Tzitzit and Torah methodology: Shelach Lecha 5785

In its discussion of the commandment of tzitzit, which concludes this week’s parsha, the Torah warns us not to follow the dictates of our hearts’ desires and the wants occasioned by our wandering eyes. The Netziv (Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin of nineteenth century Volozhin), among others  who comment on this verse, states that the ‘desires of our heart’ refers to people who perform mitzvot but have no faith in their worth or in their Giver, while ‘after their wandering eyes’ refers to those who view mitzvot that they personally observe through the prism of their eyes and understanding alone. Such people always want to substitute their own desires or their intellectual rationalizations for the pure belief in God and subservience to Him that are needed if one is to serve Him correctly.

Man’s natural inclination to be free of the commands of others, to do what one wants irrespective of duty or tradition with disregard for the consequences, stands in opposition to the Jewish notions of obedience and humility before our Creator. The Torah allows us desires and rational thinking. But, like any other facet of human behavior, these desires must be channeled. They are not meant to run wild and follow the changing whims and vagaries of human society in any given era. Performance of the mitzvot faithfully and in acknowledgement of the One who commands them becomes the foundation for the necessary disciplines that enhance Jewish life for all eternity. 

If this were not so, our hearts and eyes, our uninhibited desires and uncontrolled intellect would lead us astray. But why is the commandment of tzitzit the ultimate method for teaching us the importance of obedience, probity and faith? After all, there are hundreds of other commandments that would seem to be able to instruct us in the same fashion. 

While commentators on the Torah have struggled to find a conclusive and meaningful explanation, this is one that appeals to me the most, one that has to do with the form that the mitzvah takes. Even though it applies only to four-cornered garments, a relative rarity in post-Talmudic times, Jews have purposely worn such garments to obligate themselves in the performance of this mitzvah, making it omnipresent in their lives. It was an item of self-identification, a primary reminder of the yoke of mitzvot that the Jews accepted upon themselves and for all generations at Mount Sinai. Tzitzit is a mitzvah that numerically (through gematria) and in its form (its knots and strings) constantly reminds us of the 613 mitzvot that are the basis of our existence and the responsibilities that shape and govern our lives. 

Tzitzit thus represents the totality of the commandments, and of the very concept of commandments, that lies at the heart of Judaism and forms the nucleus of all Jewish life. Such is the methodology of Torah in shaping our actions and our thoughts. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

For Rabbi Wein's Shelach Lecha devar Torah for 5784 click here.

Desires and destinations: Beha'alotecha 5785

The troubles, disappointments and disasters that visit the Jewish people on their trek through the Sinai desert begin in this week’s parsha. Moshe announces that “we are traveling now to our ultimate destination—the Land of Israel.” But, deep down in their hearts, the people are not really that anxious to go there. They have in their hearts and minds two options: remain in the desert and live a life of supernatural miracles and there become the dor de’ah—the generation of exclusive intellect and Torah knowledge, or return to Egypt, with all that this radical move would entail, physically and spiritually. 

The Torah will soon detail for us that neither of these options is acceptable. They will complain about the manna that falls from heaven daily and the seeming lack of variety in their meals. They don’t like the water supply, which is never guaranteed to them. They remember the good food that they supposedly had in Egypt.

According to Midrash, only a small minority actually wishes to return to Egypt on a permanent basis. They will press forward with Moshe to reach the promised Land of Israel, but they will do so reluctantly and half-heartedly. This leads inexorably to further rebellion, tragedy and the death of an entire generation – notwithstanding its being a dor de’ah – in the desert of Sinai. Our  parsha is a sad and depressing one, for we already know the end of the story. We can already see that this generation has doomed itself to desolation and destruction. 

Coming to the Land of Israel and its Jewish state, whether as a tourist and most certainly when someone immigrates, requires commitment and enthusiasm. Many who came to Israel over the past century did so  by default, but the country has truly been served and built by those who came with a sense of mission, purpose, happiness and expectation. 

Moshe’s clarion call, that “We are traveling to the place” of our destiny, echoes throughout the Jewish ages. Not all such calls are heard and even fewer are followed. Nevertheless, the call has resonated within the Jewish people throughout its history. It is that call, which  appears in today’s parsha, which is the same call that Moshe proclaimed millennia ago—the guiding motive for the existence of the State of Israel today. 

Just as then in the desert, there are options for Jews today. The many “Egypts” of the world beckon with their seeming allure but also possess great underlying faults and dangers. And there are those who wish to continue to live in a desert that demands nothing from them and contemplate themselves somehow as being a dor de’ah. History has always arisen and smitten these options from the Jewish future.  The long trek begun by Moshe and Israel in this week’s parsha continues. We hope that we are witnessing, at last, its final and successful conclusion. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein        

You can access "A nation of complainers", Rabbi Wein's devar Torah for the same parashah last year, here.

Endless Hatred: Rabbi Wein's book launch

Rabbi Berel Wein once again packed the shul last night when an excited and expectant audience flooded in to hear him speak on his latest book, Endless Hatred: Antisemitism from the Biblical Era to Modern Times, published this month by the Destiny Foundation.

In the course of his half-hour presentation Rabbi Wein surveyed the development and practice of antisemitism in many different guises, taking in the position of Jews in Roman times, in Spain and under Stalin in Russia -- to mention just a few examples. Nor did he hide from discussion of the conflict between Judaism and the two major faiths that were its monotheistic offshoots, Christianity and Islam. 

Rabbi Wein's talk concluded by urging those present to make sure that the tale he tells in this new title is transmitted to their children and their children's children. This appeal had an immediate and dramatic effect: many people who bought a copy of the book on the way in to the lecture purchased a further one or two copies when they left.

Photo: Rabbi Wein, pictured here with some of his previous publications.

While the subject of antisemitism cannot fail to cast the shadow of sorrow and sadness over any Jew who reads it, Rabbi Wein never loses his optimism and his faith that, with the protection of a merciful and almighty God, our ultimate destiny -- living as Jews in the land that He has given us -- is assured. 

 

If you have yet to see the book, you may be wondering what it's like. The first thing you will notice about it is its accessibility. It is not a threateningly academic tome that bristles with footnotes and obscure references. Far from it. The print is large, clear and makes for a comfortable reading experience. There are also many illustrations. 

On a personal note, Rabbi Wein's list of acknowledgements includes an honourable mention of Faigie Gilbert a.h. of the Destiny Foundation. Before her early passing she was also a great help to Beit Knesset Hanassi. We miss her too.

Rabbi Wein's talk last night has been recorded by Torah Anytime. You can access it by clicking here.

Shame, self-respect and self-control: Naso 5785

The words of the rabbis that “One who sees the shame of the woman who was unfaithful should immediately abstain from consuming wine” are well known and oft-repeated. Their meaning is obvious: in life everyone must drive defensively. Let no one allow oneself to be found in compromising circumstances and to imagine that one is somehow immune from its consequences. 

In the world today there are numerous sad examples of people in high office and of great achievement who have been humiliated and brought to grief by the revelations of their indiscretions. The rabbis in Avot stated that there is “an eye that sees us”—a constantly recording surveillance camera, if you will, that captures our movements and behavior. The public revelation of another’s sin should serve as a reminder to all the consequences of that sin. The Torah that ordinarily is very protective of one’s right to privacy, even the rights of a sinner, chose to publicize the fate of the unfaithful woman in order to impress upon others the need for care and probity in all matters of life. One should never say: ‘This can never happen to me.’ When it comes to human desires there are no automatic safeguards. Rather, only care, vigilance, and the avoidance of risk and compromising situations are the tools at hand for preventing disgrace.

The rabbis make a clear connection between witnessing sin and imbibing too much wine. Just as driving an automobile under the influence of alcohol and drugs is forbidden by law, life itself should generally be lived free of influences of that nature. Addiction to alcohol has been a rare occurrence in Jewish society over the ages. However, acculturation and assimilation over the past century have made alcohol a problem in Jewish circles today. The idea of abstinence from wine as described in the parsha regarding the regimen of the nazir is meant to be taken as a message of moderation and good sense. Like many other things in life, a little alcohol can be pleasurable and beneficial—but in large quantities it can be harmful and even lethal. The Torah holds up the faithless woman and the nazir as examples of the dangers that lurk in everyday life. It is essentially foolish for any human being to ignore these omnipresent temptations and dangers. 

Again, we read in Avot that one should not trust oneself until the final moment of life. An abundance of over-confidence in one’s ability to withstand temptations will always lead to unforeseen problems and sad consequences. All human experience testifies to this conclusion. Much of the modern world, Jewish and non-Jewish alike, mocks and derides any type of defensive driving in personal life matters. The concept of personal freedom has morphed into a lifestyle where any restraints on behavior, reasonable as they may be, are attacked and ridiculed. Fashions and mores may change with the times but human behavior does not, and the moral restraints the Torah imposes on us remain eternally valid and cogent. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

You can read "Gregarious monasticism", Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on this parashah for last year, here.

What counts is the way you count: Bemidbar 5785

The count of the Jewish people that appears in this week’s parsha is difficult to understand. What are we to learn from all these detailed descriptions and seemingly exact numbers? The general lesson that every Jew counts, and is to be counted, is plain—but that lesson can be learned from a far more concise précis of the population of the Jews than the long account that appears in the parsha. Perhaps it the messenger that itself is the message: the Torah wishes to express its relationship to the Jewish people by dwelling at “unnecessary” length on the counting exercise. For those with whom we have a loving relationship, there are no unnecessary or superfluous acts or gestures. 

The rabbis wryly compare this type of relationship to the way one counts one’s money: thus one can compare the speed and intensity with which we recite our prayers with the speed at which we would count valuable coins. Care in counting is also an expression of the underlying attachment to what is being counted. I note that people leaving the ATM cash dispenser invariably check the bills that they have received. This is not only an act of prudence; it is an act of affection. Similarly the count of the Jews in the parsha, even in its detail and length, make perfect sense. Another explanation can be found in the identity of the counters themselves. Moshe, Aharon, Elazar and Itamar are the leaders of the Jewish people, totally responsible for its physical and spiritual welfare. Part of their task is to seek to know their millions of constituents—to make some sort of connection with each as an individual.

 The leaders of Israel used to view their responsibility as being like those of parents. Some Jews crave affection while others need tough love. The enormous diversity of the Jewish people—twelve different tribes that are counted separately as well as in their aggregate—is emphasized by the fact of their being counted as individuals. Responsibility for the fate of the Jewish people is a heavy burden, but it is one that automatically comes with leadership positions. Those who count he Jewish people are its leaders, constantly aware that they are relied upon for their leadership and wisdom. And they must also be aware that the needs of every person must be accounted for. 

So, the counting of the Jewish people is not an empty exercise; it reflects the scale of challenges they and their leaders face. May both the counters and the counted of Israel in our day be great in numbers, spirit and accomplishments. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein 

Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on parshat Bemidbar last year, "In the desert", can be read here.

When one day makes a difference

The Destiny Foundation contains a treasure trove of divrei Torah, insights and words of wisdom from Rabbi Wein. Here's one to share on the topic of our shortest Chag.

Here in Israel Shavuot is a one-day holiday. Since many stay up all night on Shavuot and therefore spend a great deal of the day sleeping off the night’s study session, the chag really whizzes by. This really does not allow for much true contemplation of the holiday and its intended message and long-lasting influence upon us. 

We all know that Shavuot marks the granting of the Torah to the Jewish people on Mount Sinai, though the biblical names for Shavuot, which appear in the Torah itself, do not specifically reflect this truth. The reality of the holiday is not easily absorbed in so short a period of time as one day. After all, we savor Pesach but it takes a week to do so—and the same is true for Succot which lasts eight days. 

When I lived in the United States, the second day of Shavuot was one of my favorite days of the year. I appreciated the wisdom of Jewish tradition in extending the holidays for Jews living in the Diaspora. But, living now in Israel, with its one-day holiday of Shavuot, it has forced me to consider the import of the holiday in a less leisurely manner than before. 

Although there is no second day of Shavuot here, the aftermath of Shavuot nevertheless can and should wield an influence upon us, on our attitudes, behavior and beliefs. If it does not, the holiday itself, passing in a blur, loses its sense of importance and relevance and becomes a wasted opportunity. 

Dealing with the Torah is not a one-time situation. Perhaps this is the reason behind the Torah not emphasizing Shavuot as the anniversary of its being granted to the Jewish people on Sinai all those years ago. Torah is “our life and the length of our days.” It really therefore has no anniversary or commemorative day for it is the constant factor in the life of Jews. 

The Torah is a continuous guide and challenge in our everyday life, always demanding and probing into our innermost thoughts and outward behavior and lifestyle. It does not allow for vacations and negligence, societal correctness and sloppy thinking. Our teacher Moshe stated in his famous psalm that life itself passes by as in a blur, much like the holiday of Shavuot does. Without focus and purpose, dedication and fortitude, life itself resembles a lost opportunity. 

Shavuot’s message therefore truly lies in its aftermath and not so much in its one-day of commemoration. In Temple times, Shavuot, so to speak, was extended for another week to allow the holiday offerings of individuals to be brought upon the Temple’s altar. 

There was a conscious effort by Torah law to impress upon the Jews the continuity of Shavuot, with the deep understanding that, out of all of the holidays of the year, it was the one that never quite ends. It was and is the source of “our lives and the length of our days.” Shavuot is only one day out of 365 but its true commemoration extends to the other 364 days of the year as well. 

I have often remarked that Shavuot is the forgotten holiday for many Jews in the Diaspora. Its almost complete disappearance from Jewish life outside of the observant Orthodox community has become the symbol of the ravages of assimilation, intermarriage and alienation that plague the modern Jew who has little self-identity and abysmal ignorance of Torah and its values. 

Here in Israel all Israelis are aware of Shavuot, even those who only honor it in its breach. So the Torah and its influence is still a vital part of Jewish life here. The study of Torah and Jewish subjects of interest on the night of Shavuot here cuts across all lines and groupings in Israeli society. Secular and religious, Charedi and Reform, synagogues and community centers—all have all night learning sessions on the night of Shavuot. So Torah has an effect upon all here, naturally in varying degrees of knowledge and attitude. 

In the Diaspora, Shavuot is simply ignored by many Jews and thus it cannot have any continuity in the lives and value systems of those Jews. It is difficult to see how this situation can be materially changed in the near future. Yet Shavuot has always somehow been able to produce its magic on the people of Israel. We should therefore be most grateful that the Lord has extended to us a year-long and eternal Shavuot.

In praise of Jerusalem -- and the day that celebrates it

Some years ago, Koren Publishers released a unique liturgical work dedicated to Yom Ha’atzma’ut and Yom Yerushalayim. Among its essays, one written by Rabbi Berel Wein, titled simply “Yom Yerushalayim,” explores the holiness and historic significance of the events that occurred on this day.  The following is an edited version of that essay.

It is strange to have to write an essay on the importance and meaning of Jerusalem. If there is ever anything in Jewish life that was self-understood — axiomatic and integral to Jewish societal and personal life and consciousness — it is the centrality of Jerusalem to the Jewish soul. “Next year in Jerusalem!” is not simply an expression of hope, prayer, and longing, but a symbol of Jewish defiance and continuity.

In Jewish thought and society, Jerusalem, not Rome, is the Eternal City; Jerusalem, not Paris, is the City of Lights. The great Rabbi Meir Simcha HaCohen of Dvinsk, at the beginning of the 20th century, wrote prophetically: “Woe to those who somehow think that Berlin is Jerusalem!”

Jerusalem may have had many imitators, but it had no replacements. Jerusalem remained the heart of the Jewish people just as Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi of 12th-century Spain insisted that the people of Israel was the heart of all humanity — the strongest of all human organs and yet the most vulnerable. The metaphor that all the lifeblood of Jewish life is pumped throughout the Jewish world by the heart of Jerusalem was self-understood in past Jewish generations. It needed no explanation or repetition, no reinforcement or defensive justification.

Even when the Jewish people as a whole were physically and politically separated from Jerusalem, the city was not just a memory or nostalgia; it remained a real and imposing presence in Jewish life and thought. If to some individual Jews it became just another imaginary place because of its distant location and unattractive reality — an old, small, poverty-ridden, dilapidated, backwater buried within the expanse of the Ottoman Empire — in the core Jewish soul, the reality of the city lived and thrived.

Over the past three centuries, Jews slowly have made their way back home to Jerusalem. Under terrible physical trials of privation, persecution, and derision, the Jewish community in Jerusalem grew. By the middle of the 19th century, Jews constituted the majority population in the city. They began to settle outside the walls of the Old City and establish new neighborhoods. The ancient mother city responded to the return of its children to its holy precincts, and Jerusalem became alive again.

After the restoration of Jewish sovereignty in parts of the Land of Israel, Jerusalem became the capital of the State of Israel. Its population has grown exponentially, while cranes and diggers are ubiquitous throughout the city’s expanded boundaries.

After the Six-Day War the city was reunited, and the Western Wall and its adjacent Temple Mount have become once again the center of the Jewish world. A new special day was added to the Jewish calendar to mark the rebirth of the physical Jerusalem in Jewish life and prayer. The Jewish population has grown, and the building of the infrastructure of the city continues apace. The mixed blessings of automobile traffic and constant construction projects affect all Jerusalemites, but they only serve to highlight the unimagined change in the face of the city that has occurred over the past century. Jerusalem reborn is the miracle of our times.

But much of the world resents Jerusalem’s revival. The United Nations wants it to become an “international city,” though the rebuilding of the city worked, and there never has been such successful city management in all human history. No one really seemed to notice the hard fortunes of the city until the Jews began to remake history there.

The Muslim world especially, which had little concern for the fate and fortunes of the city until the Jews returned to rebuild it, wants it to be exclusively Muslim dominated and populated. Many countries do not recognize united Jerusalem as being part of Israel, let alone as its capital city. And even since October 7 most of the latent and obvious anti-Semitism that still poisons the Western world is directed against Israel and Jerusalem.

In their frustration, jealousy, and misplaced religious fervor, Muslim hardliners have encouraged and perpetrated violence in Jerusalem and publicly celebrate the killing of its innocent inhabitants. The attitude seems to be, “Better no Jerusalem than a Jewish Jerusalem.” Jerusalem has always been a flashpoint as its key place in history and in many faiths make it a sensitive issue.

Jerusalem possesses the eternal quality of focusing human attention to think about holiness, closeness, and the struggle for faith. This view of what Jerusalem is all about makes the celebration of Yom Yerushalayim the necessary Jewish response to the opposition and enmity of the world to Jerusalem — to a Jewish Jerusalem.

Yom Yerushalayim is the proper response of Jews to everything that is currently going on in the world. Rejoice in the fact that our generations have lived to see Jerusalem rebuilt in body and spirit, beauty and strength. Walk its streets and breathe its air, see its visions and bask in its memories. Let us appreciate the gifts that the Lord has granted us, and express our thanks for living in such a momentous and historic time.

That is what Yom Yerushalayim represents. That is why it is so special and sacred. That is why it is worthy of commemoration and celebration.

We are all God's servants: Behar-Bechukotai 5785

The book of Vayikra, which contains so many detailed commandments and minute  details of ritual, concludes with a general description of Jewish faith. It restates the original premise of Bereishit, that the earth and its inhabitants belong to God and are free agents as to the limits that God has imposed upon them.  The basic premise is that “the earth belongs to Me.” All the various laws of agriculture that apply in the Land of Israel are based on this simple declaration of the sovereignty of God over the domain where humans temporarily reside. 

We rage about asserting our ownership and build palaces for ourselves as though we will be their eternal tenants. It is this false assessment of life that leads to painful disagreements and dysfunction in families, communities and even in the relationship between countries and national entities. The power of self-grandeur unfortunately knows no bounds in the human psyche. The prophet mocks the Pharaoh of Egypt, who evidently thought that he created and controlled the Nile River. Our world is witness to tyrants who made, and still make, themselves into gods, to ascribe to themselves the power to dominate the lives of millions, and to threaten the destruction of millions of those who do not bow to their inflated will. The truth is that the closer one is able to come to genuine godliness, so to speak, the more one becomes humble by recognizing one’s true place and space in this world.  And that is the secret of attaining humility and which is ascribed to our great teacher Moshe. 

The Torah also limits the control we have over of the lives of others.  The Lord informs the Jewish people that they are His servants. Nevertheless, people have somehow convinced themselves that they are entitled to control the lives of others. Perhaps this arises from the necessity of parents to raise their children to adulthood. Yet the economic system that currently governs our lives allows little room for consideration of the needs of others. Human lives are unfortunately secondary to the almighty bottom-line and this affects the entire balance of society generally. 

If we would only realize that we are all God’s servants, the humbling effect of that realization should make life easier for everyone. A realistic assessment of the limits of human power is one of the basic lessons of Judaism. Of course, human beings are able to accomplish great things—and this is the story of the advancement of human civilization throughout the millennia. It is the balance of this aspiration and the human drive for greatness, coupled with the humble recognition of our limitations, which the Torah wishes us to achieve. Care and concern for others, an appreciation of God’s ownership of the earth and a belief in the guardianship of God over the land and its people are the key ingredients, in the Torah’s view, of the Jewish future. And that is a basic understanding of the lesson that the Torah and this week’s parsha teaches us. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein                       

Last year, Behar and Bechukotai were read on separate Shabbatot. This is what Rabbi Wein wrote about Behar for 5784 -- and here's his devar Torah on Bechukotai.

How our holidays teach us history: Emor 5785

The Torah reading this week includes a review of the holidays of the Jewish calendar. The list of holidays is recited several times in the Torah. We find it in the book of Shemot and again in the books of Bamidbar and Devarim, as well as here in our reading in the book of Vayikra. Since there are no needless repetitions in the holy text of the Torah, commentators over the ages have offered many varied explanations as to why this calendar is repeated.

A closer examination of the context and background to each of these holiday listings can offer us an insight and historical overview as to the import of the regular festive seasons of the Jewish people. In each place where the Torah outlines these occasions, a specific textual background is affiliated with it. There is no mere repetition of the same ideas. Rather, they offer us an indication of the multilayered nuances that these special days seek to impart to the Jewish people throughout its history. Each reference to the holidays contains a particular message for a particular event that occurred, or will occur, during the long saga of the Jewish story. It is an understanding of this alliance of text and historical overview that makes these portions of the Torah so important and relevant to us, more than three millennia after they were written down for us by our teacher Moses.

But the context of these festivals is also relevant according to the personal lives and experiences of its celebrants. In this week's reading, the holidays are attributed to the commemorations and celebration of specific historical events once the Jewish people reside in the land of Israel. There are agricultural innovations and references to seasonal climate that place these holidays in a geographical context. The Jewish people have a natural existence only when they are in the land of Israel. Accordingly, even though the Torah’s first reference to them allows us to celebrate the holidays no matter where we live and no matter what time-frame we are consigned to, this second reference in our reading places it within the framework of the Jewish people as inhabitants of the land of Israel, attached to its land and its traditions.

We also read of the Torah holidays in the book of Bemidbar. There, the backdrop relates to the offerings of the particular sacrifices in the Temple that were to be brought upon the date of each holiday. This reading concentrates on the Temple service associated with each festival, and not necessarily with the reason for its existence in the first place. The final reference in the book of Devarim seems to sum up all the previous references: its backdrop is the Temple, the land of Israel and the explanation of the days on which each holiday is to be commemorated. Thus, the combination of all these references makes our calendar eternal and valid in all places and for all times and allows us to celebrate the commandments that the festivals bring with them in joy and good purpose.

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

The day we stopped dying

Here's a piece written a while back by Rabbi Berel Wein but which remains of timeless relevance.

The thirty third day of the counting of the sefirah between Pesach and Shavuot has become, by Jewish tradition, a minor holiday on our yearly calendar. The origin of this day of commemoration lies in the Talmud’s reference to it being the day when the disciples of Rabbi Akiva stopped dying. Most commentators interpret this to mean that the deadly plague that afflicted thousands of disciples of Rabbi Akiva had run its course and abated after the thirty-third day of counting the Omer. 

Some hold that this may refer to the participation of Rabbi Akiva and his disciples in the revolt of Bar Kochba against Roman oppression and that these thousands of disciples were killed by the Romans during and after the failed rebellion. However, we will view the actual origin of this day of muted celebration as it is now, having morphed into something entirely different through the addition of Jewish customs adopted over the ages. 

Today hundreds of thousands  of people have made pilgrimages to Meron, the grave of Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai. Then there are the lighting of bonfires, parades for children and adults, weddings, music and entertainment and a relief from the tension that the earlier days of the Omer carry with them. 

Yet after all of the layers of trappings and customs of this day are accounted for, Lag B’Omer stands out starkly as commemorating a day when Jews stopped dying. The death of millions of Jews throughout our history seems be such a common occurrence that we manage to take comfort from celebrating the day when this dying stopped. To my knowledge there is no such comparable day of commemoration in any other faith.  

The Talmud offers us the insight that, even among the great disciples of Rabi Akiva, there was a lack of mutual respect one for the other. We are often reluctant to legitimize another’s opinions and viewpoints. We feel somehow threatened or demeaned by people who hold beliefs and opinions contrary to our own. This gives rise to eventual tragedy in Jewish life, as the Talmud points out regarding Rabi Akiva’s disciples.

Just as this is true regarding life within the Jewish community, as exemplified by the story of the disciples of Rabi Akiva, so too is it applicable to the relationship of the general world towards Judaism and Jews both currently and throughout the ages. The world begrudges us even a modicum of respect; we are perceived as being the most nonconformist of all faiths and peoples—and therefore the most threatening. 

Eventually this lack of respect cumulatively builds to the concerted attempt to deal with this nonconforming people in a violent fashion. We state in the Pesach Haggadah that this remains an ongoing situation in Jewish relations with the rest of the world. In every generation there exist those that wish to eliminate us completely and yet somehow, with God’s help, we survive, bloodied but unbowed. 

So this people that lives under the constant, indeed omnipresent, threat of annihilation will mark on its calendar as a special day, a day when Jews stopped dying. It is not much of a stretch of the imagination from not giving basic respect to others to finally demonizing them and wishing to destroy them root and branch. Just as the fires of Lag B’Omer consume the wood gathered for the bonfire, so too does the lack of basic human respect of each one for the other consume the lives of many innocent people.     

Lag B’Omer thus comes to redirect our moral and social compass to allow us to respect those that are different than from us. We certainly need not agree with those who we believe to have wrong ideas, ideals and policies. We are also certainly not bidden to “turn the other cheek”. But unnecessary divisiveness and callous disrespect for others, an inability to honor those that somehow differ with us, are a sure-fire recipe for future disaster and tragedy. 

I feel that this is the basic underlying message of Lag B’Omer: in commemorating the day when Jews stopped dying almost nineteen centuries ago, we are to internalize the message of what happens when we do not give honor one to another. 

The commemoration of Lag B’Omer this year, as in many years in the past as well, is clouded by threats and dangers directed against us. But we believe that there will again be a day when Jews will stop dying and that day will be hastened by a better social comity of mutual respect given by one Jew to another.

A second bite at the cherry: Pesach Sheni

The following is a vintage piece by Rabbi Wein, drawn from the Destiny Foundation's archives. We are delighted to share it with you.

A truly unique and exceptional idea is embedded in the commemoration of Pesach Sheni. The Torah generally provides no opportunities to make up for what one has missed. One cannot fulfill the commandments of shofar or lulav at any other time except those set aside for those commandments in the month of Tishrei. Yet here, regarding the Pesach offering, complete with the commandments of matzah and maror, the Torah provides that if, under certain circumstances, one was unable to fulfill those commandments in the month of Nissan, it was still possible to do so in the month of Iyar. 

There are many ramifications to understanding this exceptional situation. If one was ritually impure or was too distant from Jerusalem to perform the commandment in the month of Nissan, the Torah provides an  opportunity to fulfill this obligation a month later. Since the holiday and commandments of Pesach are inextricably associated with the general concept of the redemption of Israel from exile and persecution, the ramifications of the laws regarding Pesach Sheni have special relevance and importance in Jewish history, even when a fully operational Temple no longer stands in Jerusalem. 

There is an immediacy associated with this concept and that immediacy perhaps has even greater relevance and insight for our present time and national circumstances. For, in effect, our generations have been granted another opportunity to rebuild the Jewish people in the Jewish homeland. If we were unsuccessful, as apparently we previously were, or that earlier Jewish generations lacked or did not take the opportunity to return to the land of Israel, we their descendants have certainly been granted that ‘do-over’, a make-up opportunity that Pesach Sheni represents. We will be charged as to what we did or did not do with this opportunity and situation. 

Over the centuries many opportunities for Jewish settlement in the land of Israel were ignored or even aborted by the Jewish people themselves. There were many historical and even religious reasons for this behavior. But the main reason was that they felt themselves to be impure and unworthy of success in such a momentous endeavor. They were also physically very far away from Jerusalem, a city mostly desolated and physically unattractive, dominated by foreign faiths and by rulers who were not particularly friendly towards any sort of Jewish presence within their domain. 

So the idea of redemption, national revival and the return to the land of Israel was, in practical terms, placed on the back burner of Jewish life. The very idea of a messianic redemption served to postpone if not even negate any action on the part of the Jewish people themselves in returning and rebuilding themselves as a nation in their ancient homeland. 

The messianic idea of a supernatural person who would rectify all wrongs and overcome all problems in an instant became a legendary truth amongst the people of Israel. Because of this we have suffered from false messianism, which allowed both charlatans and other, more well-meaning individuals to claim that they had the keys of redemption in their hands. For nineteen centuries the Jewish people dreamt of Jerusalem, but dreams by themselves are no substitute for actual progress. 

The state of Israel as it is presently constituted, after 77 years of its existence and success, is a national illustration of the idea of redemption as expressed in the concept of Pesach Sheni. This time, against all odds, predictions, religious sentiments and political experts, the Jewish state arose after thousands of years of exile and persecution. And it did so in a completely unpredictable and perhaps very uncomfortable manner. It was headed by Jews whose loyalty to Torah and Jewish tradition was questionable and sometimes not apparent. It had with it many moments of matzah and maror—disputes, violence, half-baked ideas and no shortage of enemies both from within and from without. Yet it has weathered these storms and the miracle of the ingathering of the exiles has occurred before our eyes, just as the ancient prophets of Israel stated that it would. 

The challenge before all of us is how to deal with this opportunity that the Lord has granted us in an intelligent, realistic and faithful manner. We will have to admit to ourselves and perhaps even publicly that the ways of the Lord are not discernible to us and that it is arrogant for us to think that the One Above must somehow conform to our preset ideas and imagined processes. We are living in an era of Pesach Sheni.

Responding to tragedy: Acharei Mot-Kedoshim 5785

Usually, a person’s reaction to defeat and tragedy is the true defining moment of one’s inner strength and faith. Aharon’s silence in the face of the loss of his two older sons is reckoned in Jewish tradition as an act of nobility and sublime acceptance of the unfathomable judgment of Heaven. Contrast Aharon’s reaction with that of Iyov to his troubles and tragedies. Iyov has a great deal to say, to complain against, to bitterly question and to debate almost endlessly with his companions and visitors as to the unfairness of what has befallen him.

To the human eye, we are all aware that life and its events are often unfair. I know of no one who has successfully “explained” the Holocaust. So it seems that we are faced with two diametrically opposed choices as to the proper response to mindless fate and tragedy. Do we remain mute—or do we rail against the cruel, harsh fate that has brought misfortune to us? 

The Torah does not appear to resolve this dilemma for us. it apparently even contradicts itself regarding this continually recurring facet of human existence. Yet the Torah and all the books that it contains are a single, seamless whole. The seeming contradictions lie within us and not within its holy words and exalted ideas. We are brought to study this matter with greater introspection and less pre-judgment and personal bias. 

I think that the Torah means to teach us that there is no one correct, one-size-fits-all response to the failures and tragedies of life. Aharon is correct in his response to inexplicable tragedy and so is Iyov. King Solomon correctly noted that there is a time for silence and a time for speech. So too there are people for whom silence is the proper response to tragedy while there are others who must give vent to their feelings of grief and frustration through words, debate and even complaint. In most instances the rabbis of the Talmud voted for silence over speech, and for acceptance of one’s fate over complaint and public debate. Yet the rabbis did not exclude the book of Iyov from the biblical canon of holy books. In that act of inclusion, they allowed for varying degrees of response to troubles and travail. 

So Iyov also has a place in the pantheon of heroic human views regarding tragic events. Within limits and with a faith-based attitude one can question and complain, express bewilderment and even demand answers. But, deep down, all humans understand that they cannot fathom Heaven’s wisdom, or the decisions and the individual fate that are visited upon them. Thus the death of Aharon’s sons serves as a template for life, a lesson for all of us. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein  

When imagination is the mother of invention: Tazria-Metzora 5785

This week’s double parashah presents to us a difficult set of rituals regarding a type of disease that evinces physical manifestations. The rabbis associated this disease with the sins of improper speech and personal slander. We no longer have any real knowledge of the disease, its true appearances and effects, its quarantine period and the healing process that restored people to their community and society. The ritual laws of purity and impurity no longer apply in our post-Temple society and, since the Babylonian Talmud offers no specific analysis of these laws, they are not subject to the usual intensive scholarship and study that pertain, for instance, to the laws of money and torts in the Talmud. 

In the nineteenth century a great and learned Chasidic rebbe composed a “Talmud” regarding the laws of purity and impurity. This feat of erudition however met with criticism from other scholars, remaining controversial and largely ignored in modern yeshivot and the world of scholarship. Accordingly this topic remains mysterious and relatively inexplicable to us. When these two parshiyot occur together, as they do this year and in most years, the question of their relevance becomes even more acute and perplexing.

The Torah, which always challenges us to understand it, retains its inscrutability. And perhaps this is the message of the Torah to us. There is a world that is beyond our earthly eyes and rational vision. Modern man dreams of space aliens and universes other than the one we inhabit. An almost innate sense pervades us that there is more to creation than what we sense and feel. It fuels our individual drive to immortality, our dreams and imaginations, and it allows us to think creatively and to invent.

There is a popular saying that necessity is the mother of invention. I do not feel that this is so. Imagination is the mother of invention. There was no real necessity for the astonishing advances in technology that our past century has witnessed, but people who lived in a place beyond our own real world imagined the computer, the wireless phone and the internet. This capacity to deal with an unseen universe and bring it to fruition is one of the great traits of the human mind.

The Torah indicates to us the existence of an intangible world, a world of purity and impurity, of holiness and of the human quest for attachment to the Creator of all worlds. Even though our mindsets do not quite relate to this concept, the Torah wishes us to realize that such a world does exist beyond our limited human vision. And that is a very important and essential lesson in life. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein      

Sirens: the sounds of warning

 Rabbi Wein wrote the following opinion piece a few years ago. Now that our lives are conditioned by an increased need to listen out for sirens, these words  (which have been slightly updated) are of particular relevance.

One of the many skills that those of us living here in Israel rapidly acquire is the ability to discern between the different sounds of similar-sounding sirens. We live in a noisy environment and it is more than likely that in everyday living here we will hear some kind of siren. Most of the time the siren is from an ambulance transporting people to the hospital for treatment. The wail of that type of alert is easily recognizable and becomes almost part of the background noise that marks life in a large city. The wail of an ambulance siren is more of a staccato nature, with pauses in the noise before it resumes its sound.  

As I mentioned earlier, we are all accustomed to this siren, and it is mainly produced to warn oncoming or crossing traffic that an ambulance is about to pass, which will not necessarily observe the speed limit or even stop signs. Extra caution is needed by all the other automobiles on that street at that time, to avoid an accident or collision. The ambulance services here in Israel are quite efficient, and they provide life-giving assistance with alacrity and compassion. No one likes to hear the sound of an ambulance, indicating that someone requires dire and instant medical treatment. However, the sound of an ambulance siren does not strike fear or terror into the hearts and minds of those who hear it, for we think of it as a part of the ongoing regular cycle of life as we know it to be.

 

There is another type of sound or siren that is often heard here on the streets of Jerusalem, and that is the siren of a police or security vehicle. The sound of this siren is much lower and more growling than the ambulance siren. It is easily recognizable, and its purpose is, as was the case with the ambulance siren. to clear a path in traffic, to allow the police vehicle to arrive where it is needed quickly and safely. The police siren is often accompanied by a spoken warning emanating from the loudspeaker of the police vehicle, so that in most cases the purpose and mission of the police vehicle is immediately understood by all those that otherwise would somehow block the street or go through the intersection. 

 

Police sirens often engender anxiety and worry. They usually mean that there is a bad accident or an act of violence that had been reported, and the police are rushing to it, to sort matters out and help restore the situation to some sort of normalcy. If we hear a large number such as three or four police sirens one after another speeding down our streets, we are immediately concerned that the matter is indeed serious, one that the radio will inform us of quickly. If we do not hear any news regarding any special occurrence, then we are immediately filled with relief caused by the police sirens.

 

However, there is a third type of siren that we have recently experienced, here in the holy city of Jerusalem. That sound is the up-and-down wail of the siren announcing that an attack, usually concerning rockets and or missiles, is taking place. It was once rare for us here in Jerusalem to hear that siren and, until quite recently, I heard it only a few times. It now signifies rocket attacks by Hamas and the Houthis at Israeli targets throughout the country. 

 

That siren sound does cause an immediate emotional response. It not only warns of imminent danger, but it opens a vista of a very unknown and dangerous future prospect. When that type of siren sounds, one is to find shelter and await confirmation that all is clear, when one can return to one's own apartment. The effect of this siren is long-lasting, so that even after it was last heard, which could be weeks later, its echoes remain vivid in the ears and minds of the civilian population of the city. 

 

The prophet Amos already stated that when the morning siren of the shofar is sounded in the city, the people will be filled with terror. The sounds of this last type of siren fit that bill and description accurately.

Holiness and hubris: Shemini 5785

The death of the two sons of Aaron remains one of the great mysteries in Torah narrative. Midrash and the commentators offer various explanations as to the cause of this tragedy: the sons did not want to marry, they had drunk wine and were inebriated, and other faults were ascribed to them. Since the work of the priests was so holy, they deserved to die. However, this is a difficult way to explain—if human beings can ever explain—why bad things happen to good people.

Some commentators see the deaths as retribution against Aaron himself for his role in allowing the Golden Calf to be created, causing the Jewish people to be seen in such a hideous fashion immediately after receiving the Torah. The problem with this explanation is that we learn that the sins of the father are not to be visited upon the children, nor the sins of the children to be visited upon their parents. Because of these difficulties, no matter what type of explanation we wish to explore, it seems to me that the response of Aaron to this tragedy is really the only response that human beings can make. That response is silence.

Aaron does not say anything and, in that silence, there is an acceptance of the fact that the judgment of heaven is always inscrutable to humans. Despite our best efforts and the wisdom of our commentaries, many times in life the question remains stronger than any potential answer that can be offered—and this itself draws the line between the Creator and the created, between heaven and earth.

 While we would naturally like to be able to understand everything, it is basically hubris on the part of human beings to assume that they can figure everything out for themselves. You will notice that this trait is ever-present within young children, who want to do everything on their own, and who believe that they can. This human trait has a positive side to it because it allows us to be creative and inventive, to attempt new things, and to gain new insights into life. However, it also has drawbacks. We eventually run up against a wall of ideas that we do not understand and which, to our mind, are irrational and even unjustified. We are, therefore, left in confusion and disappointment. The only solution is silence, acceptance, and, so to speak, to be able to move on even if we do not understand the events themselves.

Whenever there is a major crisis in our lives and in our society, there will be many who will assign reasons and causes for its occurrence. However, whatever reasons and whatever ideas are assigned, these will eventually be found wanting on the scale of human judgment and rational understanding. We must accept events for what they are and attempt to move on. Just as Aaron did, we will move forward and accept the judgment of heaven and renew ourselves in the service of God and of Israel.

 Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Yom HaShoah and the Valley of the Dry Bones

This evening begins Yom HaShoah, the day we remember the Holocaust and the tragic loss of one-third of our Jewish brethren, together with the generations unborn and uncounted that would have come from them. In the following piece, culled from the Destiny Foundation archives, Rabbi Wein speaks of what this day means to him, and of how he was able to find hope and resilience even among the ashes of the destroyed generation.

The advent of Yom HaShoah this week always engenders within me an inner turbulence and discomfort. It is not only the fact that the Holocaust destroyed six million innocent people simply because they were Jews—a  third of our nation and co-religionists-though that alone causes me to have great angst in my soul. Human beings are somehow built to withstand tragedy—even enormous indescribable tragedy—and to continue with life. Rather, part of my discomfort is that I, and I think the Jewish people generally, have not found a truly meaningful way of commemorating this historic tragedy. 

All  the Holocaust museums worldwide, and especially Yad Vashem here in Jerusalem, are magnificent in their historic presentation of the awful facts of the Holocaust. But one never leaves the museums with a sense of comfort or even consolation—let alone closure. There is no museum that can speak to the soul of the Jew. It speaks to our senses, even to our intellect, to our hearts, but somehow never to our soul. And it is that emptiness deep within our soul that gnaws at us and leaves us unfulfilled, no matter how magnificent the museum or meaningful the memorial ceremony may be. 

There are numerous groups within the Jewish society that do not participate in Holocaust memorial days or events. Many reasons are advanced for this seemingly insensitive behavior, none of which are satisfactory to my mind or soul. Yet I feel, deep down in my being, that the spiritual and soulful emptiness that always accompanies these commemorations reflects the absence of so many Jews. 

I say this not in criticism of any of the commemorations. They have an impossible task and therefore one should almost expect them to fall short of the mark. But the intellectual acceptance of this fact still does little to quiet the turmoil in my soul. 

I have always identified myself and our post-Holocaust generations with the great imagery of the scene described by the prophet Yechezkel. The prophet views a large valley covered by bleached scattered human bones. The Midrash teaches us that these were the remains of the tens of thousands of the tribe of Joseph who attempted to escape Egyptian bondage before the actual redemption from Egypt by Moses took place. They had fallen victim to the ravages of the desert and the enmity of the pagan tribes that persecuted them. The prophet sees no hope for their revival. After all, by his time they have already been dead for millennia. And the prophet also senses that they have never properly been mourned and commemorated. 

The Lord informs the prophet that these bones are symbolic of “the entire household of Israel.” The household of Israel is itself overwhelmed with its anonymous dead who have no graves or monuments to somehow mark the fact that they once lived on this earth. The prophet despairs of their revival or continuity. But the Lord tells him to prophesy over the dry bones and restore them to their physical human form. Then the spirit of the Lord enters them and they come back life and rise up from the valley floor as a mighty host. 

The prophet does not tell us what the end of this story was. What happened to this mighty host of newly and miraculously revived Jews? The Talmud offers two different insights on this matter. One is that the revival was only a temporary phenomenon and that they all reverted immediately to being dry dead bones. This opinion was contradicted by the sage Rabbi Yehuda ben Beteira. He rose in the study hall and stated: “God forbid that we should advance such a pessimistic opinion. Rather, they married, raised children and lived a full life thereafter. And I am a descendant of theirs and as a proof of the matter I hold in my hand the tefillin of my ancestors [that they themselves wore.]” 

I feel that the only closure that can reach our soul regarding Jewish tragedy is the recognition of the continuity of generations and tradition that binds the Jewish people together. Our past, those that are gone and even those who are unknown to us whose ashes and bones litter the landscape of a cursed continent, live on through us - through our achievements and struggles on behalf of Torah and Israel. 

We wear their tefillin, many of us literally, all of us figuratively. This realization regarding the tefillin will always speak to our souls and help us to truly commemorate the Holocaust and the resilience of the Jewish people in overcoming a tragedy of even such incalculable dimensions.

Days of memory

Now that we have passed Pesach and entered the zone of Sefirat HaOmer, a sequence of special calendar dates will soon be upon us.  In a piece written some years ago for the Destiny Foundation, Rabbi Wein explains.

These few weeks are crowded with special days of memory here in Israel. Yom HaShoah, Yom HaZikaron L’Chalellei Tzahal, and Yom HaAtzma’ut come upon us in swift succession. They are really the framework for the Israeli psyche—both political and national—that governs our national mood and policies. The rest of the world does not, and perhaps cannot, understand where we are coming from. 

Yom HaShoah has taught us that if someone arises and, as a matter of principle, means to exterminate the Jewish people, there are no real protectors in the world on whom we can rely upon to arise and use force to defend us. Yom Hashoah comes to remind us that reality differs from the naive hopes on which we would so much like to rely. The fecklessness of the world in the face of militant Islam, unabating terrorism, and rogue nuclear armed states inspires little confidence here in Israel; there is no comfort for us in platitudes and statements about commitments to Israeli security. We may say “never again” but deep down in our hearts we know that “again” remains, God forbid, a distinct possibility. 

The world wants us to get over the Holocaust while at the same time creating a scenario that constantly reminds us of the Holocaust. People who are bitten by large dogs do not walk on the same side of the street where rottweilers are present. 

The Jewish people have paid a heavy price for maintaining our little state. Tens of thousands of Jews have been killed and continue to die for its preservation. The Arab world has basically never come to terms with the reality of the existence of the State of Israel. Constant war, mindless terrorism, unceasing incitement, never-ending accusations, fabrications and biased UN resolutions have been the daily fare of the State of Israel since its inception. 

We can never, God forbid, lose a war—but we are never allowed to win one either. So Yom HaZikaron L’Chalellei Tzahal becomes tragically a regular occurrence in our lives. Golda Meir may have famously expressed her regrets over the deaths of the Arabs in their struggles against our existence. But the Arabs have never expressed such sentiments. 

The Ayatollahs of Iran have said that they were willing to lose fifteen million(!) Iranians in order to eradicate the State of Israel. It is hard to see how one can come to an accommodation with such bloodthirsty and uncaring fanatics who value human life, theirs and certainly ours, so cheaply. So Yom HaZikaron comes to remind us of the real world and of the heartbreaking cost that Israel paid and pays to survive in that world. 

Again, pious platitudes about peace do not change the reality of murderous intent on the ground. We have been down that road too many times in the past to be seduced to go there again. 

The miracle of the past century was and remains the reestablishment of Jewish sovereignty over the Land of Israel. Yom HaAtzma’ut has to be viewed in that light. The tragedy is that this miracle, unlike Chanukah and Purim, had no religious leadership that could have cloaked it with the necessary ritual that would have made the day so meaningful to all sections of Israeli and Jewish society. Having a barbecue in the park hardly makes it a memorable day, a tradition of observance that can be passed on to later generations. 

Those of us who were alive when the State came into being and experienced all the pangs of its establishment are a fast-disappearing breed. The deniers amongst us, and certainly in the non-Jewish world, already distort and falsify the story. The victim has become the oppressor and Goliath struts around the world stage as David. Yom HaAtzma’ut should come to remind us of the real story, of God’s grace unto us in a dismal century, of Jewish heroism and purpose and of triumph against all odds and powerful enemies. 

It should also remind the world that even though it is popular and oh-so-politically correct and progressively noble to damn Israel, in the long run it is highly counterproductive to do so. So let us take these days to heart and stand tall for our God and land.

A song for Spring, a love song for the land

This Shabbat/Yom Tov we recite Shir HaShirim, the Song of Songs. Here's a devar Torah by Rabbi Wein that focuses on this inspiring and, it turns out, seasonal ode to nature and to our reconnection with the land that God gave us.

Those of us who live in the northern hemisphere are excitedly awaiting springtime and the end of our winter weather woes. Here in Israel we had a fairly normal winter with a decent amount of rain and a few cold spells. it was an unremarkable winter, weather wise. Nevertheless, winter is winter and I for one am keenly looking forward to the arrival of the spring season, the blooming flowers, trees and the great holidays of Pesach and Shavuot that mark the book ends—the beginning and the end—of the spring season here in Israel. 

The great song of springtime is Shir HaShirim, written by King Solomon, and according to the custom of many synagogues, is read publicly on Shabbat Chol Hamoed or on acharon shel Pesach. There is no more lyrical description of the advent of springtime than that which appears in Shir HaShirim. It evokes not only the reawakening of nature and the change of weather but it also speaks the mood, the emotions and the spiritual quality that attaches itself to that season.

The Jewish people were freed from Egypt and from bondage in the springtime. The Torah explicitly commands us to commemorate that freedom with the holiday of Pesach and the Jewish calendar must always be adjusted so that this holiday falls when spring arrives. Springtime has come to symbolize not only a change of nature and mood but also our change of status: from slaves to free and independent people. It represents our ability to free ourselves from he whims of others so that we can fulfil our own potential as a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. 

When most human beings were occupied in agricultural tasks, we noticed the change of seasons and the arrival of spring more than now, in our urbanized and industrialized world, where spring has lost some of its luster. The city dweller today rarely visits farms or orchards. Indeed, industrialized and global farming has caused some folk to think that apples and bananas grow in bags and are raised in fruit stores and supermarkets. This disconnect between nature and humans is a troubling aspect of modern society. I am not suggesting that we return to horses and buggies and backbreaking farm labor. However, an appreciation of nature and its bounty, of the change of seasons and the weather patterns that accompany it, can only serve to strengthen our spirituality and the yearning for eternity that exists within all of us. 

The pagan world, terrorized by nature, worshiped various angry gods who had to be appeased, even by human sacrifice. Judaism however viewed nature as an instrument of God's will and as a blessing for humanity, with the ability to harness its bounty and turn it into a positive and manifold gift to the human race. The coming of spring brings a restatement of this belief and attitude. 

Part of the legacy of our long and bitter exile has been a disconnect between the appreciation of nature and our entire educational system. One of the six sections of the Mishnah concerns itself solely with matters of agriculture, botany and farming. This section of the Mishnah, Zeraim, was neglected in rabbinic scholarship for centuries. Rabbi Menachem HaMeiri, of early fourteenth century Provence, pointed out that that this section of Torah did not appear in the curriculum of the yeshivot of his time and place. This was true of all later generations of Jewish scholarship until the nineteenth century, which saw the beginning of Jewish immigration from the dark winter of Eastern Europe to the springtime of the Land of Israel. 

As Jews began to return to the Holy Land and reconnected themselves to the soil, the desert began to bloom and the desolate landscape turned green and verdant. All of the great prophets of Israel foresaw an agricultural and natural rebirth in the redemption of the Jewish people from exile and their return home to the Land of Israel. In fact, the prophets stated that the harbinger of the eventual redemption, in its totality, would be the rebirth of the natural produce and beauty of the land itself. 

Springtime reminds us of the great miracle that we have witnessed and are part of. It guarantees us hope for the full completion of the process of redemption in our time.

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