Words Speak Louder Than Actions

From the moment God called to him from the Burning Bush, the life of Moshe Rabbenu was a counterpoint, a fugue composed of words and deeds. In this perceptive piece, Rabbi Steven Ettinger shows exactly how this is so.

Perhaps the five most ironic words of the Torah are those that open the Book of Devarim: אֵ֣לֶּה הַדְּבָרִ֗ים אֲשֶׁ֨ר דִּבֶּ֤ר מֹשֶׁה֙ (“These are the words that Moshe spoke”).  Of the five books of the Torah, nearly one complete book is comprised the orations of Moshe – his spoken words to the gathered nation. This is the same man who tried to refuse the Divine mission to lead the Jews out of Egypt by claiming: לֹא֩ אִ֨ישׁ דְּבָרִ֜ים אָנֹ֗כִי גַּ֤ם מִתְּמוֹל֙ גַּ֣ם מִשִּׁלְשֹׁ֔ם גַּ֛ם מֵאָ֥ז דַּבֶּרְךָ֖ אֶל־עַבְדֶּ֑ךָ כִּ֧י כְבַד־פֶּ֛ה וּכְבַ֥ד לָשׁ֖וֹן אָנֹֽכִי׃ (“I am not a man of words, not today or yesterday or from whenever you have spoken to your servant as I am slow of mouth and slow of tongue”).

We can add other elements of irony as we consider this phrase and its bold association of words and speech with Moshe:

1. We view Moshe as the instrument of our salvation from Egypt. He was the miracle worker.  He spoke with Pharaoh and confronted him time after time (another irony – the man who had hard speech כְבַד־פֶּ֛ה confronted the man with the hard heart כְבַד־לב). Yet, on the one night throughout the ages that we experience and commemorate the Exodus, we only mention Moshe once and proclaim: וַיּוֹצִאֵנו ה מִמִּצְרַיִם. לֹא עַל־יְדֵי מַלְאָךְ, וְלֹא עַל־יְדֵי שָׂרָף, וְלֹא עַל־יְדֵי שָׁלִיחַ, אֶלָּא הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא בִּכְבוֹדוֹ וּבְעַצְמוֹ  (“and He took us out of Egypt, not with an angel, and not with an intermediary, but HKB”H Himself”).

2. Moshe is renowned as the one who presented our people with the tablets – twice in fact (A relief portrait of Moshe is on display the chamber of the US Congress as he is celebrated as the one who brought down the law that underlies the American system of government).  The first set was fashioned by Hashem, which Moshe broke during the “chet ha’egel” but it was the second set that Moshe carved himself that endured. The luchot are inscribed with the iconic “aseret hadibrot,” the Ten Commandments. However, the Torah never uses this phrase, they are never referred to as “dibrot.” Instead, as stated in Ex. 20:1: וַיְדַבֵּ֣ר אֱלֹקים אֵ֛ת כׇּל־הַדְּבָרִ֥ים הָאֵ֖לֶּה לֵאמֹֽר. They, are דְּבָרִ֥ים -- words spoken by Hashem but NOT spoken by Moshe! Thus, as with the Exodus itself, Moshe is seemingly placed on the side.

3. Moshe did, in fact, employ his oratory skills one time on behalf of the Jewish People to stave off their destruction – after they sinned with the Golden Calf. However, at perhaps an equally crucial juncture, he remained silent and did not speak. The spies returned with their unfavorable report and the Jewish nation accepted it and despaired. This resulted in the horrific punishment of the deaths of the entire generation over the next forty years. Calev and Yehoshua give an impassioned plea to convince the people to go and inherit the land. The Torah tells us that Moshe, however, remained silent and that all he did was: וַיִּפֹּ֥ל מֹשֶׁ֛ה וְאַהֲרֹ֖ן עַל־פְּנֵיהֶ֑ם לִפְנֵ֕י כׇּל־קְהַ֥ל עֲדַ֖ת בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃, he (and Aaron) merely conceded, they fell to their faces before the masses.

How is it that, as we have explained, three books of the Torah seem to relegate Moshe to a secondary role, yet the fifth book provides him with a “soapbox” to recast the narrative (and many of the laws) to such an extent that that it is described as Mishneh Torah – a second  or re-telling of the Torah? But this time it is all in Moshe’s “words” and they are entirely from his perspective.

So why is it that the prime/original version in many ways is so different from the one in Devarim? Perhaps the key to the answer is in those same “ironic” opening words, the very fact that Moshe is now speaking words. Despite that fact that Moshe previously protested his role and denied the mantle of responsibility, he is now performing the task that Hashem demanded of him. Until he accepted it, he was, in a sense, suppressed.

Let us quickly contrast his past and present. At the Exodus he did not want to be a man of words, he preferred to act (as when he killed the Egyptian), so he was excluded from the Haggadah. At Sinai, after forty days, he acted – he destroyed the tablets and then he physically fashioned the second set as a remedy – so he is disassociated from the spoken element – the “aseret devarim.” He is successful in saving Am Yisrael from the sin of the Golden Calf when he uses words, but he does not save them from the sin of the spies when he falls down and does not use his words. Finally, and perhaps the ultimate proof in this pattern – he receives his drastic punishment when he takes an action and hits the rock instead of using his words and speaking to it.

This final chastisement is Hashem telling Moshe that this punishment is fair because it represents the cumulative result of all his past failures. Ironically, as the time comes for Am Yisrael to cross over into Eretz Yisrael they now require a leader who is a man of action – Yehoshua. He led the army to battle against Amalek, he tried to encourage the people to rise and go into the land despite the report of the spies, he would battle against the nations of Canaan.

Moshe was our greatest leader, our greatest teacher and our greatest prophet. When he understood that his task was to influence Am Yisrael then and for all future generations with his words, he was given the opportunity to speak and to set out his version and vision of the Torah – of a society of Torah, of a life of Torah and of a future of Torah. These are his words – of course not simply through his mouth but, “al pi Hashem!”

Tisha b’Av: My Moment of Anger

Should Tisha b'Av be just a time for sorrow and repentance for us, or is there room for more? I n this revealing piece, our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger describes the powerful feeling of anger he experienced one year when preparing forTisha b'Av--and how he dealt with it. 

In previous blog posts, I have tried not to write in the first person. Meaning, I have avoided sharing my own perspectives or reflections. However, Tishah b’Av is an intensively personal day. Yes, it is a day of national mourning. More accurately, THE day of national mourning. However, one must feel the sadness and pain personally. If one does not, our sages say that he will not merit seeing the rebuilding of the Temple and the restoration of its glory.

We are different every yea,r so we bring different baggage with us into Tisha b’Av. When we sat on the ground on Tisha b’Av 2024, after experiencing the horrors of October 2023, after visiting the homes of friends who lost loved ones either that day or during the war that followed, or simply because we ourselves had experienced what it meant to be threatened on an existential level—just like the many individual Jews and Jewish communities described in the kinot—it was very hard to control our emotions. We were not recounting history; we were a part of it. It was similar to the words we recite on Seder night – “it was as if we, ourselves were leaving Egypt.”

Rather than dwelling on last year, I want to reach back many years ago to a particular summer when I spent a great deal of time reading the kinot in the weeks leading up to Tisha b’Av and examined the historical background of the events described. Most of us (especially members of this Beit Knesset who have had the privilege of listening to Rabbi Wein’s lectures and reading his books) are likely well versed in the unfortunate fates of our forebearers at the time of the destruction of the Temples at the hands of the Babylonians and the Romans, of the massacres during the Crusades, of the Spanish Inquisition, of the pogroms in Europe and, of course the Holocaust.

As I dug deeper, there are narratives, especially from the time of the destruction of the Batei Mikdash, that describe the causes—why we as a people deserved the horrible punishment and this long period of exile. There are also hums, quiet undertones, of several themes that are there to give us some consolation: that Hashem mourns with us, that we bear responsibility but that we can take corrective action, that this suffering—this long exile—will end, and that there will be a glorious restoration and great joy.

However, the more I read, as more and more pages turned, as decades and centuries passed, as there was more and more and more death and suffering – the inevitable questions that swirled in my head (why so much death, what did we really do to deserve this, when will this end?) gave way to something very different.

My intellection curiosity and my emotional sadness was replaced with something much more visceral: I became ANGRY. I hesitate to admit this, but I actually became ANGRY at Hashem. How many of His children must die to expiate whatever sins the Jewish people

committed over 2,000 years ago? How much time must pass?

If His condition is that we must all repent or become “shomer Torah u’mitzvot,” there are two ways to look at this: On one hand, and I do not mean to be a naysayer (but let’s be realistic) it ain’t gonna happen! We are too spread out, the nature of modern society is too free, open and diverse and there is unfortunately a lack of guidance and leadership. Without Moshiach/Divine intervention, as an organic whole we are what we are. On the other hand, the glass half full side, there are likely more people studying Torah full time, more yeshivot, more batei knesset, higher standards of kashrut, etc. than any time in Jewish history—and that should count for something!

Bottom line, why are we still mourning, why are we suffering, what is the galut accomplishing, what lessons are we being taught, what more can we do? We should just throw up our hands and go on strike – perhaps all play Choni HaMe’agel—we are not going to do Tisha b’Av, we are not going to accept His judgement, we are not stepping out of our circles, until He ends this galut. We are ANGRY at Him and we are not going to take it any more.

When I hit this point, I felt a little bad (I made sure I stayed grounded in case any stray lightning bolts appeared) and headed straight to a Rav I respected (Rav Avraham Jacobowitz, who we all lovingly call Rabbi J) to ask him if I was allowed to be angry at Hashem.

Surprisingly, he told me that it was an appropriate emotion for this period of time, because I was angry on behalf of our people. He said that just like Hashem is willing to allow his name to be erased for the water of the sotah, to bring peace to a husband and wife, He can handle some anger when it is expressed as a true emotion on behalf of his people—to champion their cause.

Nevertheless, Rabbi J said, it is a Tisha b’Av emotion. On Tisha b’Av Hashem certainly has compassion for us and, kaveyachol, regrets everything that has befallen us. He knows and understands what we are feeling—very deeply. He also knows that everything that has happened has been according to His plan, just like all that will happen.

As difficult as it may be, may our sadness and anger be calmed by understanding that we are in the hands of One who shares our pain, understands it and in the proper time, will end it.

May this be the year that we see the end of this long galut, the geulah shelemah and the biat Hamashiach.

Malaise and Medicine

The Three Weeks are a time of sadness and introspection for the Jewish people--but, buried within them, there is a message of happiness and positivity for our future. Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger explains:

The Rabbis manipulated the weekly order of Torah readings within the yearly calendar so that select parshiyot are aligned (or nearly aligned) with certain festivals and fasts. A few examples: Miketz or Vayigash are usually read on Shabbat Hannukah, Bamidbar before Shavuot, and Devarim before Tisha b’Av.

Parshat Pinchas is one such reading. In most years it is read on the week following the fast of 17 Tamuz. The sages performed this subtle manipulation, juxtaposing the parsha and the fast, or more accurately, a day that is the gateway to the period of the “bein hametzarim” (the Three Weeks), to convey a deeply comforting message.

If you stop and think about it, we read from Pinchas more often than any other parsha in the Torah. Pinchas contains the details of the musaf offerings for all of the holy days – Shabbat, Rosh Chodesh, etc. On every sacred day other than for a regular Shabbat, we take out an extra Torah scroll and read the section corresponding to the offering for that day. Thus, during the very week that as a nation we begin the descent into deep national mourning and sorrow—a generational malaise—we receive a booster shot of joy and hope, a reminder of our best days.

This connection, however, is even more direct. The unique number of holiday days is…20! (Note: we get there as follows: Shabbat – 1, Rosh Chodesh – 1, Pesach mentioned as a 7-day holiday, Shavuot – 1, Rosh Hashanah – 1, Yom Kippur – 1, Succot – mentioned as a 7-day holiday, Shemini Atzeret – 1 – TOTAL – 20). And there are precisely 20 days bridging 17 Tamuz and 9 Av.

This, perhaps, though, is a pollyannish view. Maybe the glass is not half full, but rather half empty. After all, during these three weeks we mourn the fact that we cannot bring these offerings, that we cannot rejoice since we no longer have the Temple. It seems that the sages might be tormenting us rather than consoling and inoculating us.

The key to understanding Chazal may well be a verse in Zechariah (8:19):

כֹּה אָמַר ה צְבָ-אוֹת צוֹם הָרְבִיעִי וְצוֹם הַחֲמִישִׁי וְצוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי וְצוֹם הָעֲשִׂירִי יִהְיֶה לְבֵית יְהוּדָה לְשָׂשׂוֹן וּלְשִׂמְחָה וּלְמֹעֲדִים טוֹבִים וְהָאֱמֶת וְהַשָּׁלוֹם אֱהָבוּ

Thus said GOD of Hosts: The fast of the fourth month, the fast of the fifth month, the fast of the seventh month, and the fast of the tenth month shall become occasions for joy and gladness, happy festivals for the House of Judah; but you must love honesty and integrity.

The Rambam in Hilchot Ta’aniyot (5:9), quoting this pasuk, writes that in the days of Mashiach the four fast days, including 17 Tamuz (the fast of the fourth month) and 9 Av (the fast of the fifth month), will be nullified and will become days of happiness and joy—in other words, holidays. This is likewise prophesized by Yirmiyahu (Jer. 31:12) וְהָפַכְתִּ֨י אֶבְלָ֤ם לְשָׂשׂוֹן֙ “and I will transform their mourning into joy,” and expressed in the Book of Eicha itself (1:15) קָרָ֥א עָלַ֛י מוֹעֵ֖ד “call unto me a holiday.”

In other words, this is not “mere” tradition, it is a matter of Divine promise. Our sages know that these days are destined to be elevated to great heights. This means that they already contain the seeds, the sparks, the potential for this ecstasy. They used parshat Pinchas to place a sign, to point a big finger to these weeks that says to our people while you are despairing reach into your joyful experiences, your Succot, your Pesach, your Simchat Torah and recognize that very soon these solemn days will feel just like those.

עתיד הקב"ה להפוך ט' באב לששון ולשמחה שנאמר כה אמר ה' צבאות לצום הרביעי ולצום החמישי... ולבנות ירושלים הוא עצמו ולקבץ גלויות ישראל לתוכה שנאמר: "בונה ירושלים ה' נדחי ישראל יכנס" (מדרש איכה)

In the future, HKB”H will transform 9 Av to [a day] of joy and happiness…and rebuild Jerusalem Himself and ingather the exiles, as it says, God will build Jerusalem and gather the dispersed.

We are witnessing miracles and great salvation; may He complete this job soon!

"Death is very good!"

 Much is written on the mysterious operation of the parah adumah, the red heifer whose ashes are so important for the restoration of ritual purity--but much less is said about the condition that triggers a need for the parah adumah in the first place: death. Inspired by an apparently cryptic comment in Rabbi Meir's sefer Torah, our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger offers a fascinating insight into a topic that so many are reluctant to address. This is what he has to say:

The purification ritual involving the “Red Heifer” is one that has baffled the wisest of men and the deepest religious thinkers throughout the ages. Somehow, burning a cow, mixing its ashes with water and a few other ingredients and then sprinkling the concoction on an individual who has contracted ritual impurity via contact with a corpse can, following the proper procedure, purify him.

The aspect that has perplexed many, including King Solomon, is the fact that the one who is “sprinkled” becomes pure and the “sprinkler” is rendered impure. Perhaps a more interesting question is this: why does the Torah require a different ritual to cleanse this taint in contrast with the procedure to remove other ritual impurities from an individual (mikveh or mikveh plus korban)? The answer is because this taint involves human death.

When God created the world, for six days He affirms existence by declaring His own work “good.” In so doing, creation “remains in a pure, untouchable beyond” (Rosenzweig, Star of Redemption). The final time that God comments, He does not observe that the result of His handiwork at that moment of time is “good” (tov). Instead, God describes the “all that He made” as “very good” (tov me’od).

The Midrash Rabba, on Genesis 1:31, brings various opinions regarding the statement “very good”: “In the sefer Torah of Rabbi Meir they found, where the words “and behold it was very good” should be, the words “and behold death was good”. Rashi comments on Rabbi Meir’s teaching that death is good because, once dead, man can no longer sin.

Ramban on Genesis 1:31 parses the verse because he finds the word “very” to be superfluous. His initial observation is that God “added this word because He is speaking of creation in general, which contains evil in some part of it.” Thus, He said that it was very good, meaning its me’od is good [thus conveying the thought that even the small part of it which is evil is basically also good]. For Ramban, me’od refers to evil, but he does not yet identify or quantify that evil until he quotes Rabbi Meir’s statement that it is death. However, he qualifies this by commenting:

“[S]imilarly, the Rabbis mentioned, ‘this means the evil inclination in man,’ and ‘this means the dispensation of punishment.’”

Thus, it seems that Ramban, likewise views death as an external environmental force.

Rambam effectively divorces death from the Man-God relationship altogether. In commenting on the words vehinei tov me’od (Look! It was very good), he writes:

“Even death, which appears to constitute a return to nothingness, God considered as something positive, constructive, seeing it is only a prelude to rebirth, albeit sometimes in a different guise than that the previous incarnation. Death is perceived as the result of the ‘nothingness’ which had preceded the universe having become an integral part of this universe. Hence it had become a necessary phenomenon.” (Moreh Nevuchim 3:10).

In other words, God created death so that there could be an ongoing creation. One might perhaps term this as circular reasoning (if God did not terminate the world, there would be no need for a rebirth).  However, this is not circular reasoning; this is God logic – beyond our human comprehension. Regardless, this is universal death and not Man’s or human death. Thus, according to Maimonides, death is likewise a force without a direct relationship with Man. Thus, it is external to Man.

According to Rabbi Dr Norman Lamm, 

“Tov implies efficient functioning.  The creator saw every step in His developing universe ki tov, that it was functioning efficiently, carrying out the telos which He had assigned to it.” (“Good and Very Good’ Moderation and Extremism in the Scheme of Creation” in Tradition, 45:2, 2012).  

According to Lamm, if each component of creation functioned at its maximum efficiency or full potential, chaos would ensue:

 “This is so because the world is an interdependent system rather than a conglomeration of independent parts and a system requires the synergistic coordination of all of its constituent elements.”

Thus, only when each element functions with restraint (tov) can the whole be considered tov me’od.

Lamm explains that an immortal Man, with freedom of will, has the power to exploit any part of creation to its full potential. Death represents a limit and limits are necessary. The analogy he gives is the human body, itself. If cells multiply unchecked, man dies of cancer. Thus, for Lamm, death/mortality is the me’od, the required limit on the effective functioning, the tov, of every other creation. Thus, in this construct death is an integrated component of man and the functioning of the system, but not a part of the God-Man relationship. 

The sources surveyed, from the earliest to the more recent, seem to perceive death as a device or tool used by God, whether to influence later actions (Midrash), or to provide creative or spiritual counter-balance against good (Ramban), or to set up a system of constant creation and recreation (Rambam), or to sustain systemic balance (Lamm). The image that emerges from these Rabbinic sources of the initial conceptualization of death/mortality in Creation, is that of an instrument or process, something detached from Man, one that influences his environment/world, but that impacts him indirectly.

The impure man, tainted by contact with death, is purified by a bare and minimal contact with an external agent – the ashes of the Red Heifer – bound together with “mayim chayim” waters of life. Death influences him, it taints him by contact, and it will eventually claim him. However, the intrinsic message of this elaborate ritual, that stretches over a week, is that he should NOT be consumed by it – he should not become fully submerged in his own mortality.

Torah 24/7 and Connecting the Dates

We are delighted to announce two new book acquisitions for our small but growing Beit Midrash library. Both are gifts generously donated by  one of our more recent members, Steven Ettinger. Steven is a rabbi, a tax lawyer, a family man and an individual who manifests an obvious fascination with every aspect of contemporary Jewish life in the real world—and this is what makes his books so readable.

The first is Torah 24/7: A Timely Guide for the Modern Spirit. If you are looking for a fresh perspective on those parshiyot you have read so often in the past, this work could be exactly what you are searching for. Each chapter reveals, sometimes quite surprisingly, how an incident or experience in the author's life was reflected in or influenced by the parashah of the week. This is proof positive—as if any were needed—that the narratives contained in the Chumash continue to have a real meaning for the life of modern man.

The second, Connecting the Dates: Exploring the Meaning of Jewish Time, is a book that has been cast in an entirely different mold. In it, Steven poses penetrating questions about the role played by time in our lives and in our relationships with man and God. In particular, he asks:

• What is the relationship of the Jewish Holidays to their Fast Days?
  
  
• How do the Jewish ritual practices of circumcision, tefillin and tefillah express the underlying link between the individual s personal life cycle and the life cycle of the Jewish nation?
  
  
• How do the major events in the lives of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs connect to the core of the Jewish life cycle?

 Steven builds upon this foundation and shows how the Forefathers of the Jewish people were also the cornerstones upon which the Jewish holidays are built.

 If the mood takes you, you can even buy these books online for yourself. Torah 24/7 is available here, while Connecting the Dates can be ordered here.

Sin and exile: a parallel narrative

Our member, rabbi and author Steven Ettinger, has turned his downtime during missile attacks to positive use by exercising his brain and his imagination to good purpose. Look what he has been thinking:

Sitting in the ma’amad with little else to do, one’s mind can wrestle with anxiety or can be distracted with something more constructive. I am choosing the latter – typing some stream of consciousness ideas about this week’s parshah, Shelach Lecha.

For some prognosticators, this is the start of World War II, an “end of the world” scenario.  So naturally, a good launching pad for my thoughts is at the very beginning. Hashem created the world with “asarah ma’amarot”, ten utterances. He completed the process by animating Adam HaRishon, the prototype human – who promptly succumbed to his evil inclination and was exiled from paradise.

Several millennia later Hashem repeated this pattern, albeit for a nation rather than for an individual. He did not create a single person but the ultimate people, Am Yisroel.  In place of ten utterances there were ten plagues. In place of seven days there were seven weeks.  There is one significant difference, however. Adam, after eating from the Tree of Knowledge, was prevented from eating from the Tree of Life. Hashem gave the Jewish Nation a tree of BOTH knowledge and life, the Torah, “eitz chaim hi.”

There is still one aspect left to discuss, the sin and the exile. In Eden, the story is succinct and clear – a well-known narrative.  The story has a beginning (“do not eat from the fruit of the tree”), a middle (the story of how they ate) ,and an end (the punishment).  There is even a villain upon whom some of the blame can be cast.

If the events of the Exodus present a parallel creation story, then where is this sin and exile narrative?

It would be tempting to answer that Am Yisrael or, more precisely, the generation that was redeemed from Egypt, was denied entry to the Land of Israel, a form of pre-exile, because of the sin of the Golden Calf. This would fit the mold precisely. They were given two interrelated commands, that they heard directly from Hashem: that He is their God and they are to have no others besides Him. They proceeded immediately to violate these directives.

This MAY have been the “sin.” However, “the consequence was NOT “exile”. Several thousand died, but there was forgiveness (“salachti ki’dvarecha”), not punishment. So perhaps the parallel narrative is to be found elsewhere, like in parashat Shelach Lecha.

In our parashah, the spies go out to see the land, they return with a bad report and the people despair. For this they are all punished and condemned to die in the desert over the next 40 years. This is their sin and exile.

However, if this truly is the “sin and exile”, if this is a continuation of our nation’s creation story: Where is the parallel narrative?  Where were they tempted? What command did they violate? Why the length of the punishment?  The answers to these questions will show us just how similar the two patterns are.

The parallel narrative is the story of the spies, with one caveat – there is one small link back to the sin of the Golden Calf. When Hashem forgave them, it was not exactly unconditional. In Ex. 32:34 He states: “u’veyom pakdi, uphakaditi alehem chatatam.” (on the day of accounting, I will call to count their sin). In other words, they may be getting a pass today. However, in the future, I will remember what they did now and the future punishment will be enhanced.

The temptation here for the nation, their protagonist, is the spies. Like the nachash in the Creation story, they present themselves as good guys.  They show concern for the nation.  But they, literally, are snakes in the grass.

The command they violated was based on Hashem’s concession to Moshe, “shelach lecha” (“send for yourself”).  Hashem in this instance delegated to Moshe the authority to “command” a task.  Moshe provided the meraglim with a specific set of instructions in order to enable Am Yisrael to immediately thereafter enter the Land of Israel, without any further delay.

 Moshe had been their leader for a little over two years. He had not only led them out of Egypt, performing many miracles, and twice delivered the Torah, but he defended them from destruction after the sin of the Golden Calf. How could they pervert his command and then rebel against him? THIS was the violation of God’s command – not following the letter and spirit of Moshe’s directives. The consequences of their actions were so fatal that Moshe himself would never enter Eretz Yisroel!

The length of the punishment is forty years. Moshe defended them for forty days; Hashem even offered to destroy the Jewish People and start again with Moshe as the progenitor. Forty years, the period necessary to eliminate this entire generation, was the required consequence. This is more than paying mere lip service to the concept of measure for measure, this defines justice.

We cannot ever presume to understand Hashem’s plans and actions in this world. But, looking back, we can sometimes discern patterns. There was a pattern in the creation of Man and we can see a similar pattern in the creation of our nation. Great tragedies have befallen our nation and out of the ashes we have experienced a great re-birth and many, many miracles.

So we sit in our shelters, seeing the Hand of Hashem revealed minute by minute. When we look back, perhaps in a mere few days from now, we might well find that we witnessed Hashem completing the pattern of His third and final creation -- not the creation of  Adam HaRishon -- the prototypical man or the creation of Am Yisrael – the ultimate people, but the creation of Yemot HaMashiach – the purpose for all existence.

Uniformity and self-expression

Here's an original take on the longest parashah in the Torah, brought to you by our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger. 

The United States, as represented most recently in the persona of its current President, can be characterized as a consumer culture. There is intense focus on advertising and marketing:  selling a dream, creating a demand, and making people believe that they cannot live without the latest and greatest. The hucksters and shillers create slogans, and jingles, burn images in our minds and even create fake holidays to promote a culture of buy, buy, buy. One such gimmick to boost sales during the dog days of summer was “Christmas in July.”

                                

Reading Parshat Naso provides an echo of that last slogan.  During the redundancy as the ba’al keriah cantillates the offerings of the nesi’im which are essentially the same six verses repeated over and over twelve times, some might actually be meditating on sufganiot and chanukiot rather than keeping the section in context – since this is also the reading for Chanukah. In other words, we have Chanukah in June!

Monotonous repetition, mantra-like, can be a trigger for meditation. Or it can lull you to sleep. This parsha of the nesi’im is repetitive and it seems to serve little purpose (yes, the commentators provide a variety of explanations why the Torah sets aside such valuable real estate for this). However, there is, in fact, a significant difference in the offerings for each day – the name of the nasi!

Nachshon ben Aminadav of the Tribe of Yehudah brought his offering on the first day. Regardless of what he brought; it was his offering. The pasuk does not say that he brought it on behalf of the tribe, simply that he was of the tribe (Rashi makes this point explicitly quoting the Sifri), it is an identifier. He brought one of each possible type of offering: olah, mincha, chatat/asham, shelamim. ketoret (see Sforno). Thus, each korban was imprinted with his individuality – his awe, his excitement, his passion, his insecurity, his faith, his creativity, his self-sacrifice – everything that made him Nachshon ben Aminadav.

This was true for Netanel ben Tzu’ar and every nasi through Achirah ben Enan. There was no discretion regarding what to bring, just as we have no choice as to which 613 mitzvot to observe. However, each nasi approached the Mishkan and the mizbe’ach on his day in his own unique way.

This inner self-expression amidst such an outward display of uniformity was the culmination of Hashem’s vision for the Mishkan. “Va’asu li Mikdash, veshachanti betocham” – “Construct a Tabernacle for me so that I may dwell in their midst.” Chazal have famously interpreted “betocham” in a completely literal manner – “within them” – not within the Mishkan --  not even within the camp, but within each and every Jew.

The nesi’im may have each brought physical offerings, in fact, the exact same grouping of offerings. However, and more importantly, they infused those offerings with every facet of their internal selves. By doing this, they effectively created internal space – a space that could be filled with the Shechinah, as the outward Mishkan itself was at that very moment. Their gifts allowed Hashem to fulfill veshachanti be’tocham.

We all must be a part of the community. Wwe cannot separate from it and cannot stray too far from its norms and standards: “al tifrosh min hatzibur.” However, we also must find ways to express our belief and to define our relationship with HKB”H as individuals so that we give Him room to dwell within us.

Royalty v Chaos

 

Here's a timely debut blogpost by one of our newest members, Rabbi Steven Ettinger--live wire, author and tax lawyer. Thanks, Steve, for shedding some fresh light on the impending chag of Shavuot.

As with most of our religious practices, there are no straight answers, or more accurately, there are scores of alternative answers. Take, for example, the reading of Megillat Rut on Shavuot. Why do we read it? A recent search on Chabad.org provided a list of eight reasons and I am sure one could find sixty-two more.

First up on the list is the one that speaks most poignantly to me, that Shavuot is the day of birth and passing of Dovid Hamelech. The denouement of Megillat Rut leads into his birth. However, looking more closely, one can find a much deeper connection between this work and the life of Dovid: there is a character linked both to his rise and to his later near demise. She appears briefly; however, her character, actions and impact are significantly more far-reaching. Thematically, she influences the very conflict that envelopes us and our country today.

After Machlon and Chilion die in Moav, Naomi decides to return to Israel.  Her daughters-in-law Rut and Orpah initially accompany her. After a short while, she implores them to remain in Moav, but they are steadfast in their loyalty to her.  Back and forth they go, until Orpah finally relents -- but Rut perseveres.

It does not seem that Orpah is judged harshly. Just the opposite. The Talmud (Sota 42b) brings three opinions to support the “reward” she received for one of the following: kissing Naomi four times, shedding four tears, or accompanying her four mil upon their separation.

Chazal explain that although she was barren, Orpah merited to be the mother (or perhaps ancestor) of Goliath and three other giants (mighty warriors) that we find in Sefer Shmuel (see 2 Shmuel 21: 18-22). Goliath, of course, is identified with the revelation of Dovid’s destined greatness. Another of these giants, Ishbi, nearly kills Dovid, as recounted in an elaborate aggadah in Sanhedrin (95a).  It is interesting to note that, in this tale, Dovid is saved because Avishai ben Zeruiah kills Orpah and then subsequently is able to kill Ishbi by distracting him with news of her death.  Thus Orpah and her progeny are not mere antagonists but their destinies are intertwined with those of Dovid.

Circling back to Megilat Rut and Shavuot and its connection to Dovid Hamelech, how is Orpah still relevant to our contemporary story? Does she continue to play a role in the destiny of “Dovid v’zaroh?”

The simple reading of the story presented two similar and compassionate women – differentiated by one small action. One remained with Naomi and one returned home. However, as the story unfolded, through time and the eyes of Chazal, there was a divergence. One woman, Rut, became the symbol of purity and beauty. She was the mother of royalty of the hero. The other, Orpah , devolves into an ugly, deceitful person who is the mother of those who threaten the hero and Israel’s very existence.

The moment Orpah walked away was no mere familial split; it represented the separation of the values of Moav from those of Yehudah. The contrast between Rut and Orpah – and later between their descendants -- represents an existential struggle between tribes and nations. This is ultimately the contrast between good and evil -- moral and the immoral.  That separation occurred at the very moment Rut declared “Amech ami,  v’Elokaich Elokai” –words that represented her acceptance of the Torah and its obligations – values that Orpah could not assimilate.

The cults of death, the immoral, the haters, the ones we battle every day are the ones who walked away with Orpah . They chose and continue to choose to reject the opportunity accept and constantly reaffirm of the ethic of the Brit of Matan Torah, that runs through Rut and Dovid and their actions, that will assure us of victory.