The importance of being commanded: Tzav 5785

The word “tzav” conveys much of the basic message of Judaism and the traditions of Torah life.  Even though we live, or believe that we do, in a world of free choice and personal autonomy, the structure of every civilization and society is based on commands to do certain things in life. Sometimes it is our family that makes these demands on us; other times it is our work. Still other times it is the government that intrudes upon our autonomy. There is always a piece of us, deeply hidden within the recesses of our psyche, that rebels against these intrusions on our personal right to decide.

 Recognizing this, the Torah emphasizes the need for commandments to ensure a moral lifestyle and a better society. Even the great Aharon, the paradigm of human goodness and peace, the holy High Priest of Israel, must be commanded. The strength of being commanded, of “tzav”, is the bulwark of Jewish tradition. Without that ingredient of asher tzivanu (“He who has commanded us”) there is no Judaism and ultimately no private or public Jewish life.

 From infancy onwards, we are shaped and raised by commandments. The rabbis called this process chinuch—laying a strong foundation for our lives. The “tzav” which introduces this week’s parsha is not only to be understood in its literal and narrow meaning as applying to the laws of Temple sacrifices and the High Priest. It must be seen as the basic expression of the mindset of Judaism in all its aspects.

Special note should be made that the word “tzav” appears in conjunction with the commandments regarding the sacrifice of the olah in the Temple. The olah was the only sacrifice from which no human being obtained any immediate tangible benefit, being completely consumed by the fire on the altar. There must have been a hidden voice of hesitancy that resonated within the person bringing that sacrifice and even within the priest who offered it up. After all, what value is a sacrifice if no one derives any immediate value from its offering?

 Because human logic is limited in comparison with God’s infinite wisdom, the Torah emphasizes here the word “tzav”: this is an order andis not subject to human logic or choice. Life sometimes makes demands on us that are illogical and sometimes appear capricious. Nevertheless they must be met. By realizing the innate necessity in life for “tzav”—for submitting to Divine Will and obeying it, we make our lives easier to live and more meaningful too. We also must realize that life at times demands an olah from us, selfless sacrifice that shows little immediate or tangible reward or benefit. We are here to serve. That is our ultimate purpose. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein 

Shabbat HaGadol -- a lesson in freedom and responsibility

 In addition to Rabbi Wein's regular devar Torah on the parashah (here), we reproduce a piece by Rabbi Wein on the significance of Shabbat HaGadol. Enjoy!

The Shabbat that precedes the holiday of Passover has been named by Jewish tradition as Shabbat Hagadol—the Great Shabbat. Over the ages there have been many explanations as to why this Shabbat is set apart from all others. Rabbinic literature records that it marks the anniversary of the Jewish people’s preparation of the sacrificial lamb for the Passover offering while they were yet in Egypt, awaiting their imminent deliverance. Other reasons for the name have been advanced, all of which have been treasured in Jewish life over the centuries. 

Allow me to introduce another idea that I feel has relevance and importance. Passover represents freedom from bondage, a release from slavery and the creation of myriad possibilities for self-growth and accomplishment. However, human history testifies to the fact that freedom carries with it many responsibilities and dangers. Indeed, there has never been consensus as to what the true definition of freedom is or should be. 

Humans vacillate between uninhibited hedonism and unbridled licentiousness on one hand and tyranny of thought, action and social conformity on the other. Everyone claims to speak in the name of freedom, but we are aware that all ideas of freedom are subject to interpretation and circumstance. For many people freedom of speech only applies to speech that gains their approval. And this is true for all freedoms to which we pay lip service. We find it hard to stomach ideas that do not match our own. 

We therefore need to educate and train ourselves if we are to see that freedom is properly defined and implemented in society—and the training ground is Shabbat. In its essence, and paradoxically through its restrictions, it frees us from the chains of everyday life that so bind and constrict us. It allows for a freedom of the spirit and the imagination, for thought and for rest, which are almost universally absent from our regular six-day workweek. The Talmud elevated this notion to new heights, adding that freedom was inscribed on the tablets of the law that Moshe brought down from Sinai. Only by understanding the divine law and by appreciating one’s role in the universe that God created can one achieve a proper understanding of the gift of freedom.

It is obvious that misapplication of freedom has led to untold tragedies for millions of people throughout the history of mankind. The responsibilities of freedom are great. They are also demanding, requiring perspective and inner discipline. These items are the gifts of the Shabbat to the Jewish people, for they shape the ideas and goals of freedom for all who partake of the holy nature of that day. Without education and training, freedom itself may become an unbearable burden and a liability instead of an asset. 

Perhaps this Shabbat becomes the Great Shabbat because it teaches us how to be free and protects us from the lethal dangers of misapplied freedom. Freedom is not measured only by outside forces, governments and societal pressures. It is also measured by the internal emotions and mindset of the individual. One can live in the freest of societies and yet feel that one is a captive and a slave. 

A scene in a book by one of the Russian Jewish dissidents describes how he shared a cell with a clergyman of another faith, a monotheistic believer and a person who was moral to his very core. In one of the many discussions that this Jewish dissident had with his cellmate, they both concluded that only in this dungeon did they both feel completely free. And though they both desired to be released from the prison, they agreed that they probably would never again feel themselves to be as free as they did at that moment in the darkness of the jail. 

All the rules and ideas that are expressed in the Torah are meant to imbue in us this concept of freedom. Freedom is the connection of ourselves to our inner soul and to the Creator that has fashioned us all.

Being in control: Vayikra 5785

The book of Vayikra, which we begin to read this Shabbat, contains very little narrative. This book is also called Torat Kohanim since it features the laws of the Mishkan service, the duties of the Kohanim, the laws of ritual purity, and the detailed descriptions of the sacrifices offered in the Mishkan. 

