It Could Never Happen to Me (Ki Teitzei 5786)

This parashah piece by Rabbi Kenigsberg was first published in our Hanassi Highlights on Thursday 20 August. Thanks to Chat GPT you can also read it in Hebrew here.

Parshat Ki Teitzei introduces one of the most puzzling mitzvot in the Torah: the ben sorer u'moreh, the rebellious son.

The Torah describes a young man who refuses to listen to his parents and develops a pattern of excessive eating and drinking. His parents bring him before Beit Din, where the Torah prescribes an extraordinarily severe punishment. The Gemara in Masechet Sanhedrin famously records the opinion that ben sorer u'moreh lo haya v'lo atid lihyot—there never was a rebellious son who met all the Torah's criteria, and there never will be. Why, then, does the Torah teach us these laws? Derosh v'kabel sachar—study them and receive reward.

Interestingly, the Gemara makes the same claim regarding two other unusual areas of halacha: the ir hanidachat, an entire city led astray into idolatry, and nigei batim, the appearance of tzara'at on the walls of a house. Yet in each case, the Gemara also records a dissenting opinion. There were Sages who insisted that these cases could indeed occur.

The Chatam Sofer finds an important lesson within this disagreement. Sometimes the greatest danger begins precisely when we convince ourselves: "It could never happen." A parent who believes that his or her child could never lose their way may stop noticing the warning signs. A community convinced that serious problems could never develop within it may fail to recognise the cracks when they first appear. The assumption that something is impossible can itself prevent us from taking the steps necessary to ensure that it remains so.

Perhaps this explains why the Torah teaches us laws which, according to some opinions, were never actually applied. Derosh v'kabel sachar does not simply mean that we receive reward for the theoretical study of Torah. The study itself may help ensure that the situation never arises. By contemplating where things can lead, we become more sensitive to where they begin.

The same theme appears at the end of our parsha. The Torah commands us regarding Amalek: "Zachor... lo tishkach" —"Remember... do not forget." Memory guards against complacency. What happened before cannot simply be dismissed as belonging to another time or another generation.

This message takes on particular significance during Chodesh Elul. The work of Elul begins with honest self-examination. It is very easy to recognise weaknesses in other people. It is harder to acknowledge that we ourselves may have habits that need changing, relationships that need repairing or areas of our religious lives that have gradually become weaker.

The words "It could never happen to me" are comforting, but they can also be dangerous. Elul asks us to replace them with a different question: Could it be happening already, in ways that I have simply stopped noticing?

 The Torah does not ask that question in order to frighten us. It asks because recognising a problem while it is still small gives us the opportunity to change its course. That may be the greatest reward of derosh v'kabel sachar: sometimes, by learning what can happen, we can ensure that it never does.

 Shabbat Shalom!

The Mitzvah That Opens the Door to More

 In his parashah contribution to The Hanassi Blog this week, Rabbi Bloom writes of Shiluach HaKen, self-restraint, and the infinite power of a single mitzvah

Parashat Ki Teitzei contains more mitzvot than any other parashah in the Torah—seventy-four of the Torah’s 613 commandments. Among them is one of the most intriguing: shiluach haken, sending away the mother bird before taking her eggs or young.

The Torah describes a person who happens upon a bird’s nest along the road, in a tree or on the ground. The mother is sitting upon her eggs or fledglings. If the passerby wishes to take the young, the Torah commands: “You shall surely send away the mother, and the young you may take for yourself, so that it will be good for you and you will lengthen your days” (Devarim 22:6–7).

At first glance, the mitzvah is puzzling. The Torah permits us to eat kosher birds and animals. Why, then, must the mother bird be sent away before the eggs or young are taken? What deeper lesson lies within this apparently simple act?

Honoring the Maternal Instinct

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch focuses on the bond between the mother bird and her young. Why does the bird remain on the nest when a human being approaches? Ordinarily, instinct would cause her to flee from danger. Yet her maternal devotion holds her in place.

That instinct—the willingness of a mother to remain with and protect her offspring—is one of the foundations upon which life is built. When we encounter it in nature, we must not exploit it. We may not take advantage of the mother’s devotion in order to seize both her and her young. The Torah therefore commands us to send her away.

The mitzvah trains us to recognize the dignity of motherhood even in the animal world. If we learn to respect sacrifice, loyalty, and maternal care wherever they appear, we become more sensitive to those qualities in human life as well.

A Torah Model of Sustainability

Another approach sees shiluach haken as an expression of responsible stewardship. In modern language, we might call it sustainability.

The Torah allows a person to benefit from the natural world, but it does not grant permission to consume without limit. You may take what you need, but you may not destroy the source from which future life will come. Take the eggs or fledgling  but release the mother so that she can nest again and produce another generation.

This is an act of chesed whose beneficiary is not one identifiable person. It is kindness extended to humanity as a whole and to generations not yet born. Nature is not merely a resource to be exhausted for immediate satisfaction. It is a Divine gift entrusted to us, and we are responsible for passing it forward.

At the heart of this lesson is self-restraint. Human beings naturally want to take what is available, especially when it is within easy reach. The Torah teaches us that the fact that we can take everything does not mean that we should. Holiness is often expressed by the ability to stop—to recognize a boundary, leave something behind, and consider needs beyond our own.

Strikingly, shiluach haken requires little financial sacrifice. The bird is ownerless; the person is not giving away something that already belongs to him. Nevertheless, the Torah promises, “so that it will be good for you and you will lengthen your days.” Even a small act of restraint, when performed because it is Hashem’s will, carries both benefit in this world and eternal spiritual value.

Why So Many Mitzvot?

This leads to a broader question. Why does the Torah contain so many commandments, with so many details?

The final Mishnah in Makkot teaches: “Rabbi Chananya ben Akashya says: The Holy One, blessed be He, desired to confer merit upon Israel; therefore, He gave them Torah and mitzvot in abundance.” The abundance of mitzvot gives us an abundance of opportunities.

The Hebrew word lezakot can mean to grant merit, but it also suggests zach—purity and refinement. Mitzvot do more than add credits to a spiritual account. They educate us. They purify our instincts, refine our character, and train us to see the world differently.

When shiluach haken teaches us to honor maternal devotion, exercise restraint, and preserve creation for the future, the mitzvah is changing us. We emerge from the act more compassionate, more disciplined, and more conscious of our responsibility to Hashem’s world.

The Rambam adds a powerful dimension. He explains that the multitude of mitzvot makes it possible for every person, whatever his temperament, strengths, or circumstances, to encounter at least one mitzvah that he can perform with complete sincerity. Not merely out of habit or for social approval, but lishmah—solely because it is the will of Hashem. A person may fulfill that mitzvah in all its detail, with pure intention, and even with self-sacrifice when it carries him beyond his comfort zone.

There is therefore both quantity and quality in Jewish life. We seek to perform many mitzvot, but we must also aspire to perform at least one with our entire being.

Every Mitzvah Contains Another

Rashi highlights an additional principle: mitzvah goreret mitzvah—one mitzvah leads to another.

The commandments in Ki Teitzei may appear unrelated, yet Rashi shows that an invisible network connects them. After the mitzvah of sending away the mother bird, the Torah speaks about building a new home and placing a protective parapet around its roof. It then discusses planting a vineyard, working a field, and placing tzitzit on a four-cornered garment.

Rashi explains that if a person fulfills the mitzvah of shiluach haken, Hashem will grant him the opportunity to fulfill additional mitzvot. He may merit to build a house, plant a vineyard, own a field, and acquire a garment requiring tzitzit. Each new blessing becomes a new spiritual opportunity.

Every mitzvah contains, as it were, the spiritual DNA of all the others. Within each act is a doorway leading to another act of holiness.

This is not only a theological idea; it can be seen in ordinary life. A man once explained how his daughter’s marriage resulted from one seemingly small decision. Although he generally prayed at home on weekday mornings, one cold winter day he felt moved to get out of bed and attend shul.

Going to shul is itself a classic example of one mitzvah leading to another. A person arrives to pray, but while there he may answer Kaddish, hear the Torah reading, learn a Torah thought, give tzedakah, comfort someone, or offer needed advice.

On that particular morning, the man learned that someone in the community was sitting shiva. The following day, he paid a condolence call. During the visit, he met the mourner’s fine unmarried son and mentioned his own unmarried daughter. A match was suggested—and ultimately, the families gathered to celebrate their wedding.

One decision to attend shul opened a path to prayer, nichum aveilim, a shidduch, and the establishment of a new Jewish home. That is mitzvah goreret mitzvah in living form.

Pray for Opportunities

As Rosh Hashanah approaches, we pray that we be “filled with merits like a pomegranate.” The pomegranate, crowded with seeds, symbolizes not only reward but opportunity—the hope that our lives will be densely filled with meaningful acts.

Parashat Ki Teitzei, overflowing with mitzvot, reminds us that every moment may conceal such an opening. A small act of restraint can teach stewardship. A gesture toward a bird can cultivate reverence for motherhood. A winter morning in shul can help create a Jewish family.

No mitzvah is isolated, and no mitzvah is truly small. Each connects us more deeply to Hashem; each carries a dimension of the infinite; and each may open a door that leads farther than we could ever have imagined.

Torah and mitzvot -- nothing else will do! Ki Teitzei 5785

Here is another piece left for us by Rabbi Wein ztz'l and which we are privileged to share.

Ki Teitzei contains the second most numerous count of mitzvot in the Torah, topped only by parashat Kedoshim in Chumash Vayikra. The commentators to the Torah discuss why these mitzvot that first appear in Ki Teitzei, all of which are ultimately derived from the granting of the Torah at Mount Sinai almost 40 years earlier, find their place in the Torah here in Moshe’s final oration to the Jewish people. Their approach to the issue differs.

Some say that since many of these mitzvot are related to war, settling the land, domesticated human life and the like, they reflect the impending life-altering change for the Jewish people as they shift from a miraculous existence in the desert to a more natural and normal lifestyle.  Soon they would be in their own land, facing all the changes and problems that such a radical shift of circumstances implies. Others merely say that this is an example of the Talmudic dictum that the Torah is not bound in its teachings and text to any narrative timeline; there is no chronological order to the Torah. Even though these mitzvot appear in writing here for the first time, they were essentially already taught to the Jewish people in the desert long before by Moshe. Other explanations can be found; all are valid and they are not mutually exclusive. 

If I may be bold enough to add my insight to this matter, I would say this: the Jewish people are about to become a nation and to establish their own government in the Land of Israel. They will have to fight many battles, bloody and painful, to establish their right to the Land of Israel and to establish their sovereignty over the territory that it encompasses. They will need an army, a civil government, a judicial system, an economy and labor force and all the other trappings that accompany nation building and establishing a territorial entity and effective government.

In the face of these demands they might think that they can discard the spiritual yoke of the mitzvot imposed upon them at Sinai. It would be easy to say that mitzvot were all very well in the Sinai desert, where no other demands were made on our time, energy and commitment. But with more pressing business at hand, perhaps the punctilious observance of mitzvot was no longer required. 

Moshe comes in this parsha, in the midst of his valedictory oration to the Jewish people, to remind them that mitzvot and Torah are the only effective guarantee of Jewish success and survival, even while they are engaged in building and defending Jewish sovereignty in the Land of Israel. Moshe in effect says to them: “Here are some more mitzvot—and they will help you succeed in building the land and preserving your sovereignty over it.” Moshe’s message is as germane to our time as it was to the first Jews who arrived en masse to settle in the Land of Israel thirty-three centuries ago. 

Longing for peace :Ki Teitzei 5784

In this week’s parsha the Torah portrays an accurate if unforgiving view of war and its personal consequences. No one who participates in a war escapes these consequences unscathed. Those who are killed or wounded take a physical toll. But even those who have emerged safely from the battle are affected by their involvement in it. This is the supremely important, albeit subliminal, message of the beginning of parshat Ki Teitzei. 

A Jewish soldier, according to the ritual requirements of becoming such a soldier and being accepted for the battle, is a God-fearing patriotic and observant person. Nonetheless he somehow enters into a sexual relationship with a non-Jewish woman—a relationship which, Rashi points out, will only bring him future grief and regret. The heat and passions of war cannot be confined to the actual battlefield alone. They spread within the psyche and the body of the combatant, finding different ways to show themselves other areas of human life and experience. The observant Jew becomes a sexual predator. Is this not the strongest message possible that the Torah wishes to communicate to us about the deleterious effects of military combat? 

The opening to our parsha shows how the exigencies of war demand the abandonment of personal inhibitions. Without inhibitions there can be no morality or piety. As all of us who live in Israel are aware, war is a constant state of affairs in our national and personal lives. The Jewish people have been at war in the Land of Israel for almost all of the past century. These wars may not be of our choosing or instigated on our initiative, but they are omnipresent in our lives. 

Given this difficult state of affairs, Israeli society has been affected and even shaped by the constant threat of armed combat. Many of the rough spots that still exist in our society—the divisiveness, the absence of courtesy, the endemic social aggression—these are consequences of our being in a perpetual state of war. Where this is so, inhibitions and piety are hard sustain. 

Peace is not merely the absence of military engagement. It is a state of mind that induces tranquility, rationality and all-round general goodness. That is why peace is so exalted in the works of the prophets, throughout the Talmud and in Jewish tradition. And that is why we pray three times daily that its presence should be felt amongst us. With both inner and outer peace, such events as are portrayed at the beginning of this week's parsha simply do not occur. 

There is no people that longs for peace as greatly as do the people of Israel. May the Lord bless us with the achievement of peace and thereby restore us to normality, piety and eternal goodness. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein