A Bridge to Nowhere
Parshas
Matos
Moshe had been the
consummate conciliator for the past 40 years. From the sin of the Golden Calf
when he appeased Hashem through the many ordeals throughout the 40-year desert
sojourn, he is constantly an advocate for the wishes of his nation. This week,
however, Moshe he reacts totally different to what appears to be a simple
requisition.
The children of Gad and
Reuvain come to Moshe with a simple request. They are shepherds and do not want
to cross the Jordan River into the Land of Canaan. They claim that the land on
the east bank of the river is better for grazing. Before they even get a chance
to fully present their request, Moshe releases a virtual tirade at them. For
eleven verses, more than any single rebuke in the entire Torah, Moshe chastises
them. He says that their request is subversive and will dissuade others from
crossing the Jordan. He relives the fateful episode of the spies and their
slander of the Land of Israel. He recounts the wrath of Hashem and details the
suffering of Israel because of that sin. He compares the representatives who
requested to remain to those terrible men, and claims that Gad and Reuvain
“have risen in their place to add more burning wrath of Hashem against Israel”
(Numbers: 32:6-16)
It is extremely
difficult to comprehend why Moshe, normally so conciliatory, patient, and
understanding, even during the most difficult of times, became so sharply
incensed at this request. Obviously, Moshe’s actions are a lesson to all of us.
What is it?
David was driving to
the Catskills for Shabbos but set out from his Manhattan office with hardly
enough time to make the trip and arrive before sundown. Traffic was backed up
on the Major Deegan and crossing the Hudson via the George Washington Bridge
seemed an almost impossible task. Mid-span, after sitting nearly an hour in
stop-and-go traffic, he realized that the red orb in the sky was about to sink
below the horizon. He had never desecrated the Shabbos before and traffic on
the George Washington Bridge was not going to make him violate the Sabbath now.
In a panic, he pulled his car as close as he could to the guard rail, left the
keys on the visor, removed his wallet and hid it together his personal effects
and hoped for the best. At worst, the car would be stolen. Maybe the police
would get to it first and tow it.
Feeling a little guilty
about adding to the traffic delays on the bridge, David left his car, flashers
blinking, and walked back toward New York City where he decided to spend the
Shabbos at a friend who lived in nearby Washington Heights.
Saturday night he
returned to the bridge and his car was nowhere to be seen. He went straight to
the police station and asked for the desk officer. “Did anyone see the gray
Honda that was on the George Washington Bridge on Friday night?”
The officers eyes
widened. “You mean the car with the keys on the visor?”
David nodded.
“Franky, get over
here,” the cop yelled to his friend,” listened to this!” By now a couple of
officers moved closer to David.
The sergeant raised his
voice. “You mean the Honda with the flashers on?” Again David nodded, this time
more nervously. You mean the Honda with the wallet with close to $500 dollars
left under the front seat!” he shouted. “Was that your car!?” David
shook his head meekly. “Yes, officer, that’s my car. Where is it?”
“Where is it??”
mocked the officer, “Where is it? Do you know how many divers we have
looking for your body in the Hudson!?”
Moshe understood that the worst of all sins is not what one
does privately in his heart or in his home but rather when his actions affect
the spirit of others. Often, one’s self-interest mires any thought of how his
conduct will affect others. The children of Gad and Reuvain had a personal
issue. They did not want to cross the Jordan River because they wanted to graze
in greener pastures. Yet they did not consider what effect their request might
have on an entire nation. They did not take into account the severe
ramifications their actions may have on the morale of hundreds of thousands of
enthusiastic people wanting to enter the Holy Land.
In our lives, at home and at work, not everything that we do,
say or act upon may be interpreted with the intent that motivated the action.
And sometimes those misinterpretation can have devastating effects on morale,
attitude and feeling. We may refuse to cross a river for a matter of
convenience. Others, however, may see it as a calamity. Our job is to be
conscious that everything we do affects not only ourselves, but is a bridge to
many other people.
Dedicated in memory of Henry Hirsch by
the Hirsch and Friedman Families
Good Shabbos!
Personal Tragedies
Two men commit
identical crimes. Both are convicted and sentenced. One remains in confinement
for twenty-five years, while the other goes free after six months. How is this
possible?
In this week’s Torah
portion, we read that a person who commits accidental homicide is exiled for
the rest of his life to one of the designated cities of refuge. However, when
the High Priest dies all the accidental killers in exile at the time go free –
regardless of whether they had been there for six months or twenty-five years.
As a result, two men can commit identical acts of accidental homicide and serve
widely different sentences. Where is the fairness in this system? And why
indeed should the death of the High Priest result in amnesty for all exiled
killers?
Furthermore, the Talmud
tells us that the High Priest’s mother, fearful that the exiled killers would
pray for her son’s untimely death, used to visit them in their places of exile
and bring them food and other small gifts. But why would an old woman bringing
cookies and chocolate dissuade a cooped-up killer from praying for the death of
the High Priest and his early release from exile?
The commentators
explain that the sentence of exile is not intended as a punishment but as the
beginning of the process of rehabilitation. Accidental homicides which result
in exile are due to a significant degree of negligence, of thoughtlessness and
insensitivity. Had the accidental killer genuinely appreciated the sanctity of
human life, he would have been extremely careful while swinging that hammer,
and the accidental death would most probably never have been occurred. It is
this cavalier attitude that the exile is intended to correct.
In these cities of
refuge, populated for the most part by Levites, the exiled killer came into
contact with people who lived not for themselves but for their Creator and
their people, devoting themselves to study and prayer and to teaching,
inspiring and helping others. In this environment, he learned to be sensitive
and unselfish, to think about other before he thought about himself. In this
environment, he also gained profound admiration and attachment to the High
Priest, the peacemaker of the Jewish people, the loving father figure who tended
to their spiritual needs and ailments, the ultimate Levite role model. He began
to feel a personal connection to the High Priest, whether or not they had
actually ever met, and learning from his example, he began to develop those
positive character traits he had been missing before.
Therefore, when the
High Priest died, the exiled killers who had become so attached to him were
devastated. Each of them, in his own way, felt he had suffered a deep personal
tragedy. This catharsis sealed forever the bond between the erstwhile killers
and the saintly High Priest, thereby completing the process of their expiation.
After mourning the death of the High Priest, the exiles were fully
rehabilitated.
The High Priest’s
mother, however, was concerned that the exiled killers would not relate to her
son in a direct personal way but rather as an abstract symbol in distant
Jerusalem, and therefore, they might pray for his death. Therefore, she brought
them food and small gifts. Let them meet the High Priest’s mother and enjoy her
cookies and chocolates. Let them see him as real flesh-and-blood human being.
Let them relate to him as a living, breathing father. It was important for
their own rehabilitation, and at the same time, it would protect her son from
malicious prayers.
A great sage once
came to a town and was told by the townspeople to avoid a certain reputed
informer.
Sure enough, the man
approached the sage and began to question him. The sage, however, did not beat
a hasty retreat. Instead, he asked the man his name, inquired about his welfare
and his family and drew him into a long conversation.
In the course of the
sage’s stay in the town, he was visited often by the informer, and each time,
he was received warmly. By the time the sage left, the man had made a complete
turnaround in his life.
“How did you
accomplish it?” someone asked the sage as he was leaving. “What did you tell
him that changed him so completely?”
“Why, nothing,” said
the sage. “Because I treated him as a person, he related to me as person. And
why would he want to hurt another person?”
In our own lives, we sometimes hurt and offend others with
meaning to, and we excuse ourselves by saying it was all unintentional. But in
the Torah system of values, lack of intention does not exonerate us, only lack
of control does. If these hurts and offenses could have been avoided, we must
bear responsibility for them. If, however, we learn from the example of the
High Priest and from the exemplary people we meet in the course of our lives,
we can refine our own characters and ultimately enrich ourselves and the people
around us..
Text Copyright © 2007
by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.
Rabbi Reich is on the
faculty of the Ohr Somayach Tanebaum Education Center.
Keeping Your Word
Parshas
Matos
Posted on July 22, 2011 (5771) By Rabbi
Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein
| Level: Beginner
This week’s parsha
concentrates upon the great commitment of the spoken word. In English Common
Law and in most legal systems in the world, agreements that are not committed
to writing and then signed by the parties are of little enforceable value.
Though the parsha
concentrates on the legalism of vows and oaths in Jewish law and life, the
general message that it conveys is a clear one – the spoken word binds a person
to what is said and declared. This is part of the general pattern of the Torah
to rigidly enforce the value of truth and to warn humans of the dangers of
duplicity and falsehood in personal relationships. The ultimate punishment of a
con man is that he eventually cons himself.
Today’s financial
markets are strewn with the wreckage of such falsehoods and cons. Ironically,
most of them originate without criminal intent involved. But once involved with
falsehoods, the trap closes on individuals and it becomes well nigh impossible
to extract one’s self from the clutches of this self-made web of falsehood.
My word is my bond was
the slogan of honest people in all commercial enterprises. There are many
fields of economic endeavor where this motto yet has legal effect and the
spoken word is itself a binding commitment to buy or sell or to establish a
price for an item.
Jewish rabbinic
responsa over the ages is replete with instances of enforceable oral
commitments. It is not for naught that the rabbis warned us that wise men
should be careful as to what they say. Saying is signing – it is committing and
it is binding.
There are two
tractates of the Mishna and Talmud – both of considerable size and complexity –
that deal with this issue of the legal and spiritual ramifications of the spoken
word. Nedarim – the tractate that deals with vows (there is no perfect
translation of this Hebrew term in English) – appears in seder Nashim – the
order of the Mishna and the Talmud that deals with marriage, divorce and
domestic relations.
This placement comes to emphasize to us the necessary
commitment and honesty that is the basis of the relationship of marriage and
family. The vows and commitments that a husband and wife make to each other are
deemed sacrosanct in Jewish life and law. Only by realizing the seriousness of
vows can one train one’s self in honest speech and true emotional commitment in
family life.
The tractate of
Shavuot – dealing with oaths that are taken (again there is no exact nuanced
translation of this Hebrew word in English) – is found in the order of Nezikin
(torts, courts and commercial issues) in the Mishna and Talmud. Honesty and
probity in the world of finance and commerce is dependent upon keeping one’s
word. Breaking one’s word damages everyone involved.
Many a person has been
ruined by the inability to withstand the temptation of breaking one’s word for
a seemingly short-term financial gain. Since this temptation is omnipresent and
very persuasive, the Torah goes to great lengths to emphasize the importance of
keeping one’s word under all circumstances. It reconfirms to us the maxim that
“Life and death themselves are dependent upon the spoken word.”
Shabat shalom,
Rabbi Berel Wein
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