Tag: Parshat HaShavua

Struggling with Our Free Will

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Does man truly possess free will? Or, are we, as many social scientists suggest today, a product of a series of events that have occurred in our lives and various natures and dispositions that we are born with? Can man truly be held responsible for the choices he or she makes? “At least since the Enlightenment, in the 18th century, one of the most central questions of human existence has been whether we have free will.

In the late 20th century, some thought neuroscience had settled the question, but this was later refuted. The elusive answer is nonetheless foundational to our moral codes, criminal justice system, religions and even to the very meaning of life itself—for if every event of life is merely the predictable outcome of mechanical laws, one may question the point of it all.”

The modern-day Acher, Yuval Harari, has argued that free will is a myth, invented by religion. “Theologians developed the idea of ‘free will’ to explain why God is right to punish sinners for their bad choices and reward saints for their good choices. If our choices aren’t made freely, why should God punish or reward us for them?” To prove this is false, Harari argues: “This myth has little to do with what science now teaches us about Homo sapiens and other animals… You cannot decide what desires you have. You don’t decide to be introvert or extrovert, easy-going or anxious, gay or straight.

Humans make choices – but they are never independent choices. Every choice depends on a lot of biological, social and personal conditions that you cannot determine for yourself. I can choose what to eat, whom to marry and whom to vote for, but these choices are determined in part by my genes, my biochemistry, my gender, my family background, my national culture, etc. – and I didn’t choose which genes or family to have.”

Free will of classical Jewish literature

Of course, Harari’s argument against free will is predicated on the assumption that religion defines free will to mean that all people are completely equal in their respective dispositions to countless different good vs. bad choices. But that was never the definition of free will in classical Jewish literature. Rather, “free will” simply means that despite one’s unique dispositions – biological, social, and personal conditions – no one forces a human being to act upon that which God defines as bad behavior.

It may be more difficult for one person to resist the temptation to a particular illicit act than another. For example, some people find the urge to shoplift overpowering, while others recoil at the prospect. But in the end, we all can choose, through proper discipline and conditioning, to resist even the strongest of urges.

It may very well be that our patriarch Yaakov struggled with this idea. It would appear that his brother, Esav, had already resigned himself to act upon his impulses. When given the opportunity to choose the immediate gratification of a meal vs. maintaining his first-born role as the moral leader of the family, Esav abdicated the latter, with the argument (Bereishit 25:32), “הִנֵּה אָנֹכִי הוֹלֵךְ לָמוּת וְלָמָּה־זֶּה לִי בְּכֹרָה”, which we may translate as: “All of us, whether saint or sinner, end up in the same place anyway, dead. Why should I maintain this position of moral authority if morality is an illusion and there is no free will?!”

He gave into the urge for food and lived for the instant gratification of the moment. Esav’s very name (עשו = עשוי) implies “completed” and fixed in one’s nature, devoid of the opportunity to change. This is exactly what Harari would have us do, revert back to our Esav impulses.

Yaakov reunites with Esav

It may very well be that twenty years later, Yaakov would be filled with a great doubt: perhaps my brother Esav was right, after all.

“וַיִּוָּתֵר יַעֲקֹב לְבַדּוֹ וַיֵּאָבֵק אִישׁ עִמּוֹ עַד עֲלוֹת הַשָּׁחַר”

The Torah (Bereishit 32:25) describes how Yaakov, returning to Eretz Israel, prepared to confront his brother. He sent his family ahead, and then remained alone in the darkness, devoid of his family – his support system – and left alone to his thoughts.

He began to question the last two decades of his life and the precarious future he now faced: I’ve lived my life with the conviction that there is absolute right and wrong, and yet Lavan seems to flourish with impunity despite his sinister behavior. Esav has amassed great wealth living the life of someone who follows his impulses, and those same bloodthirsty impulses may impel him to kill me.

Struggling with these doubts manifests in a wrestling match with an “angel,” a being who, according to our Sages, doesn’t possess free will. Our sages teach us that this was Esav’s angel, who, over the course of this dark night tries to convince Yaakov that free will is, indeed, an illusion.

Yaakov as Yisrael

But Yaakov resists, and remembers that Hashem appeared to him and promised him Divine protection. He remembers the ladder ascending to heaven, representing the opportunity that man has, through his free will choices, to ascend or descend, to become close or distant, from G-d. Seeing that he cannot defeat Yaakov, the angel touches Yaakov’s sciatic nerve, which runs opposite his loins, representing the greatest biological urge that humans possess.

This proves to be Yaakov’s weak spot, in that there are times in life when man feel powerless to resist his sexual urges. But even that “injury” to Yaakov’s belief in free will does not last long. Man may succumb temporarily, but eventually can overcome even the strongest of urges, once he sees the light of day. This is why, as the dawn breaks, Yaakov is initially limping, but then the sun heals him of the injury to his loins.

The angel thus awards Yaakov his new name, Yisrael (32:29), meaning the man who struggles with G-d and with man, and eventually emerges victorious. Yes, Yaakov, sometimes the urges are overbearing, but you have demonstrated that you do have free will and you can conquer your demons. Indeed, this is why we are called Bnei Israel, Children of the Struggler, because free will is the very basis of our entire faith.

Overcoming evil

Let Esav continue believing in his deterministic urges as the guide to his life. You and your descendants will have a higher calling. Your virtue will undermine Esav’s whole belief system. At different times in history, he will hate you for it, and will try to destroy you for proving him wrong. For you will remind him that no matter how sophisticated he can articulate the argument, you demonstrate that man can always overcome the evil within.

We have been dealing with the problem of free will for time immemorial. This problem persists today, and we occasionally must face yet another scandal of a religious or community leader who stands accused of being a sexual predator. The perpetrators and their behavior must be condemned in the strongest of terms. We owe the victims no less. No matter how tormented the individual may be by his demons, no one can claim to be religious and yet repeatedly succumb to their baser impulses. We have seen the horrors of those who proclaim “Allahu Akbar” and then proceed to commit the most immoral and violent acts. Even women’s advocacy groups have looked the other way when it comes to Jewish women being raped and abused. One of the reasons for the world’s persistent hatred of the Jewish people is because we never give a pass to someone who chooses evil over good. Both Yaakov and Esav always have a choice.

We may limp from such experiences, but the dawn eventually heals even the deepest of wounds. That is our hope and this is our prayer. May we truly experience the healing power of the day when all evil will be eradicated, and we will feel the soothing rays of light emanating from the Messianic Age, bb”a.

Watch Your Aura

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

We left last week’s parsha with the very dramatic episode of Yaakov usurping the blessings that were originally meant for Esav. Understandably, Esav was quite upset about this, and resolved to murder his brother once their father was dead. It seems like parsha Vayetzei begins with an entirely new chapter and scene, which begins with Yaakov fleeing his parents’ home in Eretz Israel, and his dream of the Ladder while in flight.

