finally, utilize your holy places, especially your shul, for both worship (Mikdash) and Torah study (Mishkan). Both are holy endeavors, and both create communion with God. One is not a holier endeavor than the other, even though they serve different functions. We need both a Mishkan and Mikdash in our lives.

Making a place for God in our lives

Rav Yitzchak Hutner (d. 1980) is credited with the moving poem, “בלבבי משכן אבנה”, which has been popularized as a beautiful song (which is actually based on a poem written by Rav Elazar Azkari of the 16th century). The lyrics translate as:

In my heart I will build a Mishkan for His glorious honor.

In this

Mishkan I will establish an altar for the corners of His glory.

For an eternal light, I will use the fire of the Akeidah.

For a sacrifice, I will offer up to Him my only soul.

We can use these parshiyos which detail the Mishkan’s construction to try our best to sanctify our lives with efforts that will make us a place for God to feel welcome. Whether it’s our home, our workplace, or our vacation spots, let’s welcome Hashem into our spaces, so that we can commune with Him at the Redemption, bb”a.