To many people these laws are anachronistic, if not completely unintelligible in the context of our present world. Yet every word of the Torah has eternal value for all at any given moment in human time. I think that it is obvious that the Torah here shows us that there is a world that requires sacrifices and is somehow influenced by offering those sacrifices. It is also a world where ritual purity matters greatly and profoundly influences human society. In this alternative world that we sense and sometimes even glimpse, the chumash of Vayikra reigns supreme. In that basically unseen world, every law of Vayikra is vitally relevant. 

The chumash of Vayikra comes to remind us of our limitations, both mental and spiritual, and that we must be able to accept that we cannot always fathom God’s motives in telling us how to behave in a certain fashion. This book is not meant to confuse and unnerve us. Rather, it is meant to humble us. 

Human beings always wish to be in control. But life blindsides at unexpected moments and in unpredictable ways. Life’s experiences only reveal to us how powerless and irrational we really are. There is very little that we can actually control. 

Human beings long for solutions and answers that emanate from the occult—from another world of being, the existence of which we are only dimly aware. So here we have the rub. The Torah is unalterably opposed to magic, superstitions, and appeals to spirits. So how do we square that strict approach with the presence of laws in Vayikra that clearly on the existence of another, unseen world rely for their relevance and strength of purpose? 

The answer lies in our understanding that all the words of the Torah are to be taken at face value and that the ultimate reason for obedience to them derives from the fact that we are commanded to do so. Many times the correct answer to the ubiquitous question of “Why?” is “Because!” Parents frequently apply this technique while attempting to raise their children in a proper fashion. The Lord for His own reasons, so to speak, employs this same method when dealing with the Jewish people who had already previously pledged allegiance to the Torah and its values. The chumash Vayikra is a prime example of this axiom of Jewish life. 

Shabat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein 

Relating to God, at home and beyond: Pekudei 5785

Ramban (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, 13^th century Barcelona) points out that the conclusion of the book of Shemot, with its detailed recording of the construction and expenditures involved in completing the Mishkan, places the entire Jewish people at the level of spirituality that was present in the homes of our patriarchs and matriarchs at the conclusion of the previous book, Bereshit. Just as the spirit of the Lord hovered over the tents of our forebears, so too was it recognizably present amongst the nation of Israel. Constructed for that purpose, the spirit of the Lord dwelled within the Mishkan.

This observation contains an important message. Jewish tradition teaches us that there are two places, so to speak, where the Lord’s presence may be experienced and should be cultivated. God’s glory fills the entire universe; He is omnipresent. We puny human beings, however, need a personal God to whom we can somehow relate.  That God can be found in two places in our small and narrow world. One place is in our home, in our family and our daily lives. The second place is in the house of worship, study and Torah service. That is our substitute Mishkan, where we can discern the spirit of God if only we are attuned and sensitive enough to experience it. These two pillars of Jewish life have accompanied us on our long journey in the world—and throughout our history.

 Both these bastions of Jewish strength and vitality—the home and the synagogue or study hall—are the meeting places so to speak of Israel with its God. But they are besieged and under attack in today’s society. The home, marriage, children and a sense of family have yielded to casual relationships, later marriages, more divorces, increased spouse abuse, and the sacrifice of children and family on the altars of career and hedonism.

Without strong Jewish families there cannot be a viable Jewish nation or a strong State of Israel. Certainly, intermarriage has eroded the concept of Jewish family but, even when this does not occur, the bonds of family are frayed by television, the internet and by society generally.

Sometimes, even well-meaning gestures are counterproductive. During my years as a rabbi in Miami Beach we always had many Shabbat guests. Because of that, contact between us and our own young children was pretty much eliminated. One Friday one of our younger daughters said to my wife: “Mommy, are children also guests?” We got the message and then made certain that one of the Shabbat meals would be exclusively with our children.

 The synagogue also has lost much since it became subject to the whims and comfort of the attendees and was no longer the House of God where He is to be glimpsed and served according to His wishes as expressed in Torah and halacha. I hope that the message of the Ramban will certainly not be lost upon us.

Chametz after Pesach: why are we so worried about it?

What is the big deal with the status of chametz once Pesach is over? Here's a fascinating piece by Rabbi Wein that addresses not just the halachic, commercial and legal considerations but also a spot of metaphysics. 

Sale and repurchase

There is a strong rabbinic decree forbidding the use of chametz after Pesach by a Jew if that chametz was actually in Jewish possession during the holiday of Pesach. The rationale for this decree is to prevent Jews from having chametz in their possession during Pesach, so to speak hoarding it for use after Pesach. The obvious danger is that this chametz will be used on Pesach and there is a prohibition not only against eating chametz on Pesach but also as to possessing chametz. So, in order to insure that no chametz remains in Jewish possession during Pesach, the rabbis ruled that Jews could not benefit from such chametz even after Pesach. How then can one resolve the challenges this decree poses? The answer lies in the long-accepted Jewish tradition of “selling” the chametz to a non-Jew before Pesach and of reacquiring it afterwards

The legal sale of mechirat chametz is of ancient origin, though it really only came into general use in the late Middle Ages. Jews then were increasingly occupied in operating distilleries for the production and distribution of liquor derived from chametz grain and fermenting agents. Because of the heavy financial implications, the use of a legal sale of the chametz to a non-Jew took hold and has become de rigueur for Jewish individuals and companies in our time and for the past many centuries.

While this solution avoids any problems regarding use and benefit from chametz, stores and companies need to notify their Jewish customers after Pesach that they in fact did sell their chametz before Pesach, thus obviating any hesitation on the part of their Jewish customers in purchasing chametz goods.

When solutions bring their own problems

As the economies of the world became more complex and intertwined, our rabbinic decisors had to deal with new situations and financial arrangements. What about Jews who own shares in public companies that do business on Pesach with chametz goods? What about large supermarket chains outside of Israel that sell their chametz before Pesach but nevertheless continue to sell those products on a regular normal basis in their stores on Pesach itself? Does this not render the sale of their chametz to a non-Jew before Pesach a sham? In countries that require that tax stamps be affixed to the sale documents, is this necessary for the sale of the chametz to the non-Jew and the reacquisition of the chametz after Pesach by the Jews as well? Whose loss is it if the chametz became damaged or destroyed during Pesach while technically under the ownership of the non-Jew?

Ultimately we need to know how real an apparently unreal sale really has to be. All the questions we have just listed have been thoroughly discussed and argued over by the great halachic decisors of the past centuries. Needless to say, proper solutions to all these issues have been found and implemented. It is an irony, but a very true one, that it is the very rigidity of halacha and its absolute adherence to traditional norms and constructs that allows it to be so flexible and fresh in addressing problems of this nature.

A world of chaff

In Jewish kabbalistic and philosophical thought, chametz on Pesach represents our evil inclination and immoral desires. The holiday of Pesach is instrumental in making us more focused Jews and better people. But, for this self-improvement mode to take hold within us, the chametz after Pesach that still somehow remained within us must be removed from our midst. The rabbinic decree regarding chametz after Pesach should not be reduced to its simple, practical terms. Rather it should be elevated to its highest spiritual form.

In a world of chaff, we should be the true kernel of nourishing grain and, in a world of self-promotion and puffery, we should continue to be the unleavened matzah with its low profile and holy form. Perhaps this spiritual lesson is one of the very reasons that our rabbis so emphasized the problems associated with the concept of chametz after Pesach. The lessons of disciplined freedom that Pesach created within us have to be reinforced and nurtured after Pesach too. The temptations of chametz on Pesach are well known to all of us. The harm that undisposed of chametz after Pesach can cause us should also be recognized and dealt with.

Living in a Non-Jewish Environment

UPDATE (31March): Rabbi Nachum Amsel has kindly furnished us with a recording of Rabbi Wein's speech. It comes in two parts. The first 52 seconds are here; the subsequent 28 minutes are here.  Thanks, Rabbi Amsel, for sharing.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** 

Last Motzaei Shabbat, at Rabbi Nachum Amsel’s double book launch, Rabbi Wein gave a lecture under the title “A Jew Living in a Non-Jewish Environment Today”. A packed house sat in rapt attention while he expounded his theme.  Our member Bill Gerber was among that audience. We thank him for the following note.

The essential problem faced by the Jewish people in this regard is the relatively small numerical size of the Jewish people in comparison to the numbers of those in the non-Jewish world. Even during the Davidic era and the years before that, after the Exodus, Jews found themselves confronted by empires and cultures (Rabbi Wein here lisred the Egyptians, Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, Seleucid Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Arab-Islamic, and so on, up to and including the British). These non-Jewish cultures and civilizations have all been based on concepts alien to those which animate Jews.

Rabbi Wein opined that, speaking generally, Jews have responded in three broad ways to the unfamiliar environments which have confronted them:

·       total rejection,

·       partial accommodation, and finally

·       surrender and assimilation.

Thus, in antiquity, Jews rejected and fought the Seleucid Greeks even though their culture was rich in many ways. The second modality of partial accommodation stems from recognizing that an alien culture has qualities and values that may be valuable to Jews. Thus, for example, in nineteenth century Germany, some great rabbinic authorities wrote in German and studied great German authors.

Rabbi Wein then observed that our situation is similar to the mixed reaction in that there can be both some acceptance of the majority culture along with a push-back in other areas. But the same issues remain such matters as

·       how much accommodation should there be?

·       How much of the majoritarian culture do we accept?

·       do we expose our children to these cultures, especially given that ,in some instances, these cultures include genocidal and destructive inclinations?

Thanks, Bill, for letting us know what we missed!

Peaking too early: Vayakhel 5785

This week’s haftorah describes the efforts of the great King Shlomo in the construction of the First Temple. He is a great and tragic figure; the attitude of the Talmud towards him is ambivalent.  On one hand, he is the builder of the Temple, he expands the kingdom, builds great fortresses, and administers twelve districts of his country. The wisest of all men, he understands even the cries of animals and the songs of birds. The author of three of the great books of the Bible, he was someone upon whom the Divine Spirit rested.

 On the other hand, the Talmud questions his right to immortality, criticizes his excesses and hubris, condemns his tolerance of the idolatry practiced by his foreign wives and even attributes the rise of Rome and the destruction of the Second Temple to his marrying the daughter of the Egyptian Pharaoh. Jewish legend has him driven off of his throne by a demon, being made to wander in exile for part of his life. All of this naturally dims the luster of his earlier accomplishment of building the Temple.

The haftorah parallels our parsha, which deals with constructing the Mishkan and its artifacts, with the artisanship employed in the creation of the Temple and its artifacts. Shlomo, so to speak, becomes a second Moshe, supervising the building of the house of God. But, in the case of Moshe, the building of the Mishkan was only one of his career’s accomplishments, dwarfed by the massive achievement of teaching and instilling Torah within the people of Israel. The building of the Temple by Shlomo was the high point of his career, but he slipped off the lofty pedestal of greatness that he had attained.

 The Talmud teaches us that “happy are those whose later years do not shame their earlier accomplishments.” My old law school professor assured us that every lawyer makes a bad mistake at least once in his professional career. He also stated that those who are fortunate enough to make that mistake early in their career are truly blessed, because they can recover and advance. Making it late in one’s professional life can be disastrous to one’s life and reputation. The same can be said of one’s actions.  Early success can be dangerous because it sets a standard and may cause a degree of complacency that inhibits further achievement. Only a gradual ascent and mature consideration, usually part and parcel of advancing years, can guarantee that those early achievements become lasting, untarnished by later behavior. The comparison between the two great builders of God’s house—Moshe and Shlomo—illustrates this. While building God’s house is a great achievement, maintaining it and using it to increase spiritual guidance and instruction to the people of Israel is even greater.

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Two parshiyot, joined by a single thread: Zachor and Parah

At first glance the messages of Parshat Zachor and Parshat Parah—this week’s parsha—seem  to be unconnected. Parshat Zachor deals with the age-old enemy of the Jewish people, Amalek. In every generation Amalek assumes different guises but he is always there, threatening the very existence of Israel and the Jewish people. His threat is real and very palpable and he minces no words in declaring his goal: the annihilation of Jews. Parshat Parah deals with a completely esoteric spiritual matter, the laws and rituals of the purification of people who became tamei (ritually impure) and may not therefore participate in certain activities, including Temple worship and sacrifices. 

 Amalek and ritual purification appear to be entirely unconnected, being no more than part of the preparations for Purim and Pesach respectively. But there are no mere coincidences in Jewish lore. The Torah, Jewish tradition and custom are so multilayered that everything contained in them requires study, analysis and additional insight.

Study of the Torah makes one realize that every subject and custom is truly interlinked one with another at its deepest level. Superficial understanding is dangerous: it leads to wrong conclusions and false theories. Just as in modern medicine the physician relies on CT scans and MRI imaging to make a correct diagnosis, so too does the Jew have to search for the underlying principles that unite the Torah and Jewish life and make it an indivisible whole. 

I think that the common thread between Parshat Zachor and Parshat Parah lies in the irrationality of the elements in each of them. Amalek’s hatred of Israel over the millennia defies any rational explanation. Why should Norway and Sweden hate Israel so? Why do the Arabs not see peace as being to their advantage, as a chance to bring a better life to their millions? Why the hatred and incitement and the refusal to see things as they are and not as they somehow would wish them to be? 

It is by now clear that all the peace-making efforts here in the Middle East over the past many decades were based on a single error: reliance on rationality and practicality. They deal with a reality that can be rationally explained and thus confronted, compromised and eventually solved. But the Amalek conundrum is an irrational one. It is not given to explanation or reasoning. From the first unprovoked attack by Amalek on the Jews in the Sinai desert through the Holocaust and now the terrible threats and words of Hezbollah and Hamas, it is all simply insanity and irrationality. But that is the reality of an irrational world. And the Torah wishes us to realize that there are many things that are beyond our rational abilities to control. The Torah tells us to remember this lesson at all times. 

Parshat Parah is also based upon an irrationality. The Talmud points out that the ritual laws regarding purity and impurity, the power of the ashes of the red heifer to contaminate the pure and simultaneously purify the impure, are irrational. We have no explanation for them. They are the exception to the otherwise generally rational and well-reasoned structure of Torah life and ritual. The Torah purposely introduces into the structure of Judaism an element that lies beyond human comprehension. It does so with intent to impress on us the fact that Torah and its attendant halachic principles are not always capable of being fully comprehended by the human mind. There is always an area of faith that is beyond our reach and understanding. 

The Torah points out our human limitations; the finite can never quite reach an understanding of the infinite. Rationality is, as it must be, the basis for human actions and behavior. However, part of rationality is the realization that there is much that exists beyond our powers of rational thought. And the Torah emphasizes this by teaching us Parshat Parah. It also does so by linking Parshat Parah to Parshat Zachor it as examples of the underlying irrationalities that govern our world, society and even our faith and beliefs. Thus do these disparate parshiyot become linked in purpose and thought. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Calves may come and calves may go: Ki Tisa 5785

This week’s Torah reading is dominated by the tragedy of the Golden Calf and its consequences. This episode follows teachings regarding the sanctity of the Shabbat. The rabbis attributed the presence of Shabbat as an indication that even the construction of the Mishkan cannot take precedence over the sanctity of Shabbat.  But that is not all. The dangers of Golden Calves, false gods, superficially bright and enticing ideals that only lead to eventual disaster, are ever-present in Jewish society. Our long history as a people contains is a long list of Golden Calves that have led us astray, to our great cost.

 Paganism, Hellenism, false messianism, Marxism, secularism, nationalism, humanism and unbridled hedonism—to name but a few—have all exacted a terrible toll over our history. But Shabbat, its holiness and its withdrawal from the mundane and impious world have always stood as a refuge, a bulwark against these Golden Calves. Shabbat is our first and strongest line of defense against the wave of falsehood and evil that constantly threatens to engulf us.

Without Shabbat we are lost. With Shabbat we are ever strong. Few things in history are that simple to discern, but the saving grace of Shabbat for Jewish society is plainly obvious. This is why, in parshat Vayakhel, the admonition regarding the laws of Shabbat is repeated in conjunction with a further review of the construction of the Mishkan. The Torah wishes to emphasize, that short of human life itself, no cause—no matter how seemingly noble—takes precedence over the sanctity of Shabbat which, in its eternity and God-given holiness, is likened to the World to Come. How often, when we rush to build, do we destroy and, in our desire to accomplish great things, trample on nobility and moral righteousness.

In the Talmud the great sage Baba ben Buta warned King Herod not to destroy the old until the new has already been erected. The world often believes that the destruction of the old is somehow a necessary prerequisite to constructing the new. The Torah however comes to teach us that the old Shbabat already observed by the People of Israel, even before it was given at Mount Sinai, will outlive and outperform any shiny new Golden Calf that is worshipped so avidly. Golden Calves come and calves may go but Shabbat and Torah remain valid for all times and circumstances. This reflection is buttressed in the Torah by its repetition. The message: our Mishkan is built only with Shabbat and never in contravention of it.

 Shabbat shalom,  Rabbi Berel Wein  

Megillat Esther: a story for every generation

The Megillah of Esther tells us that the commemoration of the days of Purim will continue for all time; it will never disappear from Jewish life. Extraordinarily, the Talmud expands this statement to mean that even at the end of days, when other Torah commandments may no longer be needed given the exalted state of spirituality within the Jewish nation and mankind as a whole, the commemoration of Purim will continue.

 Jews live a constant Purim story that unfolds through every generation. The story of Purim, as it has come down to us through the writings of Mordechai and Esther, is replete with individuals whose personalities and actions both define the story and serve as prototypes for the later personalities, ideas, plots and events as they evolve. 

Every generation is charged with reviewing the story of Purim in its time, to view contemporary events and characters in the light of the grand heavenly scheme that Purim represents. Surveying today's scene and events, I think that I can identify someone who can fill the bill as far as King Achashveirosh is concerned. I can also cast someone as a humble and destroyed Queen Vashti. There is also an abundance of tyrants, Jew-haters and corrupt officials who certainly resemble Haman in our reconstruction of the Purim story. Even some of the minor characters of the Megillah, such as Charbonah, can be discerned in our current world. But my fantasy Purim story has not, as yet, been able to match the two main characters, the heroic figures that make the story of Purim timeless and eternal.

 Who is to play the roles of Mordechai and Esther in our current Purim scenario? Where are they when, seemingly, we need them most? Against all odds, ignoring advice from friends and threats from foes, Mordechai will not kneel nor bow down to false gods and cruel tyrants. Queen Esther for her part risks life and limb, position and honor, wealth and comfort, to come to the aid of her people in their hour of need. She is a Jewess first and only secondarily is she the queen of Persia. These two people, Mordechai and Esther, have set very high standards for Jewish behavior for later generations. Criticized from within and persecuted from without, they persevered and through their loyalty and commitment to the Torah and the Jewish nation, brought about salvation and triumph.

 There are such people amongst us today as well. Our task is to recognize and identify them, strengthen them in their efforts and support them against misguided other Jews and non-Jews. We all have the ability to do this.

 It apparently requires dangerous circumstances to bring about some semblance of Jewish unity. Even then, there are always those who dissent, carp and criticize. They were present in Persia long ago when the original Purim story unfolded, and they exist today in various forms, organizations and institutions. They profess support for great human goals and deep concern for the future of the Jewish people while at the same time taking actions that are detrimental to the Jewish present and totally dangerous to the Jewish future. Mordechai and Esther are a little too Jewish for them: too brash, too stubborn, too clannish and unnecessarily provocative. Mordechai and Esther in their time did not receive universal approbation. It is only history, in its unfolding of events, that has validated their heroism. We cannot expect that people who aspire to be Mordechai and Esther in our time should be universally accepted, loved, admired…. and followed.

 This is a reality of Jewish and human life that must be accepted and factored into the general pursuit of that which is good and noble. Hidden miracles do abound in our world, for us at any rate. Anyone who has the good fortune of living in the Land of Israel today instinctively realizes this on a daily basis. Let us strengthen ourselves and be determined and strong as our current Purim story unfolds around us.

Purim same'ach, Rabbi Berel Wein

Mordechai: does the end justify the means?

The Purim story is a collection of unlikely events and almost irrational decisions by all parties involved in this drama. There is ample evidence of the mercurial instability of Achashveirosh and of the diabolical wickedness of Haman. What is however the most perplexing, of all of the behavior of the major participants in the story, is that of Mordechai. What impels him to publicly disobey Haman’s orders and provoke and insult him? And did he have halachic and moral justification to so endanger the Jewish community by his behavior?

There is an opinion in the Talmud that showing homage to Haman was not necessarily forbidden by Jewish law. And Mordechai had other practical options such as hiding and not appearing publicly when Haman appeared. Yet Mordechai emerges in Jewish history and tradition as a hero and an exemplary role model for his courageous defiance of Haman. He is viewed as being the one whose behavior saved the Jewish people and not as one whose behavior was an endangerment.

Rarely do we find potentially foolhardy and bravado behavior universally judged as being heroic, necessary and most praiseworthy. We do find Mordechai being mildly criticized by some of his colleagues on the Sanhedrin for deserting them in order to enter public governmental life. Yet on the main issue – the central theme of the story of Purim itself – Mordechai is essentially the hero of Purim. The Torah, in all of its books, gives no one a free pass.  Everyone’s faults and mistakes are referred to and commented upon. Yet Mordechai, in the Book of Esther, appears to us to be without blemish or error. 

Perhaps the main, practical reason for this is that ultimate success and triumph are sufficient to erase all doubts as to the wisdom of past decisions and conduct. Mordechai’s persistence, fortitude and stubbornness eventually topple Haman (he actually hangs him) and destroy him.  Mordechai’s actions strengthen and enhance the status and position of the Jewish people as a minority in the polyglot Persian Empire. 

Success always brings its own rewards. Heaven has a vote in all human activities, even if unseen and unrecognized. And there is no doubt that Heaven, so to speak, sided with Mordechai in his public stance against Haman and the idolatry and tyranny that he represented. That is the only possible explanation for the otherwise unbelievable series of events that make up the Purim story. 

The traditional view of Purim is that it was a miraculous event, even though the miracles were hidden, incremental and cumulative and not of the purely supernatural kind, as were those of the Exodus from Egypt. And Mordechai’s conduct is part of this hidden miraculous story. Heaven apparently responds favorably to sincere acts of courage and loyalty. And those were the qualities that Mordechai exhibited throughout the Purim story.

Mordechai’s actions were perhaps inscrutable and not understandable to the average onlooker. But so was, and apparently is, Heaven’s reaction. 

There is an interesting and highly volatile concept in Jewish tradition that countenances behavior which somehow contradicts accepted halachic practice. Based upon the verse that appears in Psalms:

“It is a time to take action for the sake of God; they have violated Your Torah.”

The Talmud allowed for a reinterpretation of the verse to state:

“When it is time to act for the sake of God and save the Torah and Israel then in such extreme circumstances, the Torah itself can apparently be violated.” 

This rare exception to traditional norms was invoked by Mattityahu in rebelling against the Syrian Greek oppressors and their Jewish Hellenist allies. Based on this principle, the great Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi allowed the Oral Law to be written down and disseminated as a book, though the Torah itself counseled that the Oral Law should forever remain in its oral state. 

However, this concept is very dangerous in its application, as Jewish history has shown us. Those who consistently violate or ignore halacha and tradition doom themselves to eventual assimilation and extinction. In all instances in Jewish history there have been very few times when this principle has actually been used. 

Only rare and holy people have successfully behaved in such circumstances and I believe that Mordechai must be counted in that group.  Mordechai saw that it was a time to do something for God, to save the Jewish people and to alter the course of history. As pointed out above, Heaven agreed with his decision and hence our joy in commemorating the Purim holiday. 

Purim same’ach, Rabbi Berel Wein 

Be Proud!

Speaking in shul yesterday between minchah and maariv, Rabbi Wein spoke positively about something we usually associate with the negative: pride. When it’s attached to an individual, pride can be a big problem: people who are proud are, by definition, not humble. They may crave honour and status and their pride can be at the expense of other people on whom they look with disdain. But this wasn’t the sort of pride that Rabbi Wein was talking about.

Next Shabbat’s leining begins with the mitzvah of counting the Children of Israel—but the Torah doesn’t give the usual word for counting. Instead, it says “Ki Tiso”, when you lift up the heads of those whom you are counting. Holding up one’s head is a sign of pride.

Secular Jews, Rabbi Wein continued, are rarely proud of being Jewish and, as Jews, have little sense of self-respect. This is why the Purim story offers an explanation for the gezerah, the decree of destruction that was made against the Jewish people: they joined in the six-month-long party celebrations of Acheshverosh while that king was seeking to embarrass and humiliate them. Dressed in the garb of the Kohen Gadol and serving food and drink from vessels pillaged from the Temple, he was blatantly mocking his Jewish guests—yet they came, they ate and they drank.  It was not avodah zarah (idolatry) that sealed their fate. Rather, it was their abandonment of any pretence of self-respect. They had no pride.

Rabbi Wein added that it is not a mitzvah to be proud of being Jewish. No-one commands us to do it. But it is a value, and an important one at that. Without proudly recognizing our status as Jews, we have missed the whole point of our Judaism. In short, without being proud of who and what we are, we are doomed.

Concluding with a litmus test that we can all apply in our lives, Rabbi Wein quoted an aphorism from his cheder rebbe: “If your grandparents can look at you and take pride in who you are, and if your grandchildren can look at you and take pride in you, then you know you are doing something right”.

Purim same’ach—and have a proud Purim!

Doing it the best way: Tetzaveh 5785

The Torah ordains that the olive oil used to light the perpetual menorah (the candelabra) must be the purest and best available. There is obvious logic to this requirement. Impure oil will cause the flames to stutter and flicker; it may also exude an unpleasant odor. All of this can make the task of the daily cleaning of the oil lamps difficult and unpleasant. Yet I feel that the basic underlying reason why the oil must be pure lies in the value that the Torah places on the performance of all positive things in life being done correctly, enthusiastically and with exactitude.

In 'halachic’ parlance this is called kavanah—the intent to perform a commandment properly and in the best possible way. That is the story of the pure container of oil that is the core of the miraculous story of Chanukah. The Hasmoneans could have used regular, even impure oil and still not have violated any strong ‘halachic’ stricture. Yet the idea of kavanah, of acting in the best way possible, introduces an element of special dedication and holiness into what otherwise would be a matter of routine. This is what drives the spirit of holiness and eternity that accompanies the performance of mitzvot. Thus the requirement of the Torah for the purest possible oil to fuel the holy menorah is readily understandable when kavanah is factored in.

The light of the menorah has never been dimmed over the long history of the Jewish people.  Though the menorah itself has long ago disappeared from the view of the Jewish public—it was not even present in Second Temple times—the idea of its light and influence has continued throughout Jewish life.

The flame is not a tangible item. Rather, it is a matter of spirit, not substance. It provides light, warmth and psychological support in very difficult times.  Yet its influence and support is somehow directly connected to the investment in kindling it. That is the import of the words of the rabbis in Avot that according to the effort invested, so is the reward.

 All things spiritual depend on the effort invested in creating that sense of spirit: the purer the oil, the brighter and firmer the flame. This simple yet profound message forms the heart of this week's parsha. It also forms the heart of all values and commandments that the Torah ordains for us.

 Tetzaveh speaks to all of us in a direct and personal fashion.  It encompasses all of Judaism’s goals and is, in itself the light of spirituality that illuminates our souls and lives.

 Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Why should we have simcha in Adar?

In shul yesterday morning Rabbi Wein asked a great question: why should the month of Adar be greeted with the slogan mishenichnas Adar, marbim besimcha (Ta'anit 29a: "When Adar comes in,we increase simcha")? If it's because God performed miracles for us on Purim, haven't we picked the wrong month? Adar is followed immediately by the month of Nisan, when God performed far more miracles for us--and bigger ones too. Shouldn't we be told to increase our simcha (whatever this hard-to-translate word truly means) in Nisan instead?

Quoting Rabbi Tzadok HaKohen, Rabbi Wein offered us an answer. Yes, God did amazing miracles for us in Nisan, not least of which were the Splitting of the Red Sea and the single-handed destruction of what was at the time the world's most state-of-the-art army.  But what were we? Nothing but an appreciative audience, passengers if you like, while God did everything on our behalf. In the story of Purim, however, we see that God's intervention was behind the scenes, leaving us the opportunity to play a part in the turn of events that led to our salvation. 

The point is this: there is more simcha to be derived from something that we have had a hand in, because we were part of the resolution of the problem. We were participants in Purim--and participation, doing something ourselves, is the source of real simcha. Of course we were hugely grateful for the miracles of Pesach and we remember them every year. And to commemorate our participation in the Purim miracles, we have been given a festival based on participation and involvement: we have the mitzvot of mishlo'ach manot and matanot le'evyonim. 

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Those of us who are fortunate enough to have brought up children, or to have taught them, will know the empirical truth of Rabbi Wein's words. A small child will generally derive much more satisfaction from being able to do something for himself than if that same thing is done for him by an adult. And some of us are blessed with the ability to derive pleasure from doing things for ourselves even when we are no longer small children.

Giving generously: Terumah 5785

At a time of financial hardship, Moshe’s call for donations in this week’s parsha is timely, if not in essence challenging, and here are many reasons why people do or don’t contribute to charities and educational and social causes. Moshe offers no convincing reason why he is appealing for monetary help, other than that it is God’s wish that the people of Israel become a nation of donors, each person according to the generous instinct that resides within his or her heart. The Lord phrases His appeal as being a donation symbolically to God Himself. “Let them take for Me” are the words that seek to justify this appeal. In other words, we give because of our relationship with our Creator, and not only because of the justice of causes that require our help.

 Charity is a Torah commandment, one with which we can empathize and claim to understand and appreciate. However, at the root of this commandment is the bald fact that we are bidden to imitate our Creator, and our definition of God is one of goodness and charity.

The Torah tells us that God is with the widow and the orphans, even though we don’t know why He made them such. But it is our duty to pursue goodness and charity as the Lord commands us to do. At the end of the day, charity is an inexplicable commandment. The reason that there is so much charity in the world is that there is, somewhere deep within our consciences and souls, a streak of human kindness and goodness. We really wish to be charitable people.

Since we have freedom of will and choice, we can overcome our inner instincts of goodness, becoming miserly and even cruel towards others and to ourselves as well. Just as there are base instincts that lurk within us, and we possess within ourselves the freedom to overcome and deny them, so too does this power of freedom of will and choice allow us to sublimate our good and charitable instincts. There is a well- known statement of the rabbis that many people regret being put upon for a charitable contribution and yet feel a deep satisfaction within themselves after they have in fact made that contribution. It is that deep instinct towards being charitable that engenders satisfaction after a person has done a charitable deed or made a charitable contribution.

 The Torah wishes to encourage our charitable instinct. It resorts to making what is essentially a voluntary act one that becomes mandatory, being a mechanism to allow the good within us to burst forth. The holy institutions of Israel can only be constructed with the charitable instincts of the Jewish people.

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Facing up to resentment

Giving his parashah shiur on Friday morning, Rabbi Wein spoke powerfully about his own personal experiences in tackling the mitzvah of lending money to others. The difficulties involved in performing this mitzvah are recognized in Shakespeare's Hamlet, where Polonius (right) advises his son Laertes (left):

            Neither a borrower nor a lender be,
            For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
            And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

For the practising Jew, Rabbi Wein explained, lending to others is a mitzvah like any other -- and it is certainly one of the more difficult ones, not least because of the complexity of the psychology that attaches to any relationship based on loan and repayment.

This shiur, recorded on YouTube, drew the following comment from an unnamed viewer:

This was so validating. To hear we are not the only ones who've held on to the slight resentment of being taken advantage of after giving a significant so-called loan. Maybe now that I've heard this, I'll be able to fully let it go after all these years. Thank you.

Most of the Hanassi shiurim by Rabbis Wein and Kenigsberg appear on the shul’s YouTube channel, but not everyone knows that it is possible to post comments. If you enjoy our shiurim—and even if you don’t—you are all invited to share your comments.

Rabbi Wein’s shiur on borrowing and repaying loans can be accessed here.

Putting principles into practice :Mishpatim 5785

The Torah follows its exhilarating and inspirational description of the revelation at Mount Sinai with a rather dry and detailed set of various laws. It is one thing to be inspired and thus acquire great ideals—but it is quite something else to be able to transfer those ideals and inspiration into everyday life on a regular basis.

 We are all aware that the devil is in the details. It is natural to agree that one should not steal. But what is the definition of stealing or murder? Is taking something that originally did not belong to you always considered stealing? How about grabbing my neighbor’s rope and using it to save a drowning person? Is that also stealing? Is self-defense murder? Are court- imposed death penalties murder?

 How are we to deal with such complex moral issues?   This is the crux of all halacha and this week’s parsha introduces us to the intricacies of Jewish law. Without an understanding of halacha in practice, the Torah’s great ideals and inspiration are rendered almost meaningless and unachievable.

The Torah concentrates not only on great ideas but on small details too. From these minutiae spring forth the realization of the great ideals and the ability to make them of practical value and use in everyday life. Hence the intimate connection between this week’s parsha and the revelation at Mount Sinai discussed in last week’s parsha. There is a natural and necessary continuity in the narrative flow of these two parshiyot.

 I think that this idea is borne out by the famous statement of the Jewish people when asked if they wished to accept the Torah. In this week’s parsha their answer is recorded as: “We will do, and we will listen.” All commentators and the Talmud comment on the apparently reverse order of this statement. People usually listen for instructions before they “do.” But the simple answer is that the people of Israel realized that listening alone would be insufficient.  The great and holy generalities of the Torah are valid only if they are clearly defined, detailed and framed within the context of everyday activities. We have to “do” in order to be able to fully “listen” and understand the Torah’s guidance and wishes. The Talmud records that a non-Jew once told a rabbi that the Jews were a “hasty and impulsive people” in accepting the Torah without first checking out its contents. But that hastiness was actually a considered and mature understanding that the Torah could not be sustained by fine ideas alone.

 Only those who are willing to “do” and who know what to “do” will eventually appreciate intellectually and emotionally the greatness of Torah. Only then will they be able to truly “listen” and appreciate the great gift that the Lord has bestowed upon Israel – the eternal and holy Torah.

 Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein   

The courage of the convert: Yitro 5785

The Torah describes in detail the visit of Yitro to the encampment of the Jewish people in the Sinai desert, as well as the advice Yitro gives Moshe as how to organize the Jewish people’s justice system.  Though rabbinic scholars disagree as to whether Yitro came before or after the revelation and the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, they generally concur that Yitro remains the template and role model for converts to Judaism.

Why is this so? Yitro is sincere in joining the Jewish people and in abandoning the pagan gods that he had worshipped earlier in his life. He is also willing to give advice for the benefit of the administration of justice in his newly adopted community. New converts are frequently hesitant to counsel Jewish society. After all, the word “ger” (“convert” in Hebrew) has the connotation of being a stranger, an outsider, a mere sojourner and not yet necessarily a fully-fledged citizen. It is most understandable that such a person may feel reticent about offering advice to those who have been Jews for generations.