But are the stories connected? The Midrash Tanchuma states that the whole reason why Yaakov needed to leave Eretz Israel is because he had the status of an accidental murderer. The accidental murderer must flee to an Ir Miklat, a City of Refuge, exiling himself from his hometown and his family, and Yaakov needed to do the same. What does this mean? In what way was Yaakov like a murderer?

Rav Yaakov Lainer and others suggest that in the aftermath of Yitzchak giving the blessings to Yaakov instead of to Esav, the Torah records that Yitzchak was filled with a great, frightful epiphany (27:33): He came to the realization that Esav was not the man he thought he was, and that he would not, tragically, play a role in being a part of the Chosen People. Imagine for a moment Esav’s feelings, realizing that his father had now discovered the truth about him. “I’m not the man they thought I was at home,” he thought. What happens to such a person? How does his behavior change?

Esav’s attempts at tesuvah

Initially, Esav thought that he might win back his father’s respect. He tried, as recorded at the end of last week’s parsha, when seeing how his parents had sent Yaakov away to find a wife from their own family. Esav decided to follow suit and married Yishmael’s daughter.

But that didn’t last. He must have realized that his parents nonetheless gave up on him; after all, they never told him to go seek out a wife from their family as they had instructed Yaakov.

When Esav previously thought that his father held him in high regard, Esav restrained himself. Despite his violent and lustful tendencies, he kept himself in check at least when he was in his father’s presence. But now, reasoned Esav, the charade is over.

I might as well live my life to its fullest and do whatever I want. We sadly know of more than one story of a young man or woman who felt “exposed” as falling short of their parents’ or mentors’ expectations. This led them to give up entirely on trying to be good and eradicating their flaws (Obviously, this is a lesson as much for the parents and mentors to be careful with their words as it is for the individuals who have fallen short).

Yaakov failing his brother

This is the murder to which the Midrash refers. Yaakov’s taking of the blessings caused Esav to spiral downwards to a life of complete abandon. He lost his spiritual “life,” as it were, and Yaakov was complicit in this “death.”

Yaakov himself may have been bothered by this. To continue the Midrash’s metaphor, if Yaakov was the accidental murderer, then Esav was not only the victim, but also the blood avenger, the go’el hadam that the Torah says is entitled to vengeance (Num. 35:19). Yaakov was afraid of Esav’s legitimate call for vengeance; as a result of Yaakov’s act, Esav had been demoted and truly had suffered a death of sorts. If I am truly blessed of God, thought Yaakov, why should my brother fail because of my righteousness?

This may be one of the reasons why Hashem showed Yaakov the vision of the Ladder, with angels ascending and descending. God was teaching Yaakov that there will be times when one person can succeed and others, inspired by that success, will ascend the ladder with him. There will be other times in life, however, when as one “angel” ascends the ladder, another angel is forced to “descend.” Sometimes the light of one person can inadvertently extinguish someone else’s light. But that should not be a reason to desist from ascending the ladder. As long as a person is acting righteously and for the sake of Heaven, he must continue along that path even if his bright light will end up casting a shadow of darkness upon others.

Yaakov’s exile

This lesson would prove vitally important to Yaakov when encountering Lavan and living in his home for such a prolonged period of time. Yaakov needed to remember the discipline of not changing who he was in order to avoid the jealousy or resentment of his father-in-law’s household. It was also a necessary lesson when preparing to go down to Egypt with his family, as will be documented over the next several weeks. The Diapora Jew should remember that living a life of religious observance can never be abandoned for the sake of others.

If there is a way to mitigate the negative fallout from the Tzadik’s ascent, Hashem will help it happen. This is why Hashem compelled Yaakov to leave his hometown. He was showing compassion to Esav, by not forcing him to live under the unbearable shadow of Yaakov’s righteousness.

This is why Yaakov had to go into “exile” for his inadvertent “murder.” Just as the family of the murder victim is entitled to be protected from having to continuously live in the presence of their loved one’s murderer, Esav was entitled to live his life without the constant torment of Yaakov’s righteous presence.

The story of Yaakov’s departure from Esav’s presence is thus the story of Cain and Abel all over again, and this is stated explicitly by the Zohar. Cain could not bear the pain of seeing his brother’s success shine a light on his own failure, and so he killed him. Fortunately, Yaakov fled his parents home before Esav could arise and kill him.

Ultimately, if the tzadik remains steadfast in his behavior, without the objective of flaunting it, eventually those around him will come to accept and even embrace the other’s righteousness. This is borne out by the reconciliation between Yaakov and Esav, years later, as will be documented in next week’s parsha.

Righteousness and sanctimony

Still, we should all be conscious of our “auras.” We should not allow ourselves to be conspicuously righteous, if we can at all avoid it. In some yoga studios, there is a sign that reads: “Please take responsibility for the energy you bring into this space.” “Energy” can refer to anger, depression, or other negative emotions. But it can also refer to the sense of pride that a person may carry for being or doing good.

We have to remember that there’s a fine line between righteousness and sanctimony. If we project that sense of superiority over others, then we are provoking the ire of Esav. What’s more, even when one’s righteousness is genuine, if we can shield our behavior from the Cain’s and the Esav’s out there, we’d be wise to do so. No one wishes to be an accidental murderer or to flee to a City of Refuge.

We all remember the “goody-goody” in our class when growing up, the one who would presume to lecture his or her classmates on proper behavior and who strove to be the teacher’s pet. No one likes the goody-goody, and we certainly don’t wish to project that image to our peers and the rest of the community. In our efforts toward doing what Hashem wants, our goal should be to be modest in our behavior and being a positive example for others whenever possible. Let’s try to keep others in mind as we ascend the ladder toward the final Redemption, bb”a.

Venturing Out Into a Dangerous and Deceptive World

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

The difference in personalities and outlooks between the father, Avraham, and the son, Yitzchak is quite stark and apparent in their respective narratives. Avraham’s attribute was that of Chesed, of spreading out to the rest of the world and sharing God’s loving message of ethical monotheism with the world. Yitzchak was more withdrawn and did not view his role as needing to go out into the world. Rather, when the world came to him, he dealt with it righteously.

This trait becomes apparent in the narrative of Yitzchak digging wells, and then being persecuted by the Philistines for his actions. Instead of a confrontation or attempting a peace treaty, Yitzchak always avoided conflict by just walking away from his aggressors. Even when Avimelech, king of the Philistines, came to him with an offer for peace, Yitzchak did not initially welcome him with open arms, but instead asked them why they had come. They had to press him with a request for a peace treaty in order for Yitzchak to finally relent.

Avraham vs Yitzchak’s personalities

Rav Yaakov Lainer characterizes Yitzchak’s personality in a very positive and holy light. Yitzchak was so withdrawn from this world because he recognized that this world is a false reality and that there is only one true Existent Being, God Himself. He chose to remain as attached to Divinity as possible, and considered integrating into the world as a form of detachment from holiness and Divinity. By contrast, Avraham expressed his closeness to God by spreading God’s message and enlightening as many of God’s creatures as possible about God.

There is a place for both personalities and approaches, and this is evidenced by a passage in the Zohar. Commenting on the verse (Gen. 1:5) “God called the light ‘day’ and the darkness, ‘night,’” the Zohar cryptically states: “’God called the light “day”’ refers to Avraham; ‘and the darkness “night,”’ refers to Yitzchak.” The daytime is a time for productivity and going out into the world and influencing one’s surroundings.

Nighttime is the time when we withdraw from the outside world and are left to our thoughts and our dreams. Our sleeping state is when our souls detach from this world to some degree, we are physically paralyzed, and unconscious of our physical surroundings. Our dreams sometimes manifest mini-prophecies that give us insight into the Divine realm.

Noah and the raven

We may suggest that this is also the dichotomy represented in Noah’s efforts shortly before departing from the Ark. In order to see if the world was ready again for habitation, Noah first sent out the raven. Only when it refused to fly forth and instead circled the Ark, did Noah send out the dove. Why did he choose the raven first? The black raven represents the darkness of night, and a wariness and reluctance from spreading out into the world.

Noah, conscious of mankind’s state before the Flood, may have been expressing his own caution and hesitation to repopulate the world, by sending out the raven first. The raven’s actions were completely consistent with its nature; it flew around the Ark, but refused to fly out further into the unknown world. This was the trait of Yitzchak, and it has its place, when the individual feels threatened or compromised by integrating into the physical world.

But this was not to be Noah’s destiny. While realizing that the world is not perfect, and that he had a natural aversion from the world based on witnessing mankind before the Flood, he later realized that he had nonetheless been tasked with repopulating the world. While he may have preferred to be a Yitzchak, God wanted him to be an Avraham. He therefore sent out the white dove, representing the light of day, a time when we spread out and make a difference in the world.

Like father, not like son

Ultimately, one has to make a calculus based on one’s own personality and the circumstances one finds oneself in to determine whether to be an Avraham or a Yitzchak. There is something else quite telling about this dichotomy, found in the opening verse of our parsha (25:19):

וְאֵלֶּה תּוֹלְדֹת יִצְחָק בֶּן־אַבְרָהָם אַבְרָהָם הוֹלִיד אֶת־יִצְחָק

These are the chronicles of Yitzchak son of Avraham; Avraham begat Yitzchak.

If the verse already stated that he was Yitzchak, son of Avraham, why the second phrase restating that “Avraham begat Yitzchak”? The Torah is teaching a profound lesson in human nature: When the father is an Avraham, the son will quite often be a Yitzchak. Sometimes a person’s personality can be outgoing and “larger than life.” Others around him, often the person’s children, realizing they can’t measure up to that degree of charisma and personality, will withdraw and choose the opposite way of socializing with others. The Torah is teaching that part of Yitzchak’s development into the man he became was due to Avraham giving “birth” to those personality traits that emerged in Yitzchak.

Avraham’s perception of Yitzchak

Rav Lainer has a second way of reading these words, “Avraham begat Yitzchak.” Recognizing that Yitzchak was more introverted, Avraham made it his priority to foster a more outgoing and effusive nature within his naturally withdrawn child. As a parent, he worked with Yitzchak and tried to draw him out as much as possible, knowing that as the patriarch of Israel, Yitzchak would need to pass the mantle of leadership to the next generation.

On a deeper level, Avraham also knew that Yitzchak’s perception of reality was more accurate than his own. Yitzchak correctly surmised that in order to be more connected to God, one needed to withdraw from the vicissitudes, falsehoods, and trivial events of this world. This is what our Sages mean when they side with Bait Shamai who asserted (TB Eruvin 13b), “It is more convenient (“נוח”) for a person to have never been created.”

Yitzchak was choosing to remove himself from a world of deception that could only draw him away from Hashem. He didn’t wish to take risks and venture outward into a world that could destroy his spirituality. But Avraham, knowing that Hashem creates each of us for a purpose in this world, encouraged Yitzchak to take an active role in the unfolding of Jewish history.

Yitzchak’s internal struggle

This internal struggle within Yitzchak to not venture outward is also what blinded him to the truths of Esav. Because he was withdrawn from the outside world, he knew only one thing, which was that Esav was his firstborn, and that it was therefore proper to grant him the birthright. The fact that he was tricked into blessing Yaakov instead demonstrated to him that he really wasn’t in control of his own destiny, and that ultimately, if Hashem wanted him to accomplish something in the world, Hashem would find a way for him to do so.

It was then that he realized that the path of his father, Avraham, the path of venturing outward and taking risks in this world, had merit. He therefore sent his son, Yaakov, away from the solitude and security of the land of Israel, letting him know that he should adhere to his grandfather’s path instead of his father’s.

This dichotomy between Avraham and Yitzchak continues to this day. There are those who prefer the path of Yitzchak, to withdraw from the shark-infested waters of modern society and to avoid confrontations with anything that could tempt us to leave the path of Torah.

Others choose the Abrahamic path of embracing the outside world and, like Noah’s dove, plucking an olive branch of goodness from this world and bringing it back to the Ark of the Torah community. Each of us should introspect and choose our destiny carefully. At the same time, we should respect the Avraham’s and the Yitzchak’s among us, and accept that we all have different life paths. Ultimately, we all have a role to play in bringing us to the final Redemption, may we see it, bb”a.

Dawning of the Age of Rivkah

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

When dealing in the world of shidduchim, one must dwell on every word and gesture. Sometimes, the smallest negative comment, even a non-verbal facial expression, no matter how innocently dropped, can destroy a shidduch.

Two young ladies were sitting and talking on a crowded Jerusalem bus. One said to the other, “Did you hear that our friend Yocheved is dating Motty Levy?” “Really?” said the other woman. “Yocheved is dating Motty? I never would have thought! Motty, after all, is so modern; I’m surprised Yocheved would go for him.”

An older woman sitting right behind them said, “I’m so glad to hear this information, girls. You see, I’m Yocheved’s mother.” Both young women’s faces turned red with embarrassment. “Or,” the older woman added, “I could have been Yocheved’s mother. Be careful how you talk about people in the future.”

The delicacy of a shidduch is not a new phenomenon. Let’s examine a chapter from the life of Eliezer, Avraham’s servant, who was in charge of making the shidduch between Rivkah and Yitzchak.

Eliezer’s approach to shidduchim

After he finished relaying the entire interchange between himself and Rivkah at the well, Eliezer beseeched Rivkah’s family to perform “חֶסֶד וֶאֱמֶת” – “kindness and truth” by allowing her to accompany him back to Eretz Israel to become Yitzchak’s wife. Lavan and Betuel, Rivkah’s brother and father, responded with one of the most pious sounding responses in the entire Torah (24:50): “מֵיְקֹוָק יָצָא הַדָּבָר לֹא נוּכַל דַּבֵּר אֵלֶיךָ רַע אוֹ־טוֹב:” – “These events came from Hashem; we can therefore say neither bad nor good.” Take Rivkah with you, and let her be a wife for Yitzchak.

The family and Eliezer sat down for a festive dinner, and they all went to bed. The next morning, Eliezer announced, “It’s time for me to go with Rivkah back to my master!” This time, Rivkah’s family had changed their tune (24:55). “Let her stay here for a few months” to prepare for the wedding, they suggested, and then she can catch up with you.

What happened? Why, the night before, did the men agree that Eliezer could take Rivkah with him, and now, the next morning, the family was delaying the wedding? One answer might be that Rivkah’s mother was not initially consulted.

In the first verse, only the men of the family consented for the young maiden to go away with a stranger. Rivkah’s mother, who is mentioned as one of those who requested that Rivkah wait a few months, had a more cautious and protective attitude, and perhaps didn’t trust these men whom they had just met. This is the difference between mothers and fathers, and thank G-d for our mothers whose radar antennae are usually up to suspect the worst.

Lavan’s change of heart

Rabbi Moshe Alshikh gives a different answer. He notes that once the men promised Rivkah to Eliezer, the Torah narrative states that Eliezer presented Rivkah and her family with gifts (24:53).

וַיּוֹצֵא הָעֶבֶד כְּלֵי־כֶסֶף וּכְלֵי זָהָב וּבְגָדִים וַיִּתֵּן לְרִבְקָה וּמִגְדָּנֹת נָתַן לְאָחִיהָ וּלְאִמָּהּ

The servant produced utensils of silver and gold and clothing, and gave them to Rivkah. He gave sweets to her brother and mother.

Clearly, Eliezer was a generous man and wanted to display the comfortable life that Rivkah would enjoy upon returning with him to Eretz Israel. But Lavan and his mother noticed that they didn’t receive any gold and silver; only Rivkah got these expensive gifts. All they received were sweet fruits and candy. Now, sweets are fine, and I’m sure they were probably the most expensive sweets of the time, like Godiva chocolates.

But really, can you compare candy to gold? Originally, Rivkah’s family thought that by giving up their sister, they’d strike gold and would be showered with lavish gifts in her exchange. But once they saw that only Rivkah would be rewarded and all they stood to receive was candy, their entire demeanor changed.

“Let’s ask the girl,” they said, thinking that Rivkah wouldn’t want to travel with this strange man. It was only after Rivkah said emphatically (24:58), “I’m going,” that they had no choice but to surrender her to Eliezer.

A person’s actions, not their words

In addition to demonstrating the fragile nature of a shidduch, and how egos and personal interests can sometimes get in the way of two people getting married, this whole exchange provides us with another very strong message: Just because a person says “Baruch Hashem,”

“It’s all from Hashem,” and uses all the right religious lingo, one needs to be careful that the person isn’t displaying false piety in order to attain personal gain. Look at a person’s actions, not their words, to determine someone’s piety.

The reason why Lavan and Besuel are not held up as paragons of righteousness, of people who clearly acknowledged that Hashem runs the world, is because of how quick they were to change their minds once they saw that there wasn’t much in it for them. Piety for the sake of gold, no matter how frum it sounds, is not piety at all.

The world and its Jews

We leave you with a final thought about this story. Rabbi Shmuel Aryeh Leib Zak of Biala, who lived in the early 20th century, looked at this entire passage metaphorically. There will come a time in Jewish history, hopefully some time soon, when all the signs of the Redemption will be upon us. Even the nations of the world will acknowledge that the Messianic Age has arrived and that it is time for the Jewish people to return to Israel. They will say, “It is from G-d! We cannot say anything bad or good to stop you. Go! Return to Israel!”

But shortly thereafter, the nations will change their tune. They will realize that all their wealth and wellbeing is tied up in the Jewish people. Who will be our bankers, our scientists, and our doctors? Who will be our jurists and our accountants?

Realizing that they can’t afford to give up their Jews, they will say to the Jewish people, “What’s your rush? The Messiah will still be there in a few months. Get all your affairs taken care of before making Aliyah. You have businesses that need to wind down. You have houses and other assets that you need to liquidate. Take your time; you can always leave tomorrow.”

The voice of the Jewish neshama

But Hashem will send his messengers who will tell us, “Let us go, we can’t afford to wait any longer. The Redemption is here, and Hashem has provided us with all we need as long as we go.” Only when “the maiden” herself, who represents the conscientious voice of the Jewish neshama, cries out and says, “I’m going!” will the Jewish people be able to break free of the Diaspora’s gravitational pull and finally make Aliyah.

The name Rivkah, when conjugated from its shoresh (root) to a verb, literally means the act of fattening young livestock to make them healthier and more valuable. An “עגל מרבק” – “barn calf” is a calf that is very healthy and robust. In the haftarah for Shabbat HaGadol we read that in the Messianic Age, the Jews will indulge in wellbeing (Malachi 3:20) “כְּעֶגְלֵי מַרְבֵּק”, like fatted calves. In the age of “Rivkah,” the time to leave the diaspora will be up to us, since despite all the antisemitism and jealousy against the Jews, they will not willingly give us up. It will be up to us to say, “I will go. Now!”

So many have already made that blessed decision to go. May those still remaining in the Diaspora hear the call of Hashem’s messenger, beckoning us to come back home in the loving embrace of our beloved Master. May we see this Redemption, bb”a.

Selecting the Good out of the Bad

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

When Hashem informed Avraham that he was going to bring great retribution upon the people of Sodom, Avraham understood that this was his cue to argue on their behalf. When thinking about the people of Sodom, however, how could God expect Avraham to defend a people who were so diametrically opposed to his values?

Avraham represented the attribute of Chesed (giving kindness), and had spent his life trying to share the material gifts of his tent as well as his ideas with the rest of mankind. The people of Sodom, by contrast, valued the ideal of keeping things to oneself and not sharing with others. The Mishnah (Avos 5:10) states that when a person has the attitude of, “שלי שלי ושלך שלך”, “What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is yours,” this is the Sodomite value. As the Midrashim relate, the people of Sodom were opposed to the concept of charity and of inviting guests into their homes.

They actively punished anyone whose heart was stirred with a compassionate gesture toward the poor, which is why the Sodomites were so incensed when Lot invited his guests, the three angels, into his home (19:4-9). Avraham’s value was that of the Chasid (pious one) in the Mishnah: “שלי שלך ושלך שלך” – “What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is yours.” Why did Hashem expect Avraham to defend Sodom?

Doing for yourself, doing for others

R. Yaakov Lainer suggests that although Avraham spent his life giving of himself to others, he also needed to understand that at certain times and places, it is appropriate for every human being to stand on their own two feet and not be on the dole. The people of Sodom represented a value that, in certain situations, could actually be considered virtuous. Consider the parent whose adult child still lives in the basement, but is capable of living on his own and being financially independent. At some point, the parents need to encourage the child to move on and be more independent, not because they are cruel, but because they know that at some point, we do a disservice to others by making life too easy for them.

Avraham believed that his era needed the kindness that a parent shows to a young child who cannot yet take care of himself, because it was a period in history when man was still immature and discovering his world. God testified about His own creation (Psalms 89:3): “כִּֽי־אָמַ֗רְתִּי ע֭וֹלָם חֶ֣סֶד יִבָּנֶ֑ה” – “I created this world with Chesed.”

That is, there was nothing that God’s creations did to deserve to be created; our very existence is based on the kindness of someone who has confidence in another’s future. Like the undeveloped character Eliza Doolittle in George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, mankind needed someone to invest in them in the hopes that they would make something of themselves. Recognizing God’s benevolence, Avraham sought to emulate this kindness in a generation that was still relatively close to that incipient period of creation.

Manifestations of Chesed

What Hashem wanted Avraham to also appreciate, however, was that there would come a time in man’s societal evolution where Chesed could actually be counter-productive to man’s growth. The older and wiser that society becomes, the more mankind develops the capacity for self-sufficiency, and the more that it is important for people to withdraw from the public sphere and allow others the ability to become independent, without relying on Chesed.

We can see some of the manifestations of Chesed run awry in our own society. In an effort to eliminate poverty and suffering, liberal democracies have created benevolent social systems that ensure welfare and free access to medical care and other basic amenities. At the same time, this has resulted in the undesired side-effect of a certain percentage of the population losing its drive for self-sufficiency and ambition. Society has provided the option for people to live out the bulk of their lives as drug addicts and vagrants because the welfare safety net provides them the financial cushion to do so. This is not to say that welfare is a bad thing; just that for a minority of people, it results in more harm than good.

In the Messianic Age, the Talmud teaches that we will no longer accept converts. Implicit in this statement is that there will come a period in human history where man will no longer be afforded the Chesed of being given something for nothing. At some point in the future, man will reap the fruits of his own efforts, each according to his own degree.

Avraham and Yitzhak -Creating balance

Indeed, this was the difference in attitude between Avraham and his son, Yitzchak, who represented not Chesed, but Gevurah (lit., “might”), a certain effort to help mankind arrive at self-sufficiency. This is not to say that Yitzchak was an unkind man, but rather that his compassion for human beings impelled him to help others help themselves. Instead of sharing his own greatness with others, he withdrew from others in order to give them the opportunity to grow and develop on their own power.

By prompting Avraham to pray on behalf of the people of Sodom, Avraham came developed the argument that perhaps a certain percentage of the people were motivated by a virtuous attitude of trying to help others arrive at self-sufficiency. “Perhaps there are 50 righteous people (18:24),” reasoned Avraham, who refuse to give charity because they wish to foster within others a proper work ethic and bring others to independence. It was only when Hashem explained that the Sodomites were not motivated by anything virtuous, that Avraham relented.

The dichotomy between Avraham’s value of Chesed and Sodom’s value of self-sufficiency allows us to realize that every social movement, no matter how antithetical to the Torah, has a kernel of virtue, when applied in the right time and the right place.

Acknowledging value in opposing ideology

As Rav Kook wrote, in discussing the nascent anti-religious communism of his time: “One must realize that every bad ideology contains a kernel of goodness which attracts people to it. Accordingly, so long as one only focuses on the evil of the opposing ideology, those who see its goodness will not accept the arguments to the contrary. It is only when one acknowledges the good kernel that inheres within a bad ideology, concedes the attraction to the ideology because of the small amount of goodness within it, and argues for the preservation of that small amount of good, will he succeed in convincing the adherents to come to the other side and rehabilitate themselves.”

When taking into account the constantly shifting sands of our society, we’d do well to hold them up to the light of the Torah, and exercise caution before embracing new ideologies that may run counter to the values of our heritage. At the same time, we should not throw out the baby with the bathwater. It’s worthwhile to listen carefully to our ideological opponents, and try to extract the kernels of value even when rejecting the overarching system. Our tradition teaches us that each generation is coming closer to the ultimate perfection of the Messianic Age. Even corrupt social movements may contain the kernel of that necessary ingredient that moves the marker forward towards man’s perfection.

We look forward to the day when our society arrives at an ideology that is truly consistent with our Torah, purified of the chaff of an imperfect world. May we see it, bb”a.

Answer the Call, Realize Your Destiny

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

In parshat Lech lecha we are introduced to Avraham Avinu in a very curious way. After learning in last week’s parsha that Avram’s father, Terach, had taken the whole family from Ur Casdim and traveled to Charan, our parsha begins with Hashem telling Avram to leave his family in Charan and travel to the land that God would designate for him. In this narrative, we learn nothing about Avraham the man, or why he was spoken to and chosen by God.

This is quite bizarre, especially in light of the fact that in Parshas Noach, the Torah did make a point of saying that Noach was a righteous and pure man (6:9), and this is why God chose him to save humankind from the Flood. Why doesn’t the Torah text express anything at all about who Avraham was and why Hashem chose him to be the father of the Chosen People?

The Maharal of Prague (d. 1609) saw great theological significance from this. When God chose Noah to save the world from the Flood, it was specifically BECAUSE Noah was righteous. But God did NOT choose Avraham to be the progenitor of Am Israel BECAUSE he was righteous. If Avraham’s selection had been due to his righteousness, then one might logically argue that as soon as Avraham’s progeny ceased emulating their ancestor’s righteousness, their selection as the chosen nation could be revoked. But that is precisely the point: Because the basis of Israel’s selection was not predicated on any particular deed or behavior, it is a selection that is irrevocable. This is why the Torah says nothing about Avraham’s righteousness.

Persecuted and hounded for beliefs

One clearly sees very important theological underpinnings in the Maharal’s approach. The medieval Christian world strongly maintained the theology of supersessionism – or, replacement theology – that God had revoked the chosen status of the Jewish people and instead conferred chosennes upon Christians. The Maharal’s Torah is therefore a polemic, demonstrating from the Torah text that the selection of the Jewish people was an irrevocable one, countering the Christian argument of the Jews’ replacement.

By contrast, the Ramban (13th cent.) takes a non-theological approach, based on the rich midrashim that fill in the blanks of the early parts of Avraham’s life. According to these midrashim, Avraham was persecuted and hounded for his monotheistic beliefs. He had concluded early in his life that there is really only one God, and that no thing or person other than God should be the object of worship.

His beliefs were deemed an affront to the culture of his time and place and he was therefore forced to flee Ur Casdim with his family. Ramban suggests that the reason why the Torah doesn’t detail any of this back story is because “the Torah does not wish to detail the ideologies of idolaters or the faith disputes between Avraham and the Chaldeans.”

Theological vs Logical

This is almost the opposite of the Maharal’s thought. For the Ramban, instead of teaching a theological stance about the Jewish people’s chosen status, the Torah seeks to sidestep any stories about theological disputes. The Ramban seems to be arguing that Avraham in his early life didn’t even have the opportunity to display righteousness.

He had arrived at a belief in a unitary God based on logically looking at the world around him. As soon as he tried to preach his beliefs, he was hounded and persecuted. How could he invite people into his tent when he was a social pariah?

Had the Torah prefaced why God chose Avraham, one might have thought that the main part, the very basis, of the Jewish people’s selection is their faith. But in reality, the main thing that God seeks and takes pleasure from the Jewish people is manifest in the second part of Avraham’s life, when he had the freedom to interact with his neighbors without persecution.

In Canaan, he could spread his wings of righteousness and demonstrate how a Jew behaves with Chesed and openness to his fellow man. That is the basis of our selection as the Chosen People, not our logical conclusions about monotheism.

Demonstrating Jewishness

This is an important lesson for all of us. Every Jew needs a certain degree of education and an understanding of the Torah and its faith claims. But the true manifestation of what it means to be a Jew is not to be found in the classroom or the Beit Midrash. Rather, only when a Jew can turn all of those teachings into practical behavior does he or she truly demonstrate their Jewishness.

When we can interact with our fellow human beings with kindness and demonstrate Hashem’s desire for humanity to live for a higher purpose, it is then that we are living Judaism. When the story of our lives is written, the highlights will not be from our earlier years when we were in grade school or yeshiva, going over the vitally important Torah texts that lay the foundation for our future lives.

Rather, our chronicles will focus on our deeds, and how we succeeded in making an impression on others in our circle of influence. Unquestionably, our religious upbringing colors and sets the stage for our behavior in our future life, but this religious education is only the preparation for the real goal of the Jew. Just as Avraham’s later stages in Canaan are richly depicted and his earlier years of theological struggle are overlooked, so will be the case in our stories when they are documented before God.

Hearing the call of “Lech Lecha”

After citing the Ramban’s question, the Sfas Emes (d. 1905) makes an insightful point based on the Zohar. To answer why the Torah doesn’t inform us of Avraham’s righteousness at the beginning of our parsha, the Sfas Emes asserts that God’s call to Avraham of “Lech Lecha” – “Make the journey,” is itself a demonstration of his righteousness.

In fact, that call of “Lech Lecha” is made to every single human being.

What made Avraham different is that he actually heard the words “Lech Lecha” while everyone else ignored the call. In life, Hashem is constantly calling out to each of us, “Lech Lecha,” go to your station, reach your destiny, arrive at where you ultimately belong to achieve your purpose. There is nothing more righteous than hearing the call of “Lech Lecha” and acting upon it.

Acting upon the call of “Lech Lecha”

The irony for our modern times is that sometimes our inability to spread our wings and realize our destiny is not because we are stuck in Ur Casdim, persecuted and hounded by the idolaters of society. Rather, our inability to act may be because we feel trapped within the confines of the Jewish community and its often overbearing strictures. We may hear the call of “Lech Lecha,” but feel powerless to act upon it because we fear what people within our community will think of us.

We shudder from trespassing the social norms that have been established in Jewish communities, where staying within the confines of the walls of the “shtetl,” as it were, is sometimes promoted over going out and making a difference in the larger world. The lesson of our parsha should be: You cannot realize your destiny until you act upon the call of “Lech Lecha.” Your life will only be actualized when you can go to where you can be yourself. Sometimes, that requires one to leave behind one’s family and the culture from which they hail.

The “Lech Lecha” call of your family and friends may be completely different from yours, and what works for them may not be your destiny. Ultimately, if we follow Hashem’s unique call of “Lech Lecha” for each of us, both we and the world we are meant to improve will be all the better for it. May we merit to hear the call so that we can usher in the Redemption speedily, bb”a.

Noah, Original Sin, and Facing New Challenges

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

After the great Flood, Noach planted a vineyard (9:20). The very next verse tells us that he drank from the wine of the vineyard and got very drunk. This led to a shameful exposure of Noach to his sons, and the unfortunate aftermath. I’ve always read this passage as an expression of nihilism by a man who barely saved his world, but at the same time lost everything of his previous life and existence, and lost all sense of future purpose. After the initial euphoria of leaving the Ark and surviving the Flood, imagine the vast emptiness and void that confronted Noach. Here was a man whose best years were behind him, and who saw nothing ahead for his future. Could we really blame him for his Ecclesiastical attitude that “everything is vanity”?

This reading of Noach’s actions in the verses is influenced by Rashi and the Sages, who tell us that when the Torah states (9:20): “וַיָּחֶל נֹחַ אִישׁ הָאֲדָמָה וַיִּטַּע כָּרֶם”, the word “וַיָּחֶל” means that Noach profaned. They read the verse as Noach, the nihilist, being a man who profaned himself by planting a vineyard before other, more useful crops, so that he could indulge in the gratuitous pleasures of the earth (he was an “אִישׁ הָאֲדָמָה” – a man of this earth).

He essentially gave up on any higher purpose. As Nietzsche famously said, “If you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” So many people who feel “stuck” in life and who can’t find a purpose will often use drugs and alcohol to drown out the pain of a life left unfulfilled. Perhaps Noach intoxicated himself for this reason. (This is often the political argument against creating too much of a welfare state for the lower class, in that those on the dole will often give up on themselves. We often do more harm by patronizing those who could and should help themselves instead.)

Noach the innovator

But there’s another tradition about this story, one that portrays Noach in a more positive, even noble, light. According to Radak and others, “וַיָּחֶל” does NOT mean that he profaned himself, but rather that he began something new that had not been attempted before. Up until this act of planting, people didn’t plant actual vineyards; they rather planted individual vines in the hope of harvesting some table grapes for their community. Noach innovated the use of grapes for wine, which necessitated the creation of large vineyards, far larger than the individual vines that were planted for fruit consumption alone.

Noach is called the “אִישׁ הָאֲדָמָה” because he was truly a master of agriculture. This narrative continues a rabbinic tradition from the end of Parshat Bereishit, which tells us that Noach received his name, which literally means “making easier,” because he innovated plowing with animals to ease the difficulty and travail involved in cultivating the soil.

According to this interpretation, instead of us confronting the nihilistic Noach after the Flood, we are confronting the Noach who wishes to rebuild and recreate a whole new world with even more amenities than before. But if so, then why did this story have such a tragic ending? Why did Noach’s newfound approach to manufacturing wine, a beverage staple for most of human history, end up with his degradation and his cursing his son and grandson?

Radak answers simply that this story is a cautionary tale about the dangers of wine, and of overindulging in intoxicating spirits. But to get to a deeper meaning, we’ll need to reference the Jewish mystical tradition.

Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge

The Zohar (Noach 73a) states that the vine that Noach planted was quite extraordinary. Of the various opinions of what type of tree the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil was, one opinion is that it was a vine. Noach somehow obtained a shoot from this vine from the Garden of Eden, and planted it anew. In the language of the Zohar: “Noach sought to replicate the original act of eating from the Tree. But his objective was NOT to replicate Adam’s sin, but rather to understand it and to rectify the world thereby. He failed, however. When he squeezed the grapes to make wine, he became intoxicated and he wallowed in his tent, because he could not withstand the great temptation of the Tree.”

In the eyes of the Zohar, Noach viewed himself as a “fixer,” a rectifier, of all that was bad and flawed in the world. He was able to rectify the products of Original Sin to some degree, by making the life of man easier, alleviating some degree of the farmer’s “sweat of his brow” (3:19), and mitigating the curse that was placed on the soil when Adam ate from the Tree. What was Noach seeking to rectify by replanting the Tree of Knowledge and trying to eat of it again? We are treading on very deep and esoteric territory, but allow me just a surface view of something that is actually much deeper.

Noach and Nadav and Avihu

The same passage of Zohar which notes that Noach failed, also observes that he was not the only person who tried to rectify Adam’s sin and failed. Aaron’s two sons, Nadav and Avihu, also tried to use wine as a means of approaching God and rectifying Adam’s sin. According to Rabbinic tradition, they drank wine before entering into the Holy of Holies. But sadly, they, too, failed and that is why they perished, as recorded in Parshat Shemini (Lev. 10:1-2). Adam’s fall was based on the Tree being this very powerful opportunity for reaching some level of spiritual greatness, but also containing some great inherent danger if not used properly. Wine represents this double-edged sword of utilizing a mind-altering drug to expand consciousness.

The only problem with this kind of mind-altering drug is that if not used properly, it will have a negative effect. Alcohol has a dual effect, of both acting as a depressant and as a stimulant. It provides a euphoric feeling through releasing dopamine, while at the same time depressing one’s physical senses and creating a feeling of “dissociation.” What Adam was trying to accomplish by eating of the Tree was to somehow “dissociate” himself from his physical confinements in the hope of conjoining with Hashem. He failed because he could not control the by-product of that effort, which is to get trapped in the self-indulgent euphoria of the moment. Both Noach and Aaron’s sons hoped that they could separate the good from the bad. They all tragically failed in this effort.

Attempts at rectifying Original Sin

It is not impossible to rectify Original Sin. But certain things can only be accomplished at the right time and by the right person. The higher the stakes, the more dangerous the effort. As the late comic, Norm MacDonald, described about the sport of cliff-diving, where a diver jumps off a cliff and either parachutes or parasails downward, “There’s only two classifications in cliff-diving. There’s ‘Grand Champion’ and then, ‘Stuff On a Rock.’” Or, we can refer back to the first part of the quote we started with from Friedrich Nietzsche: “He who fights with monsters must take care lest he thereby become a monster.”

But was Noach wrong for his attempt? It’s very hard to condemn him for trying to make things better, especially at this particular juncture after the Flood. Perhaps he thought that this was his role. Mankind is being rebuilt, and now that the restart button has been pushed, let’s go back to the original beginning in the Garden.

But there’s something more. I’m reminded of a statement made by Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi in the Kuzari (5:22), when he was challenged about his plans to make Aliyah with the argument that it was too dangerous. He responded: “If a person has made a reckoning in his soul, is thankful… and satisfied with having lived what he has already lived, and dedicates the rest of his life to the fulfillment of God’s will, then such a person may place himself in danger.” Noach, too, was at a point in his life when he felt that he had already reached the highest plateau possible, and that the only thing left for him was to rectify Original Sin.

Learning from Noach

We should be both cautioned and inspired by Noach’s efforts, even though they ended in failure. We should be cautioned to never fly too close to the flame of life, lest we get burned. But we should also realize that life is all about constant advancement and improvement. You are never too old for a new endeavor. What’s on your bucket list? Start a new chapter in your life and conquer those things you had always hoped to do but then life got in the way. May we all succeed and continuously advance until we reach the final apex of our individual and societal humanity. May we realize this, bb”a.

Learning to Take Responsibility

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

Our holy works discuss a duality of perception: God perceives reality as it truly is, while man perceives a veiled reality, in the way God wishes for him to perceive it. As one gets closer to Divine perception, man’s free will begins to evaporate.

According to Rav Yaakov Lainer of Ishbitz, this is the common theme throughout the opening stories of Genesis about people who denied culpability for their crimes. When Hashem accused Adam and Eve of committing a sin, each one denied that they were to blame; Adam said it wasn’t his fault, since the woman that God had provided for him had fed him the fruit. Eve said it wasn’t her fault, since the serpent had convinced her to do it. Early man, this brand new creation, perceived himself as a direct product of Hashem, and had a much closer view of reality as it appears to God, that man has no real autonomy. This is why Adam and Eve denied responsibility, because they didn’t yet perceive themselves as beings of free will, but rather as passive participants, puppets on a string, under God’s orchestration.

Denying responsibility from the start

There appears to be a progression in the stories of early man denying blame. We see three separate episodes of where man is accused of committing cardinal sins and denying responsibility. (1) The first is the sin in the Garden, (2) the second is Cain’s murder of Abel, and (3) the third is about a minor biblical figure, Lemekh, who also committed a form of homicide, as we’ll explain. I believe that these three stories provide us with a map of how man slowly learned to take responsibility for his actions and evolved to see himself as a free-willed being.

In the first story, Adam couldn’t fathom how he was to blame, if the very being that Hashem had provided for him was goading him to eat from the fruit. Hashem’s lesson to Adam was something that every child knows to be true: “If your wife told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?” Lesson #1 for early man is that no one in your life other than yourself can compel you to do something that you know to be wrong.

In the second story, Cain claimed to be blameless because he committed an act of passion. When he said (4:9), “לֹ֣א יָדַ֔עְתִּי הֲשֹׁמֵ֥ר אָחִ֖י אָנֹֽכִי:” – “I did not know that I was my brother’s keeper,” he did so sincerely. How can I be held responsible for my feelings of anger and jealously? You, God, created me with these emotions that impelled me to kill my brother; why should I be to blame? Lesson #2 for early man is that no matter how impassioned you feel by your emotions, no matter how tumultuous your state of mind, you may not impinge on someone else’s wellbeing. You are ultimately in control, no matter how upset you become.

The third story is much more subtle. Firstly, the Torah never indicates what Lemekh’s crime was. All we know from the text is that his two wives, Adah and Tzilah, were not happy with him, and that he had to argue in his own defense that he wasn’t to blame for having killed a person (4:19-24). Secondly, we never find, as we do with Adam and Cain, that God reproached him for his behavior.

Lemech different perspective

I’m fascinated by the approach of the Ramban, who maintains that Lemekh killed no one. Rather, Lemekh was a very wise and inventive person, and, as the text explains, he taught each of his three sons a different skill. He taught his first son, Yaval, the skill of migrant grazing of livestock. He taught his second son, Yuval, the art of music. He taught his third son, Tuval-Cain, the science of metallurgy, which included not only the manufacture of useful farming tools, but also the manufacture of weapons. Lemekh’s wives were upset with him because through his introduction of weapon-making, he was bringing great death and destruction to the world through warfare that would inevitably ensue.

Lemekh responded to his wives that he was not to blame for any bloodshed that would be caused by his weapons. He had killed no one, but was only providing tools of violence to others. He reasoned: Look at Cain, who was able to kill his brother without weapons. Surely Cain was guilty, but how could teaching one’s son how to manufacture weapons be compared to Cain’s act of murder?

The truth is, Lemekh’s argument continues to be debated in modern society. As the saying goes among gun enthusiasts, “Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.” When used responsibly, guns can even deter violence. Perhaps this is the very reason why the Torah leaves this story open-ended and unresolved. God doesn’t take an open position in the debate between Lemekh and his wives, nor do we note that Lemekh suffered any consequences for his actions.

Weapons and liability

But one thing is clear: the great violence that began to brew within early human society, as recorded at the end of our parsha and the beginning of Parshas Noach, could not have reached such a crescendo without the introduction of weapons that allowed people to kill each other with much greater efficiency.

The fact that the Torah records the story indicates that there is some level of liability placed on the weapons maker or dealer. Granted, the gun-maker didn’t pull the trigger, but when society as a whole proliferates weapons widely and idealizes their use, mankind is doomed to go through iterations of violence. The individual should learn from this story that one would be much better off becoming a shepherd or musician than an arms manufacturer.

This story is part of the progression in human beings learning to take responsibility for their behavior: First (Adam), man learns that he has autonomy and that no other being can compel someone to do something wrong. Second (Cain), man learns that he must control his impulses and cannot excuse his bad behavior because of his passions. Finally (Lemekh), man learns that although he may not bear personal responsibility for introducing harmful substances to his fellow man, there is some level of communal duty to try and foster a culture of peace and wellbeing for society.

Identify evil, choose good

If it took time for early man to learn how to take responsibility for his behavior, it would appear that today, mankind is regressing, not because we are so close to Hashem’s reality, but rather because we have grown even more distant from the great moral lessons of the Torah. Today, we blame poor choices on sundry inborn and environmental factors; we are told that we cannot pass judgment on anyone. The 20th century was the bloodiest century in human history. Bloodshed and violence continue around the world even in our advanced 21st century. Society is not yet ready to completely eliminate the tools of warfare from our midst, nor is it prepared to pass judgment on the violent perpetrators.

And now, we are at war, the bloodiest war that Israel has faced in decades. We are already seeing the malevolent voices condemning Israel and blaming the victims. “We can’t blame Hamas, they’re desperate and we have to allow each culture to express its frustration in the only way it knows how, even if it involves savagely victimizing innocent men, women and children.” “We can’t blame Iran; they only provided the means for Hamas to perpetrate its terror. Like Lemech, they did not pull the trigger.” The small steps begin with each and every one of us. Each of us has a voice with which to protest a social order that offers cover to terrorists.

While free will may be an illusion from God’s standpoint, it is quite real in this artificial construct we call life, and it is the cornerstone of every precept that was given to us by God in the Torah. It is why the Torah teaches us about free will so early on in the Torah. Hashem wants us to live within this construct of free will and exercise control over our lives, our emotions, and the actions we perform. He wants us to identify good and evil and choose the good and reject and eliminate the evil. May we choose wisely so that this is the year when war finally comes to an end and we usher in the Redemption, bb”a.

We are So Close

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

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

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

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

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

Making ourselves vulnerable

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

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

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

Small adjustments, minor corrections

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

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

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

The call of the shofar

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

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

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

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

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

The Truth is Out There

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

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

A message to the nations

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

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

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

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

Women were created with “binah”

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

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

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

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

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

Universal message of the Torah

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

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

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

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

Universal access to Torah

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

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

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

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

The Real You

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

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

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

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

Shiluach HaKen

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

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

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

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

The body and soul struggle

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

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

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

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

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

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

The true self

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sharpening the message

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

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

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

Be the Ruler!

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

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

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

Appointing a king

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

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

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

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

The king and his possessions

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

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

The king and a life of Torah

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

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

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

Ourselves as king or our domains

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

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

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

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

You are Loved

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

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

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

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

The mitzvah against self-mutilation

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

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

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

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

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

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

A child’s view

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

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

The individual

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

The nation

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

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

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

The needs of the many

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

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

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

You are never alone

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

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

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

Conquering the Canaanite Within

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

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

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

Spreading monotheism to the world

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

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

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

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

Different kinds of miracles

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

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

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

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

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

The quick fix

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

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

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

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

Finding the right pace for each of us

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

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

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

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

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

True Beauty is More Than Skin-Deep

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

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

Mortal danger in proximity to davening

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

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

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

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

Physical health & spirituality

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

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

Under the physical façade

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

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

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

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

A universal truth

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

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

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

Paradigm Shifts in Retrospect

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

Three broken verses

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why are they broken?

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

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

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

Different kinds of change

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

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

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

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

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

Living life to the fullest

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Glue that Holds Us Together

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

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

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

Menashe the Interpreter

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

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

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

Credit Where Credit is Due

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

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

Letting Go Of the Baggage

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

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

Seeing the Value in Tzelafchad’s Daughters and Ourselves

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

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

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

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

The Letter “nun” – The Loneliest Number

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

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

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

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

Out With the Old, In With the New

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

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

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

Why Joshua And Not Moshe?

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

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

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

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

Finding the Individual in Each of Us

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

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

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

You Can’t Beat the System

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

Why Do We Need the Backstory

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

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

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

Balaam Not New to the Scene

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

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

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

A New Test Upon Entering the Land

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

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

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

Putting in An Honest Day’s Work

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

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

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

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

Instead of Knocking Down, Build People Up

By Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

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

Miriam, Mei Merivah & Esav

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

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

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

The Impact of Mei Merivah on the People

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

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

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

Insecurity in Bnei Yisrael

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

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

Confidence and Lack of

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

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

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