Parashat Vayechi - thought to ponder

At the end of Bereishit, Yosef, in a scene paralleling Yaakov, places a vow on his family that at the time of redemption to take his bones from Egypt ("And Joseph took an oath of the children of Israel, saying: 'God will surely remember you, and ye shall carry up my bones from hence.'"[50:25]). In Masechet Sotah, Rav taught in the name of Rav Yehuda that the reason it says the bones is as a punishment for Yosef not showing respect for his father, allowing his brothers to refer to Yaakov as "our father your servant." In thinking about this idea, I began wondering if this Midrash is in some way a critique of Yosef with regards to the general charade he plays with his brothers. Are Hazal saying that Yosef's actions were legitimate until the point where his father is degraded in his eyes? Are Hazal considering the possibility that it would have been better for Yosef to reveal himself immediately instead of allowing the brothers to say Yaavo was "his servant?" Furthermore, how do we then understand the whole idea we are taught that Yosef being in Egypt and the subsequent famine were all steps towards getting Bnai Yisrael to Egypt for the period of slavery, fulfilling the words of G-d to Avraham?

Parashat Vayigash - reactions to loss

One of the things in last week's parasha that always struck me as odd was Jacob's response when he encounters Yosef for the first time in 22 years. We would expect Jacob to hug his son and cry with him. Instead we are told "And Joseph made ready his chariot, and went up to meet Israel his father, to Goshen; and he presented himself unto him, and fell on his neck, and wept on his neck a good while. And Israel said unto Joseph: 'Now let me die, since I have seen thy face, that thou art yet alive' (Genesis 46:29-30)." At first, only Joseph responds with any outward display of emotion. On the other hand, Jacob is silent for a long while before finally coming to grips with the powerful situation at hand. As we know, there is the one midrash that indicates that Jacob first recites Shema upon seeing his son. The midrash at first is also a bit difficult because it leaves the following question: why do the rabbis explain that Jacob looks toward G-d in this manner, declaring the divine unity, when meeting again with his son. A more normal response would have been Jacob expressing gratitude to G-d for allowing this meeting to take place.

To answer this inquiry, I was thinking about the concept of loss and attachment. In a work called Necessary Losses, by Judith Viorst, which I was reading this past week, she states that when it comes to loss, we have a strange counter-intuitive response. Her example is the screaming kid looking for her mom. She screams out of loss. When her mom finally finds her, we would assume the child would be overjoyed to see her mom. Instead, a typical reaction is for the child to express a coldness toward the mom, as if saying, "I know you are here but I don't believe you will stay." The child is presenting a barrier for further loss by not being as affectionate and happy as we would expect.

The same is true for the encounter of Jacob and Joseph. Jacob sees his son and is slow to react. This is the moment he had wished for for the past 22 years. While it would have been a miracle in Jacob's view of the world to ever see his son again, this is the parental hope. When he finally sees Joseph, he stops short of opening up the wounds. Instead he is silent. Perhaps he is angry for not being contacted before 22 years had passed. Perhaps he was overwhelmed with the thought of what he says next, 'I can die in peace knowing you are alive.' Jacob doesnt know how to react. Hazal find the same in their thinking, namely Jacob didn't know what to do, so they said he recited Shema. He looked toward G-d and said, 'You are my G-d, You are the only." For Hazal, the words of Shema were the comfort they expressed as what Jacob would have needed to be able to absorb the emotional high the meeting with Yosef would have elicited in him.

משנה מסכת אבות פרק א משנה א
משה קבל תורה מסיני ומסרה ליהושע ויהושע לזקנים וזקנים לנביאים ונביאים מסרוה לאנשי כנסת הגדולה הם אמרו שלשה דברים הוו מתונים בדין והעמידו תלמידים הרבה ועשו סייג לתורה

1. Be deliberate in judgment. – הוו מתונים בדין – Think carefully before making decisions. Don’t be rash.
2. Raise up many students – העמידו תלמידים הרבה – Don’t hide one’s thoughts from others. The goal of studying and learning and living is to impart one’s knowledge and experience to the next generation.
3. Make a fence around the תורה – עשו סייג לתורה – Following the simple law is not enough. It is easy to make mistakes if one isn’t careful. Therefore build fences, but remember what you’re fence is guarding. If you don’t understand why you are stringent about something, you could just as easily let your guard down.

How do these relate three things relate to each other?

אנשי כנסת הגדולה, the transitional body from the time of נביאים to the time of Rabbis, is providing a certain series of principles to carry the nation forward. They were the leadership during the early years of בית שני. While historians are unsure as to how long this organization lasted, suffice it for now to assume we are dealing with a group that lasted until some time during the Greek/Hellenism period. As the transitional group from the prophets, they had a simple goal, the need to train halachic decisors and leaders for the future. To do this, they recommended three steps.

1. Be deliberate in judgment. Since we no longer can rely on direct communication with G-d, whether through נביאים or through the אורים ותומים (which were hidden before the destruction of the first Temple), we must rely on our own judgment. Therefore, be careful with making decisions. Decisions have consequences and the chance for mistake is greater. One must be slow and methodical, making sure to check as much as possible before making the best decision possible.

2. Raise up many students. As part of being deliberate, don’t be quick to drive people away. Give everyone a chance. The goal is to raise up students who can be the future of the Jewish nation. Since the teacher is not all-knowing, one can never know who might be the leader. Therefore, raise many students and don’t abandon anyone before giving the person the chance to succeed. Also, the raising of many students assures the greater chance for survival of the system of oral law.

The use of the word raise and opposed to teach is important to highlight. The goal is not just to teach students but one also needs to raise students to become teachers. Knowledge alone is not the only goal of making many students.

3. Make a fence around the תורה. The final step in strengthening Judaism, helping it survive the change, is to guard the תורה, done through actively setting up guard posts. Some of the guard posts are changes, such as תפילה, which eventually replaces sacrifices as the mode of worship. However, realize that making fences around the תורה is not the same as adding new laws. The making of a fence, in a literal sense, is that we put up a structure to surround another structure. This makes the fence integral to the survival of the structure, yet the structure is still the main focus. Similarly, in the case of תורה, the true fence is when we can remember the original law and know why the additional stringencies were added. This is not like divine law, which Israel accepted נעשה ונשמע, by doing and asking questions later. This is the establishment of “man-made” law, which needs to be understood because without understanding, it will be easier to simply say, its not G-d’s law, therefore we don’t need it.

Therefore, the simple explanation is that אנשי כנסת הגדולה believed that to keep Judaism alive, we need fences around the law, handed down by one’s students, who then become the next generation of teachers, and which are determined by careful deliberation. Random stringencies and decisions without slow judgment can lead to utter neglect.

I know it is only Tuesday, but here is a Dvar Torah for this week's Parasha, Nasso. I do think that the idea presented might be something to contemplate on Shavuot as well.

Parashat Nasso
The Golden Mean

Parashat Nasso contains the various laws of Sotah (suspected adulteress) and Nazir. Masechet Sotah 2a, quotes a baraita (also found in Berachot 63a as well as quoted by Rashi d”h Yafli) in the name of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi; why does the Nazir section come immediately after the Sotah section. He claims that whoever sees a Sotah in her disgrace will separate from wine (which Rashi says is because wine makes a person lightheaded, the cause of her actions).

At first glance, this explanation seems a bit hard to grasp. Why would one create absolute distance from something as a result of seeing a person punished the crime he/she committed? Sure, when first seeing the person, the reaction might be shock, but ultimately, it might be very surprising for a person to completely separate from the “cause” of the sin. However, the separation from Sotah seems extreme, because the person not only separates from wine but from grape products and cutting his/her hair, and from going to a grave or funeral.

Maharal, commenting on Rashi (and therefore commenting on Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi), provides a deeper explanation for the juxtaposition of the two sections. He claims Sotah is the complete opposite of qedusha, for someone is not qadosh unless he/she separates from arayot (which would be all immorality), as Rashi point out at the beginning of Parashat Qedoshim (19:2) (Maharal, in his commentary on Pirqei Avot, Derech Hayyim, mentions this same idea on Mishnah 5:9). He then explains how we know Nazir is supposed to follow the Sotah section. Nazir is a form of making a vow, so the verse (6:2) should have read Ki yidor neder nazir l’hafli. Instead, the verse is Ki yafli li’n’dor neder nazir. Why is the order of the words Yafli first? Maharal says that Yafli, hafla’a, is the language of separation, as Rashi explains at the beginning of his comment on the word Yafli. Therefore, according to Maharal, the way to fix the lack of qedusha is to do qedusha to the extreme, i.e become a Nazir.

However, I am still left wondering the need to go to this extreme. I understand the need to create a fence around the Torah, but why the need for a brick wall 10 feet high. Furthermore, becoming a Nazir does not seem to be something recommended, for the Nazir, in order to end the nezirut, needs to bring a qorban hatat, implying that extreme qedusha is somehow a sin.

To understand the reason that nazir is in some respects a sin, we need to turn to Rambam. In the first 2 chapters of hilchot deot, as well as interspersed throughout his introduction to Pirqei Avot, Rambam talks about fixing character traits. He says that if a person has a tendency towards a certain extreme, that person should go to the opposite extreme because eventually the character trait will end up centered. There are limits to this. For example, to fight off extreme qedusha, one shouldn’t become extremely immoral. Nevertheless, extreme qedusha, as in nezirut, would be sinful because it would remove the person from society. Hence, the requirement for bringing a qorban hatat even though it is seen as a remedy for immorality.

As we go into the summer, we need to remember that extremes are not ideal. There is a need to relax and rejuvenate after a hard year. However, this is not license to do nothing but relax. There is also a need to keep our minds sharp and a need to continue to grow as people. At the same time, don’t think, well, in order not to fall prey to evil, I will shut myself away until the next year. To grow includes the ability to interact with people at times without compromising on ourselves. We cannot become more stringent when it encroaches on others. Our stringencies need to be internal.

Throughout the year, one of the commandments that we must continuously fulfill is to remember the Exodus from Egypt. If this is so, what makes Passover night so special? For some, during the year it is enough to think about the Exodus, while on the Passover night one must verbally remember the redemption. Other opinions claims that even during the year the memory of redemption must occur through sound, not merely thought. For them, the difference is that during the year, a person fulfills the daily need to remember the Exodus even by listening to some random conversation, while on Passover night, the listening must be through the intermediary of the Haggadah being recited by someone required to hear about the redemption. Others claim that the command to remember the Exodus during the year is not something to be fulfilled at night (though that would lead to wonder about recital of paragraph three of Shema) but on Passover, the command is specifically for the night. But still, what is the purpose of verbalizing the events of the Exodus, thinking about it or reading about it without verbalizing the words should be enough.

The Zohar (quoting from Isaiah Tishby, Wisdom of the Zohar, Vol III, p. 1316-7) claims that by continuously discussing the events of the Exodus, a person will merit rejoicing with the Shekhinah in the world to come. G-d enjoys "listening" to the narration. The Zohar then goes on to describe the celestial scene, where G-d gathers the divine "household" together to listen to the recital of the Haggadah:

It is at this time that the Holy One, blessed be He, gathers His household together and says to them: Come and listen to the recital of My praises, which My children utter as they rejoice in the redemption that I have performed. Then they all assemble and come to join Israel, and they listen to the praises that they recite as they delight in the joy of the redemption that their Master has performed. They come and give thanks to the Holy One, blessed be He, for all His miracles and the manifestations of His power, and praise Him for the holy people that He has on the earth, who take delight in the joy of redemption that their Master has performed. Then He gains additional strength and power in the world above, and by this narration Israel gives strength to their Master, just as a king increases in power and might when [his subjects] praise his might and give thanks to him. And all fear Him and His glory is exalted on high. Therefore, one must praise him by reciting this story (Tishby, 1317).

After the description of the celestial realm of Pesach night, the Zohar then asks, why we need to describe all of G-d's miracles if G-d is all- knowing. The answer given is that the recital of the text leads to all the celestial household praising G-d, thus establishing G-d's power over the world. Similarly, we see that a person needs to verbally repent even though G-d knows all sins, for the confession removes power from the celestial prosecutor.

A main idea that we can learn from the passage of the Zohar is the power of speech. The reason for verbal recitation is to strengthen the power of the event. The recitation of the Haggadah on Pesach, even if it appears out-of-date on some level (how do we relate to the Exodus when the story isn't even clearly presented), still has power. The recitation reminds us of our connection with each other, with all Jews around the world. With only minor differences, we are together reciting the same "story." The one difference is that each Seder is still unique in that the discussions will vary. But the key is to occupy oneself for these two nights with stories of redemption, of survival, or growth. With these discussions, we strengthen the power of the divine in our lives. Therefore, there is a specific need on Passover night to verbally recite the description of the miracles.

As it getting closer to Passover, I would like to share some ideas about the holiday over the next couple of days. Of course, since my family reads these, I will lose out on something to say at the seder, but I figure it will at the very least elicit conversation, which is the essence of the seder.

Did WE Leave Egypt?
Pesach is the quintessential family holiday. The Haggadah is designed as a lesson for the parent to teach the child. We are commanded to tell the redemption story. Not only that, but the Haggadah also obligates one to feel as if G-d redeemed him/her from Egypt (B’Chol Dor V’Dor Hayyav Adam Lir’ot Et Atzmo K’Ilu Hu Yatza MiMitzrayim). There is a custom among certain Sephardim to act as if they themselves are leaving from Egypt; one thing they do is carry matzah on their shoulders. However, for others who do not have these customs, the story we read is the same every year, potentially leaving many somewhat bored. Part of the command of V’Higadeta L’Bincha is to tell the story to each person according to his/her level, which we see from the section about the four sons. Nevertheless, how do we make the story come alive, allowing us to truly experience redemption while sitting at a nicely set table in the twenty-first century?

The story of the four sons is perhaps a good starting point. As just mentioned, the story provides a model for how to approach different types of people. (The Lubavitcher Rebbe z”l, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, claims that there is a fifth son, one who doesn’t show up. He tries to explain that the rasha, the wicked son, is not as evil as he first appears, for at least he comes to the seder). However, even the four models leave one scratching his/her head.

First, when looking to find a difference between the hakham and rasha, it seems pretty clear from the father’s response that they are polar opposites. However, the texts of their stories are almost grammatically identical! Both the hakham and rasha address their questions using the grammatical conjugation for you (chem), as in etchem (hakham) and lachem (rasha). However, when searching for original nuschaot, we find that both the Mechilta (Bo 18) and the Talmud Yerushalmi (Pesahim 10:4, 37d) have the word otanu for the hakham, modifying his words to be inclusive as opposed to the rasha’s, which remain exclusive. (For more information about the texts of the four sons, see Haggadah Shleimah, R. Menachem Kasher, pages 120-123, chapter called Arba’a Banim.) Once we recognize the potential textual difference between the hakham and rasha, we can better understand how to approach the people at our table.

In other words, for the ones who verbally include themselves in Jewish experiences, we don’t have to treat the redemption as a history lesson but instead can focus on how to fulfill the obligations of Pesach. For the tam and the she’aino yode’a lish’ol, the job is simple; we merely incorporate them into the activities by telling them stories. However, when it comes to the rasha, the answer is strange. After excluding him/herself from the experience of redemption, he/she is called a heretic, and told, “if you were there, G-d would not redeem you, unlike me, who is worthy of redemption.” The answer to the rasha’s question seems odd because the only discussion of Jews not leaving Egypt is in a Midrash, quoted by Rashi (Mechilta d’Rabbi Yishmael, Bo 12 d”h V’haya Ki among other places), regarding the word Hamushim. Hamushim indicates that only one out of every five (or 50 or 500 as the Midrash indicates) Jews left Egypt alive. Hence, what is the essence of the parent’s answer to the rasha? Furthermore, is the rasha’s question so bad? Don’t we all, at times, want to understand how the other perceives religious events?

Part of the problem the rasha faces in explaining why he/she excludes him/herself is the inability to relate to the Egyptian redemption. It is quite difficult to capture the power of redemption merely from reading the same text year in and year out. The format leaves some people feeling dry or confused. For example, where does Arami Oved Avi fit into the story? Yes, we do explain the series of verses that we said when bringing Bikkurim. However, do those explanations really convey the spirit and essence of redemption from Egypt?

Perhaps the answer lies in the response to the rasha. If a person excludes him/herself, we, as a people, lose another voice. In other words, the Midrash might be teaching that the loss of Jews in Egypt is tragic in that we lose their voices, their stories. By attempting to scare the rasha, we are telling him/her, “If you exclude yourself, we will lose your voice, just like the voices of people in Egypt, who for whatever reasons, also excluded themselves.” Pesach is the story of triumph over adversity, and while it contains a set format to explain how G-d redeems us, one of the most important elements is that the given text is not meant to be the be all and end all of everything we say that night. The stories of our past, triumph and tragedy, need telling.

The experience of redemption is both positive and negative. On the one hand, we, who include ourselves in the story, enhance it by telling our stories or other people’s stories. The negative part of Pesach is the feeling of loss that we, the Jewish people, have experienced throughout our history. We have lost people with stories, stories which could enhance our experiencing redemption. Nevertheless, we should not make our seder into another Tisha B’Av. Instead, we need to remember those who have suffered and continue to suffer for being Jewish. And we also need to remember how we do not suffer, how we are blessed, telling those stories. Pesach is the time for family stories, family reminiscing and of course, (at least this is what happens in my case) family debate, making the ancient redemption from Egypt relevant to our lives.

Yom Kippur, Day of Atonement. Every year, we begin with a ten day period of extreme introspection, culminating in a single day designed to allow the human to atone for his/her mistakes. The only problem with that is the following question, posed to me this year: Why should we repent if we know that for the most part we will continue making the same mistakes? (Just to add, this is especially true for things which Maimonides claims are impossible to repent for (see Hilchot teshuvah chapter 4 for more information)). At the time I had no answer and even now, I am still unsure as to the answer. However, my only assumption is that the series of sins we enumerate during Vidui are meant to further our introspection. They are designed to make us think about what we might have done wrong within category X. Ultimately, the question is being driven by the greater problem, what is the purpose of prayer? There are many legitimate answers to this question, including the need to ask for help and the need to humble ourselves, showing we also must depend on others, especially G-d.

Maharal of the Week - 3

Parshat Vaetchanan

This week we read some of the most basic and primary pieces in Judaism, the Shema and the Ten commandments. I would like to spend a few minutes discussing a problem Maharal encounters in one of Rashi's most famous statements.

Deuteronomy 5:12 starts the small section of the Ten Commandments regarding Shabbat. The first word mentioned is "Shamor" (Guard). In the other portion that contains the Ten Commandments, Yitro, the first word mentioned regarding Shabbat is "Zachor" (remember). Rashi, commenting on Deuteronomy 5:12, says that these two words were said at the exact same moment by G-d, which is why one is mentioned here and the other in Yitro.

Maharal inquires about this comment, wondering why Rashi would resort to this as his answer. Maharal is bothered because it appears that there are other differences between the two sets of Commandments, so why not ascribe the same to all the differences. However, he claims that regarding Shabbat, the use of Shamor and Zachor indicate two different responsibilities, one positive and one negative, which is why they were said at the same moment. Ramban claims that Zachor is a positive command while Shamor is a negative command. Therefore, while there might be anomalies within the two recountings, this one is the only one, according to Maharal, which requires an actual explanation as to why the differences exist.

Maharal of the Week - 2

Parshat Devarim

This week we begin reading Moses' final speech to the children of Israel. The book begins with a somewhat anomalous statement. "Elah HaDevarim..." "These are the words that Moses told all of Israel in the Jordan Valley..." Rashi, noticing this wording of Elah HaDevarim, claims that the book opens with this phrase indicates that Moses' first words to the people were rebuke.

Maharal, commenting on this Rashi, tries to explain why Rashi thinks this is the anomaly of the sentence, warranting him to claim Elah HaDevarim indicates words of rebuke. Instead, Maharal claims, Rashi should have made this comment when the verse said, "in the desert, in the plain." However, he explains that Rashi chose this location because the verse should have simply said, "And Moses spoke in the Jordan Valley..." Instead, it said Elah HaDevarim, which as Rashi has pointed out in other contexts (Qohelet 1:1) indicates words of rebuke. If this is the case, Maharal then explains, that since Devarim 1:5 says "and Moses expounded on the Torah," the opening verse should have read, "And this is the Torah that Moses expounded." Therefore, the meaning of the Elah HaDevarim, by process of elimination, is as Rashi indicates, words of rebuke.

Maharal of the week - 1

Parshiyot Matot and Masei

At the end of Masei, the second portion we read this week, we see the conclusion of the story of the daughters of Tzelafchad. Last week, we read about their request for a share in the land of Israel because their father had no sons, thus the property that would be inherited was lost. G-d granted their request. It is important to note that at the time of the request they were unmarried (Numbers, Chapter 27).

This week, we find out that they marry the sons of their uncle, keeping the land within the tribe of Menashe (Numbers 36:11-12). There is an interesting anomaly in the verse that informs of this decision. Rashi points out that the names of the daughters are not in the same order as they were in chapter 27. He explains that in 36:11 they are listed according to their age, while in 27:11 they are listed according to their wisdom. The common practice in scripture, according to Rashi, is to list people according to wisdom. He concludes by saying that this shows all five daughters are equal.

Maharal, commenting on the last part of Rashi, that they were equal, wonders about their equality as seen through the changing of the order of the names. If they really are not equals, why not simply use the same listing system in both cases? However, they are equal, then even though they are listed according to wisdom, we know that for different characteristics they are all on different levels, each one excelling at something else. This answer does not suffice, because barring this one place (36:11) where they are listed according to birth, they are always listed according to wisdom. Hence, in order to show they are equal, you would need to change the order of the listing. The best way to indicate the fact they are equal would not be to randomly change the order. It is to change the order based on birth, showing that while one might be older than the other, their characteristics are all equal. Without these two differing lists, we would not know they were equals.