 Yitro’s boldness in asserting himself immediately by seeking to improve Jewish society is a testimony to his comfort level, sincerity and commitment regarding the Jewish people and its Torah values and strictures. That is why he is given so much respect and prominence in the Torah. Converts bring with them a mindset and range of experience quite different to that of Jews raised exclusively in Jewish society, a milieu that needs constant revitalization and freshness. Our Torah is eternal and ageless but our strategy for promoting and teaching it varies from time to time and from locality to locality.

. In Yiddish there is a famous phrase, “a guest for a while sees for a mile”, and it is so often the newcomer, the former stranger who has newly entered the fold of Judaism and Jewish society, who provides the spark of energy and innovativeness that ignites Torah Judaism and propels it to the next stage. It is no coincidence that the Gaon of Vilna is buried next to the grave of the Ger Tzedek – the righteous convert to Judaism in eighteenth century Vilna. The Gaon was an innovator, a departure from the other scholars of his time and even from many of those who preceded him. Converts on the whole – those who are sincerely attracted to Judaism and not influenced by other factors or are converted by ersatz methods and insincere and non-observant courts – are an inspiration to Jewish society and prompt them to progress further and accomplish more.

This is also an important lesson that we can glean from the events described in this week’s parsha. Proper treatment of the convert is mentioned thirty-six times in the Torah – more than any other commandment or value. We should take heed of this and assess the new convert correctly, not condescendingly.

 Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein     

Manna -- the miracle and the meaning: Beshalach 5785

The miracle of the manna that fell from heaven and nurtured millions of people for forty years is one of the focal points of this week’s parsha. The Jewish people obviously needed daily nourishment simply to survive. However, the rabbis of the Talmud injected another factor into the miracle of the falling manna. They stated that “the Torah could only have been granted to those that ate manna daily.” The necessity for the manna was thus directly associated with the granting of the Torah to the Jewish people on Mount Sinai. No manna, no Torah. Why is this so?

Most commentators consider that only a people freed from the daily concerns of earning a living and feeding a family could devote themselves solely to Torah study and the life values that acceptance of the Torah mandates. Torah is a demanding discipline. It requires time, effort and concentration to understand it. Neither cursory glances nor even inspiring sermons will yield much to those who are unwilling to invest time and effort in its study and analysis. This was certainly true in this first generation of Jewish life, newly freed from Egyptian bondage and lacking the heritage, tradition and life mores that would, in later generations, help Jews remain Jewish and appreciate the Torah.

The isolation of the Jewish people in the desert of Sinai, coupled with the heavenly provision of daily manna and the miraculous well of Miriam, together created a certain think-tank atmosphere. This atmosphere enabled Torah to take root in the hearts and minds of the Jewish people.  

In his final oration to the Jewish people, recorded in the book of Devarim, Moshe reviews the story of the manna falling from heaven but gives it a different emphasis. He states there that the manna came to teach that “humans do not live by bread alone but rather on the utterances of God’s mouth.”

To appreciate Torah, to truly fathom its depths and understand its value system, one has to accept its divine origin. Denying that basic premise of Judaism compromises any deeper level of understanding and analysis. The manna, the presence of God, so to speak, in the daily life of the Jew, allowed the Torah to permeate the depths of the Jewish soul and become part of the matrix of our very DNA. The Torah could only find a permanent and respected home within those who tasted God’s presence, so to speak, every day within their very beings and bodies.

The rabbis also taught us that the manna produced no waste materials within the human body. When dealing with holiness and holy endeavors, nothing goes to waste. No effort is ignored, no thought is left unrecorded in the heavenly court of judgment. Even good intentions are counted meritoriously.

Let us feel that we too have tasted the manna.

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Bo: The devil is in the details

This week’s parsha introduces the halachic process of observing the commandments of the Torah. Every commandment contains numerous layers of meaning and importance: there is the social and moral value that it conveys. There are also the technical minutiae—complex details that comprise its very fabric. This week we encounter the laws that govern the observance of Pesach and of the structuring of the Jewish calendar, the general values of which are apparent to all. Pesach represents for us the concept of freedom from bondage, teaching us the beginning of our people’s history, while the calendar has always been vital for social and commercial life and keeps us in tune with the changing seasons of the year.

 Though the general idea of our commandments is easy to grasp, the devil always lies in the detail. Theories are wonderful—but they rarely survive the tests of time and ever-changing circumstances. So what mechanism can enable the story of our departure from Egyptian slavery to freedom to remain fresh after thousands of years? Values only come to life if they are translated into human action and normative behavior.

 Scientific theories can be tested by experiment and validation. Values are different. Freedom is a great theory but it must be tested by the realities of everyday existence. Pesach is a symbol of freedom but only its practical implementation through matzah, chametz, the haggadah and so forth can preserve the value and validate the theory and guarantee its meaningfulness for generations to come. The uniqueness of the Jewish calendar lies also in its technical details. The permanent calendar that we now follow, established in the fifth century CE, is a lunar calendar with adjustments to make it fit into a solar year. How the last Sanhedrin squared this circle is too large a topic for Hanassi Highlights.  However, if it were not for their calculations, our calendar would long ago have disappeared—just as did the ancient calendars of Egypt, Babylonia, Greece and Rome.

Many people look at the calendar not as a commandment but as a convenience, a neat way to mark our passage through time. But, for Jews, the details are of equal if not even greater importance than the convenience that they represent. In our time, those Jews who for various reasons only concentrated on the values, who were good Jews at heart but observed no commandments or details, were rarely privileged to have Jewish descendants. We must be careful, though. Concentrating only on the details is also a distortion of the divine word. To see the general value of a commandment and to observe its necessary technical details in practice is our guarantee that the Torah will survive amongst the people of Israel for all time.   

 Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein