Where Heaven Meets Earth

Parshas Shemini

Posted on March 19, 2014 (5774) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

Purim is an intensely spiritual twenty-four hours, occupying a higher spiritual realm than even Yom Kippur The elevated frame of mind that is meant to accompany this holy day is unparalleled in the Jewish calendar.

The challenge of embracing the spiritual while satisfying the physical is a reflection of the delicate tightrope we are expected to walk throughout our lives-finding a harmonious balance between body and soul.

This is one of the major themes of this week’s Torah portion.

The first half of the Parsha describes the inauguration of the mishkan in which Nadav and Avihu, the two sons of Aharon, meet an untimely, tragic end. In their great zeal to serve their Creator, they rushed into the Temple with an offering which they were not commanded to bring-an act that invoked immediate Divine retribution.

The second major theme of this week’s portion revolves around the various foods that are prohibited. The Torah calls the ingestion of crawling, creeping insects an abomination that defiles the body and forms a barrier between the soul and its heavenly source.

The juxtaposition of these two themes tells us much about our mission in life. We are not to live an ascetic life, denying basic human needs to enable the soul to transcend the body. Nor are we to indulge the body in its every physical whim. Instead, we are taught to achieve a singular marriage of body and soul that has the power to forge a wholesome relationship with our Divine Source.

All of this is summed up in the last verse of the Torah portion in which Hashem instructs us to create a havdala, separation, between the pure and the impure, between what we are permitted to eat and what we are not.

The great Torah sage, Rabbi Meir Shapiro, was once asked his impression of American Jewry after his visit to the United States. In his incisive style he responded, “Here, they know how to make kiddush but they do not know how to make havdala.”

Yes, we are quick to embrace that which is sanctified, yet we are not as ready to abstain from that which is profane. To make the division between right and wrong, pure and impure, is indeed one of the greatest challenges of our time.

The current worship of “moral equivalence” and humanistic values that try to erase the distinctions between moral and immoral, holy and profane, clears the way for all kinds of degenerate behavior. These hollow rationalizations cannot stand the test of time.

The litmus of one’s true humanity is the ability to create the wholesome marriage of body and soul where one first makes “havdala,” differentiating between that which is illusory and transitory and that which is real, solid and eternal. Only then, will we be capable of making Kiddush and becoming a truly holy people.

Wishing you a wonderful Shabbos

Sincerely

Rabbi Naftali Reich

Reality Of Consequence

Parshas Shemini

Posted on March 19, 2014 (5774) By Rabbi Yochanan Zweig | Series: Rabbi Zweig on the Parsha | Level: Beginner

 “…and they died before Hashem” (10:2)

The Zohar relates that both Nadav and Avihu were under the age of twenty when they died.¹ Since their deaths were a punishment ohnahshc – by heavenly means, a difficulty arises; their deaths violate the accepted rule that the heavenly court does not mete out punishment to anyone under twenty years of age.² Some of the later commentaries respond to this difficulty based upon the opinion of the Tzelach that if a child exhibits superior intellect, he can be held responsible for his actions, even at a young age.³

Perhaps we can offer a different answer. In the beginning of Parshas Acharei Mos, Rashi explains the juxtaposition between the deaths of Aharon’s sons and the prohibition of entering the Holy of Holies. Rashi says that just as a doctor’s warning is more effective when he points out to his patient the fate of someone who failed to heed his directives, Hashem warns Aharon that if he enters the Holy of Holies indiscriminately, he will die in the same manner as his sons.⁴ Why does Rashi use a doctor-patient scenario as a parable? Would it not have been more appropriate to compare Hashem and Aharon to a king and his subject?

If Rashi would have used a king-subject scenario, the message would be that if the subject does not follow the king’s directions, he will die as a punishment. However, if a person fails to follow the instructions of a doctor and dies as a result, we consider this to be a logical consequence, not a punishment; the patient brought upon himself his own demise. Entering the Holy of Holies without permission is the same concept; the result is the death of the individual as a logical consequence of being in a place so holy that his soul cannot tolerate it. His death is not a punishment. Therefore, Rashi compares Hashem and Aharon to a doctor and his patient, for if Aharon would die as a result of not adhering to Hashem’s warning, this would be an inevitable consequence. There is no question as to how the heavenly court could have punished Aharon’s sons; their deaths were not a punishment, rather a consequence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, to which even minors are not impervious.

1.Begining of Parshas Achrei Mos see Sefer Drash V’iyun 2.Bamidbar Rabbah 18:4 See Pardeis Yoseif Parshas Chayei Sarah 3.Tzelach Berachos 31b 4.16:14.

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Fools Rush in Where Angels Fear to Tread

Parshas Shemini

Posted on April 20, 2017 (5777) By Rabbi Label Lam | Series: Dvar Torah | Level: Beginner

The sons of Aaron, Nadav and Avihu, each took his fire-pan, they put fire in the them and placed them. A fire came forth from before HASHEM an alien fire that He had not commanded them. A fire came forth from before HASHEM and consumed them, and they died before HASHEM. (Vayikra 10:1-2)

You shall not make yourselves abominable with any creeping creature that creeps, and you shall not defile yourselves with them, that you should become unclean through them. For I am HASHEM your G-d, and you shall sanctify yourselves and be holy, because I am holy, and you shall not defile yourselves through any creeping creature that crawls on the ground. For I am HASHEM Who has brought you up from the land of Egypt to be your G-d. Thus, you shall be holy, because I am holy. (Vayikra 11:43-45)

What is the connection between these two giant themes? They seem universes apart and unlikely neighbors to be packed by The Creator into the same Torah portion. Maybe they are close because they are so far away from each other. How so?

When the Megilla of Esther wishes to express how wide spread the kingdom of Achashveirosh was we are told he ruled over 127 provinces from Hodu to Kush. The Talmud presents a dispute about the proximity of Hodu and Kush. One opinion is that they were from one end of the world to the other. The other says they were right next to each other. How does that approach make sense? Which opinion is true?

I heard an explanation that they were juxtaposed and contiguous but if you measure around the world in the other direction they were at the extreme ends of the world one from the other.

Here we have a case of Nadav and Avihu, two holy brothers, sons on Aaron the Kohain, rushing into a realm of holiness, at a time of extreme spiritual elevation, but without with permission. They died on the spot. On the other end of the spectrum we find strict instructions about which animals we are and are not allowed to eat.

From the loftiest levels of holiness to the most physical and animalistic appetite we are expected to navigate and proceed with precise rules. There is no room for extremism in either domain. Every move is carefully calibrated.

You might think extreme zealousness is tolerable and praiseworthy in spiritual matters but in truth the exposed wires are highly and dangerously charged there. You also might think there is an excuse when the blood of passion is rushing through our veins. However, there too we are warned strongly to slow down and proceed with extreme caution.

Maybe for this reason we pray every evening that HASHEM should remove the opposing force from in front of us and in back of us. In front of us is easier to understand but what harm can this negative force afflict from behind us?!

Getting too holy too quickly is as dangerous as yielding to raw animalism. Both are departures from true holiness. In either case life is filled with highly charged electric wires and we must navigate cautiously. Food is unavoidable. Spirituality is inevitable. I would feel comfortable changing a light bulb but not a fixture. I tried once and suddenly all the lights in the house went out. I feel fortunate my beard was not burnt off or worse. Now I defer to an expert, a licensed electrician because fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Grasp the Moment

Parshas Tzav

Posted on March 22, 2010 (5770) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

Not everyone has the privilege of saying “thank you” to the Creator by bringing a thanksgiving offering to the Holy Temple. The Talmud tells us that only people who were recently delivered from extreme danger – an ocean voyage, a desert journey, a serious illness, a term of imprisonment – can bring this special sacrifice. Why is this so? Why can’t we express our gratitude for other momentous occasions in our lives by bringing this selfsame thanksgiving offering?

Furthermore, we find an anomaly in the laws of this sacrifice. The thanksgiving offering falls into the general category of shelamim, peace offerings. However, we read in this week’s Torah portion that there is less time allowed for eating the meat of the sacrifice. The peace offering can be eaten for two days, but the thanksgiving offering for only one day. Why does the Torah reduce the eating time of this sacrifice?

The answers to these questions are rooted in the fundamental concepts of the sacrificial service. The purpose of the sacrifices is to foster closeness between the Creator and ourselves. When we bring a sacrifice to the altar we are symbolically offering ourselves up to Him, subsuming our hearts, our minds, our souls, our very lives in the universal embrace of the Divine Presence. Eating the meat of the sacrifice, the Talmud explains, is an extension of the sacrificial service. Through the act of ingesting the sanctified meat, we connect to the transcendent concepts and symbolism of the sacrifice not only through our intellectual and emotional faculties but through our purely physical ones as well. In this way, the experience becomes total and the connection is absolute.

When we bring a thanksgiving offering, we take advantage of moments of outstanding inspiration to forge a closer relationship with our Creator. Life is full of little inspirations and numerous opportunities to express our gratitude to Hashem. Most of these, however, do not move us to our core, and therefore, they are not powerful enough to warrant a sacrifice. But when a person is reprieved after staring death in the face, he is totally energized and exhilarated, and the words of thanksgiving and joy he directs heavenward emanate from the essence of his being. This sort of inspiration can be brought to the Temple and presented to Hashem in the form of a thanksgiving sacrifice. This sort of inspiration can be channeled to foster an everlasting closeness.

But inspiration is an ephemeral thing. Like a flash of lightning, it illuminates our surroundings in painfully sharp clarity and then is gone, leaving only a memory that slowly fades away. During that moment, we gain a totally different and highly vivid perspective of what is important and what is trivial. During that moment, we have the ability to find new direction and meaning for our daily existence. Later, it is too late. Therefore, the Torah limits the time period for eating the thanksgiving offering. Grasp the moment! If we wait, it will be gone.

A high-level royal minister was deeply involved in a national crisis situation. During this time, while the king and his ministers conferred daily to discuss developments, the king’s birthday came and went without the customary celebration. The crisis eventually passed, and the conduct of government affairs returned to normal. Shortly thereafter, the minister purchased a beautiful birthday gift and sent it to the king.

A few weeks later, the king and his minister were discussing the crisis and what could be done to prevent future recurrences.

“We can’t afford to go through something like this again,” said the king with a wry smile. “Do you realize that I didn’t even receive any birthday gifts this years because of the crisis?”

“Your majesty, have you forgotten?” the minister protested. “I sent you a very beautiful gift. Didn’t you receive it?”

“Indeed, I did,” said the king. “And I thank you. Had you given it to me on my birthday, I would have perceived it as an expression of your joyous celebration of such an important day in my life. But it was given several weeks later. It did not represent your sense of joy but rather your sense of obligation. Much as I appreciate it, I do not consider it a true birthday gift.”

In our own lives, we are often profoundly inspired during times of great joy or, Heaven forbid, great distress. On these occasions, we are inclined to take stock of our existence and resolve to make important changes, either to improve our relationship with our Creator, to correct our flaws and shortcomings or simply to spend more time with our families. When this happens, it is important to translate our inspiration into action immediately, for if we wait until we get around to it, more often than not we never will.

Text Copyright © 2010 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.

A Small Voice

Parshas Vayikra

Posted on March 16, 2018 (5778) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

G-d calls out to Moshe from the inner sanctuary of the Mishkan. Yet, as Rashi points out to us, the sound of  G-d’s voice, so to speak, was loud and strong. However it was limited to the area within the Mishkan. Those who were outside of that sanctuary heard nothing. The message imparted here is a clear and simple one. Not everyone hears G-d’s voice nor can it be heard everywhere.

There was a long period of time in English and American society that those who entered the clergy were said to have responded to a “calling.” In our jaded, materialistic, dysfunctional world of today a “calling” is something to be mocked at as being naïve and impractical. Yet the Torah emphasizes here that Moshe responded to such a “calling” and that in fact this became the name and title of one of the five books of Moshe.

Leading and teaching the Jewish people can certainly be viewed as a profession and a career. But if that is all it is then it is deficient in its spiritual potential and its ultimate chance of success. Unless one hears, so to speak, the voice of G-d calling one to public service and Torah teaching, the soul of the matter will always be compromised.

Moshe is able to be the incomparable Moshe that he is because he hears the Lord calling out to him even if no one else apparently does so as well. All of his life he responds to that call and remains faithful to the task and challenge that leading the Jewish people poses for him.

Midrash teaches us that Moshe first heard the voice of G-d, so to speak, at the encounter at the burning bush. There the Lord called out to him in the voice and tone of his father Amram and Moshe therefore was able to hear it without being overwhelmed. Much later in Jewish history, the Lord told the prophet Eliyahu that he could hear His call in the still small voice that reverberates within all of our consciences.

G-d is heard, so to speak, in the voice of our ancestors, of Jewish tradition and family bonds. Many Jews today are completely unaware of their own family heritage and certainly of the greater heritage of Israel as a whole. And very few of us are strong enough psychologically and spiritually to hearken to our inner voice, still and small as it is.

So we wander through life seeking direction and guidance and turn to others to help us find ourselves. First we should look inward for the G-dly GPS implanted within us. That is our Mishkan, the place where G-d’s voice can be heard. Searching for it elsewhere, in the voices of strangers, outside of our Mishkan will be frustrating and fruitless.

Since the voice of G-d, no matter how powerful and strong it may be, is still described as being a small voice, it is obvious that one has to pay attention and strain to hear it. This effort always characterized Moshe’s life, the loyal servant of G-d, who was attuned to hear the calling that guided him, and through him, all of Israel and humankind as well.

Shabat shalom,

Rabbi Berel Wein

More Or Less

Parshas Vayikra

Posted on March 7, 2014 (5774) By Rabbi Yochanan Zweig | Series: Rabbi Zweig on the Parsha | Level: Beginner

“…it is an elevation-offering, a fire-offering, a satisfying aroma to Hashem” (1:17) The Shulchan Aruch states that it is preferable to submit a short whole-hearted prayer than to pray extensively without the proper intentions.¹ The implication is that if one would have equally serious intent in both a short prayer and a long prayer, the long prayer would be preferable.² The Talmud notes that the expression “a satisfying aroma to Hashem” is recorded in connection with all three forms of elevation-offerings, the animal, the bird and flour. The message being delivered by the Torah, states the Talmud, is that the size of the offering is of no import; as long as it is being offered whole-heartedly, it is equally satisfying to Hashem.³ This prompts the Taz to ask how it is possible that if the intentions are equal, the submission of a larger offering is not an act of greater merit.⁴ The essence of bringing the elevation-offering, the offering which is completely consumed on the Altar, is the understanding that everything we possess really belongs to our Creator. Therefore, depending upon a person’s financial means, different types of offerings can have the same impact regardless of their monetary value. The three types of offerings are reflective of the different financial capacities of each individual. A poor person bringing a bird offering has the same impact as a wealthy individual offering a bull. A person who brings an offering which is consistent with his financial means is stating that what he has ultimately belongs to his Creator. However, if a wealthy individual offers a bird, which is well below his means, the message being delivered is exactly the opposite; he senses that he is entitled to his money. We are required to understand that our wealth is not our own to gift, rather it all belongs to Hashem. Concerning prayer, however, there is no standard which determines the appropriate length for each individual. The only requirement is that a person have the proper intent. If a person prays longer with the proper intentions, it is surely a more meritorious act than a person who recites a shorter prayer with equal intent. 1.Orech Chaim 1:4 2. SeeMishna Berurah ibid 3.Zevchim 65b 4.Orech Chaim ibid

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At the Speed of Thought

Parshas Vayakhel Pekudei

Posted on March 9, 2018 (5778) By Rabbi Label Lam | Series: Dvar Torah | Level: Beginner

All the gold that had been used for the work in all the work of the Holy the gold of the waving was twenty nine talents, seven hundred and thirty shekels, according to the holy shekel. The silver of the community numbers was one hundred talents and one thousand seven hundred and seventy five shekels, according to the holy shekel. (Shemos 38:24-25)

There is a spiritual principle that “blessings cannot be counted” that is they cannot be quantified.” The Zohar asks, “How is it possible to count the vessels of the Mishkan? The answer in cryptic terms is that “from the left side they cannot be counted but from the right side Brocho- Blessing is relevant!” What in the world does this mean?”

Rabbi Dessler helps to decode the message and in doing he reveals a very big secret. Don’t worry, big secrets are not at risk of becoming too well known. They can be shouted out to the whole world and yet they would remain a secret. The left classically represents the weaker side and the right the stronger. It’s not so much about strong or weak but rather about the outer and inner realm. When it comes to what is visible and what can be counted that is the left side. It is the physical dimension of things. The right is stronger because it is eternal and unable to be measured.

There are 88 keys on a piano. How many different types of songs can be played on a piano with 88 keys? I believe the answer is, “Almost unlimited!” (What if there are 613 keys!? That’s a different question.) The piano keys are numbered. That’s the view from the “left”. The infinite forms of musicality that it can express and the endurance of the compositions it births is the study of the “right” side. It is the fulfillment of the purpose for which this instrument was created.

Reb Dessler explains that that every object or entity in this universe whether big or small, simple or complex, has a root above and a reason for being that can be connected to serving The Creator. The Chovos HaLevavos, in the Gate of Serving G-d spells out that ultimately everything we do is either a Mitzvah or an Aveira, fulfillment of a Divine Commandment or a Violation! How so?!

Initially there are three areas of life. 1) Mitzvas which occupy a slim slice of our working days. 2) There are Aveiros – sins which we would hope are not a routine in our schedule. 3) Then there is the largest part of our lives which is called R’SHUS- neutral and able to go either way.

R”SHUS may include sleeping, or eating, or getting dressed, or exercising, or driving to and from work. They are not Mitzvos and neither are they necessarily Aveiros.

Here’s the shocking news. At the end of the day, the Chovos HaLevavos states there are only two realms. Those eight hours of sleep, those two hours of commuting, and all the time and money spent eating and drinking are either connected to their blessed and unquantifiable source or they are by default counted amongst the finite domain of the mundane, to be piled nowhere with last year’s snow.

The real raging battle of life is the contest for the territory of the “in between”. If one can connect sleep to the need to get up and serve HASHEM with a refreshed mind then eight hours have been captured. If one can eat to gain strength to do Mitzvos then it becomes a Mitzvah, the eating and the food itself. Mitzvos have the power to rescue buried treasure. With these lenses we can see how the entire world and all of life is a giant field of opportunity and mine field riddled with risk.

The son of a very wealthy man once asked me many years ago, “What is the Torah’s view about having money? I told him, “Money is like manure! (Please pardon the crude analogy) If it is spread like fertilizer on a field where Mitzvah have been planted, it can accomplish worlds! If it’s just sitting around it tends to stink!”

The construction of the Mishkan was from gold and silver and regular earthly stuff. These are banal objects. A thing by itself is a bag of nothing until it is properly dedicated. Then suddenly it can be made holy, that fast, at the speed of thought.

 

Investing For The Long Term

Parshas Vayakhel

Posted on February 20, 2014 (5774) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

The master craftsman who implemented the Torah’s blueprint for the building of the mishkan was an individual named Betzalel. The Torah tells us that Betzalel was uniquely endowed with a “spirit of wisdom” that equipped him for this loftiest of tasks.

Mystical sources tell us that the mishkan, the tabernacle, was a spiritual microcosm of the entire world. Betzalel was knowledgeable in all areas of esoteric wisdom. He knew the letters and permutations with which Hashem fashioned heaven and earth; he knew how to harness this spiritual energy in the construction of the mishkan, Hashem’s heavenly abode in its earthly form.

Our sages tell us that Betzalel was a young boy at the time of the mishkan’s construction–no older than 13. How could such a youngster have a level of wisdom that towered way above all the greats of his generation?

The Torah alludes to the spiritual greatness of Betzalel in the pasuk that enumerates his lineage. “Behold I have called upon Betzaelel, the son of Uri, the son of Chur from the tribe of Judah,” it says.

Here is precisely where Betzalel’s greatness lay–in his being a grandson of Chur. Who was Chur and what was the source of his greatness that he merited such an extraordinary grandchild? We find scant information about Chur’s life in the Torah. However, we do find Chur at the tragic scene of the Golden Calf, where the Jewish people embraced the worship of the golden image.

Chur was appalled at their behavior and stood up to admonish them. The frenzied mob was carried away by a wave of hedonistic behavior and anarchy. They silenced Chur by brutally killing him.

When we consider these tragic events, we can’t help but ask ourselves why Chur chose to admonish and oppose the people who were bent on defying reason? Surely he saw it was futile, that they were determined to carry out their degenerate plans. Why endanger your life, Chur, where is your common sense? Wait a bit until the people’s senses return and then they will be more receptive to your sobering message.

The commentaries explain that Chur was motivated by something nobler than practical common sense. He saw the Jewish people hovering at the edge of an abyss. Just one day before, the nation was the connecting bolt between heaven and earth; now that divine bond had been ruptured. The people were plunging wildly downward.

His grief over this downfall was so great that he was willing to sacrifice his life even if his action could not prevent catastrophe.

Whenever we act for the sake of Heaven, our self-sacrifice calls down Divine reciprocity. Although we may not see this cause and effect immediately, the reward for such mesiras nefesh will be great.

Chur was willing to give up his life to secure the Divine connection between heaven and earth; his grandchild was therefore given transcendent wisdom far beyond his age and capacity to absorb. He merited the Divine mission of repairing that sublime connection between heaven and earth through the medium of the mishkan.

Oftentimes I look at students in the yeshiva who hail from families that are so distant from our Torah heritage. These students persevered against all odds and miraculously found their way back to their spiritual source. From where did they draw the courage and inspiration?

Very likely there was a grandmother in their family tree who cried copious tears for her children’s spiritual safety when lighting the Shabbos candles. They were off to the ‘Goldene Medina’ and she prayed that they would not succumb to the temptations that abounded there.

The answer to those heartfelt prayers may not have come in her own lifetime. But when we see evidence of it in her grandchild and perhaps much further down the line, in a great-great grandchild, we can be sure of what its source is–the pure prayer of a devout, beseeching heart.

Let’s invest our heart and soul into our spiritual undertakings and do our best to ensure that we will reap the dividends of our good deeds for many years to come.

Wishing you an inspiring Shabbos.

Rabbi Naftali Reich

Text Copyright © 2014 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.

Rabbi Reich is on the faculty of the Ohr Somayach Tanenbaum Education Center.

 

Repetition is the Soul of Honesty

Parshas Vayakhel

Posted on March 8, 2010 (5770) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

The book of Shemot is reaching its conclusion in this week’s double parsha. The final review of all of the artifacts, construction and costs of the mishkan is detailed before us. The transparency that we all claim to long for in governmental spending and budgets is realized in the Torah’s exquisite detail in accounting for all income and spending on the mishkan.

This is an example of the soul of public trust and accountability as it should be practiced. The fact that this occurs in relation to holy purposes – the construction of the mishkan and its artifacts – only intensifies the lesson that impeccable integrity is necessary in such matters. Too many times people think that for holy projects and Torah welfare somehow corners can be cut and that the responsibility for funds donated and used can be juggled.

The torah itself clearly does not tolerate such ideas and behavior. The Torah many times over warns us of the danger of corruption, even so-called “holy” corruption. It blinds us and distorts all of our achievements and accomplishments. Even the great Moshe whose face shines with the radiance of heaven itself must be publicly held accountable.

I think that is why after so many millennia after the disappearance of the mishkan from the midst of Israel these parshiyot are still read publicly in our synagogues. The message of accountability and transparency in public monetary matters is the keystone to holiness. The holiness of the mishkan is dependent upon these principles and values.

Another idea present here is the importance of repetitiveness in these matters. The Torah recounts in detail what it has already told us earlier regarding the construction of the mishkan and its artifacts. Since reading a budget or studying a data sheet is not necessarily the most fascinating reading in the world, the Torah’s insistence upon recounting these matters is at first glance most puzzling. But it is the repetition as much as the content itself that is the Torah’s message to us.

Repeating the accounting of the construction of the mishkan – its expenses and labor and talent – emphasizes to us that the holy mishkan was crafted efficiently and honestly. There is no longer any question regarding its probity when the Torah lists for us the materials and work once more.

The second accounting must coincide exactly with the first description of the materials and work involved. And repetition is the soul of honesty. One must train one’s self to be honest, to resist temptation and shoddiness. Goodness and truthfulness are conditioned by habitual behavior more so than by inspired sermons and learned treatises.

In Yiddish there was a folk saying that “truth is the best lie.” A lie requires many other lies to cover its tracks. Truth stands pristine and strong always. Therefore it is not only the first accounting that is important in public and holy matters but the later accounting is also of equal if not even more importance. This week’s double parsha certainly drives this point home.

Shabat shalom.

Rabbi Berel Wein

Divine Reflections

Parshas Tetzaveh

Posted on January 28, 2014 (5774) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

One of the most challenging issues confronting a Jew at all stages of growth is the need to find a healthy balance between developing and expressing one’s identity and conforming to the Torah’s norms.

The drive for self-assertion is a lifelong force, emerging in early infancy. It manifests in children in their resistance to parental authority and the tendency to be overprotective of toys and turf.

The tantrums and irritability that mark the teenage years reflect this same innate need for self-definition. An adolescent’s fragile, maturing sense of self remains under assault as he or she reacts to relentless peer pressure.

Adults, too, must grapple with this push for independence and the corresponding yearning for self-definition. As life progresses, the issue tends to fade somewhat into the background. The pressing challenges of livelihood and children occupy our minds and energies, while also anchoring our social standing and self-image.

In subtle guises, however, the quest for self-promotion persists as we move along the road of life, mirrored in one’s desire for status, power and other ego-props.

Strangely, the accomplishments that we were certain would cement our identity never fully do so. Who are we at our core? We know how we wish to be perceived-but is that a reflection of our true self, or merely a carefully crafted image designed to impress others? As well as we know ourselves, part of that inner self remains a stranger.

Some of our greatest Torah thinkers have attempted to unravel this mystery of the ever-elusive self. They have taught us that who we truly are, in the most fundamental sense, is determined by our deepest innermost aspirations.

Forgetting about public opinion for a moment, what do you really want deep down? Who is that person you want to be?

The answer to that question puts one on the path to true self-definition. What your deepest ideals are-who you really want to be-is the best way of describing who you actually are.

Though we may constantly veer off course from the path leading to our ultimate self-realization, our identity can still rightfully be defined by who we ideally yearn to be.

This important thought about what makes up the core of a Jew’s deepest self may be alluded to in the opening lines of this week’s Torah portion: “Now you shall command the Jewish people that they should take pure pressed olive oil for illumination, to kindle the ner tamid.”

Our sages tell us that this continuously burning light, the Western lamp of the menorah, was never extinguished. Its cup was replenished daily with the purest oil attainable. With great devotion and in exacting detail, only a few drops of select oil were extracted from each olive tree and carefully primed to illuminate the ner tamid.

The questions bounce at us from the text: Why are all the Jewish people commanded to participate in this mitzvah, when only one person-Aaron, the High Priest-was permitted to ignite this light? Why the emphasis on only pure olive oil? Wouldn’t any high quality oil produce the same flame? And why the need altogether for an eternal light to be constantly aflame and aglow in the tabernacle?

The commentaries explain that the ner tomid is a reflection of Hashem’s presence that constantly animates and gives light to the universe. This Divine energy remains invisible to the naked eye, hidden under the guise of “mother nature,” yet its presence is clearly visible for those who wish to see the Creator in creation.

The commentaries further explain that this ner tamid is apparent in each of us. Every human being is an olam kotton, a miniature world. Each of us has a ner tomid, an ever-burning flame of Hashem’s presence, embedded in our soul. It is what we call the “pintele neshama.”

This pintele neshama emits pangs of conscience when our actions betray our beliefs, and when our bodies fail to act in consonance with our soul’s Divine moorings. The soul reflects our innermost aspirations to fulfill our life mission and to remain connected to our Source.

Even when we are consumed with stirrings of jealousy and lust; even when we are struggling to secure our livelihood in the degenerate atmosphere of the marketplace, the vibrations of our pintele neshama are always audible.

That ner tomid emits a constant glow that is pure and untainted. Even when the mitzvos we perform are tarnished with self-interest, our true and constant sublime yearning to fulfill His will in the purest way possible is what defines us.

When we constantly reaffirm the stirrings of our ner tomid and ensure that they determine our life’s direction, we will then succeed in shedding the unsavory thoughts and actions that are but a façade around our intrinsic core. Keeping a pure ner tomid aflame at all times is a mitzva that is instructed to each and every Jew for all future generations. Only when we are suffused with its spiritual glow will our bodies ceaseless striving for self-definition and self-realization reach fruition, allowing our everlasting flame to be locked for eternity with its eternal Maker.

Wishing you a wonderful Shabbos,

Rabbi Naftali Reich Text Copyright © 2014 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.

Rabbi Reich is on the faculty of the Ohr Somayach Tanenbaum Education Center.

Eternal Lights

Parshas Tetzaveh

Posted on February 6, 2014 (5774) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

The Torah busies itself in this week’s parsha to point out the necessity for an eternal light to always burn in G-d’s tabernacle. The Talmud points out that the light was certainly not for G-d’s benefit. The Lord is always beyond our physical needs and environment. The commentators to the Torah always searched for a deeper and more understandable meaning to this commandment.

Many ideas have been presented to explain the necessity for this eternal light. One that I wish to mention here in this essay is that the eternal light represented the eternity of Israel and its survival as a people no matter what. Just as the Lord inexplicably demanded that an eternal light be present and lit in the Tabernacle and the Temple, so too is the survival of Israel to be seen as something that is truly inexplicable.

The lights of Hanukkah are the successors to the eternal light of the Tabernacle and the Temple. They too symbolize the unlikely and miraculous, the triumph of the weak and few. This symbolic light is meant to guide us in our understanding of Jewish history and life. The otherwise seemingly unnecessary light represents G-d’s guarantee of Jewish survival and of the great lesson that a small candle while burning can illuminate a great deal of darkness.

The Lord needs no light but humankind cannot operate in the darkness. The prophet Isaiah chose his words carefully when he charged Israel to be “a light unto the nations.” Our mere existence and accompanying story of survival is enough to be a guide to a very dark world and lead it towards a better future and a brighter day.

When the eternal light of the national existence of the Jewish people was dimmed by the Roman legions, the Jews installed a physical eternal light in their synagogues. But just as the eternal light in the Tabernacle and Temple required human effort and physical material – pure olive oil – so too does our current eternal light require human effort and physical material.

Lighting a dark room requires ingenuity, ability, planning and the correct fixtures. Since Torah is compared to light in Scripture, and it too is an eternal light, it is obvious that the maintenance of Torah and the spread of its light also require human effort, talent and industry. Even the glorious eternal light that hangs in front of the ark in our synagogue has to have its bulbs changed and cleaned periodically.

The Lord, Who needs no light, demands from us that we provide light in the physical and spiritual sense of the word. The High Priest of Israel was charged with the daily cleaning, preparing and lighting of the eternal light in the Temple. The Lord never provided for automatic lighting but rather for a light that would be generated and cared for by human beings in the daily course of their godly duties.

That remains the case today as well. Though our survival as a people is guaranteed, paradoxically, it cannot happen without our efforts and dogged commitment. We must light our lamp ourselves in order for it to burn brightly and eternally.

Shabat shalom

Rabbi Berel Wein

 

Make Yourself At Home

Parshas Tetzaveh

Posted on February 9, 2011 (5771) By Rabbi Yochanan Zweig | Series: Rabbi Zweig on the Parsha | Level: Beginner

 “…Its sound shall be heard when he enters the Sanctuary before Hashem…” (28:35)

The Torah relates that the Kohein Gadol wore a robe with bells attached to its hem to insure that before he entered the Sanctuary his presence would be announced. The Rashbam cites this verse as the source for the practice of Rabbi Yochanan, which was to knock on the door of his own home before entering [1]. It seems logical to assume that the verse indicates that a person is required to announce himself before entering someone else’s home, not his own. The novelty of Rabbi Yochanan’s actions seems to be that he would knock before entering his own home. How can the Kohein Gadol’s requirement to announce himself before entering the Sanctuary, which is the home for the Shechina, be the source of the requirement for us to announce ourselves before entering our own homes?

The Torah states “Ve’asu li mikdash veshachanti betocham” – “They should build for me a Sanctuary and I will reside in them [2].” In order to be grammatically correct, the verse should have stated “and I will reside in it” What message is being taught by this apparent inconsistency?

Influenced by a secular society, many of us believe that in order to experience Hashem’s presence, we must be in the synagogue. We erroneously assume that entering the synagogue is akin to entering Hashem’s home. Consequently, when we leave the synagogue, we leave Hashem behind.

Rabbi Yochanan is teaching us that although the structure we build is for Hashem’s presence to rest, it is nevertheless still considered our home. The Tabernacle, and on a smaller scale our houses of worship are the communal prototype of what our own homes should be. Hashem’s presence should not be confined to a structure which is deemed His home, for in such a case, we cannot draw an example from it on a personal level, for our own homes. The Tabernacle is to be viewed as the blueprint for the building of our own individual homes. Therefore, we are commanded to build a structure in a manner which will ultimately facilitate not only the Divine presence resting within it but more importantly the Divine presence resting within us.