Climbing Unto Love or Falling into Lust

Parshas Mishpatim

Posted on February 20, 2020 (5780) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

As a child, whenever I arrived at this week’s Parsha, I recall feeling something of a letdown. From the beginning of Bereishis, each Parsha had its own riveting narrative, the various strands culminating with the awesome climax of the giving of the Torah. Immediately after this climatic event, comes Mishpatim, in which the drama seems to fizzle out. The Torah shifts its focus to elucidating the intricate laws of damages, interpersonal relationships and prohibitions that inform day-to-day Jewish life.

 

In the coming weeks, the body of technical material grows to even larger proportions as we are asked to master the detailed instructions governing the construction of the Mishkan, followed by complex laws concerning all the various sacrifices brought therein.

 

It’s difficult for many to move from the compelling narratives of Beraishis and part of Shemos into the Torah’s technical and legalistic dimension, following the Divine revelation. A thought occurred to me this week that might make for a smoother transition into Parshas Mishpatim.

It’s fascinating to read of the extensive preparations that preceded the Divine revelation at Sinai. And yet, the climax of it all, the shattering, emotionally charged moment that the world had anxiously awaited for generations-the giving of the Ten Commandments-was over in a few short minutes. The Divine presence abruptly departed; the people were then allowed to ascend the mountain. What an anti climax! “Is that all?” some people may have wondered, bewildered.

This view, however, obscures what actually took place.

 

Any relationship of enduring value rests primarily on the quality and depth of the commitment. A truly meaningful and genuine bond does not need lengthy, poetic declarations of love to validate it. An encounter with an elderly couple who have weathered many of life storms together aptly illustrates this point. Their sensitivity to one another and mutual understanding and commitment is reflected even in a casual meeting of the eyes.

 

Words and finite expression tend often to dilute. The ultimate relationship is one that is forged by a mutual pledge of commitment that will prevail over any and all of life’s vicissitudes. That can take a brief moment but it establishes a reality that is meant to stand the test of time. An essential prerequisite in the building of such a bond is a spiritual and emotional preparedness nurtured over time.

 

The Jewish people had prepared for this climatic moment for generations. The relationship with Hashem took root with the Avos Hakedoshim. It was tested in Egypt, the crucible of suffering where, as abject slaves, the people’s ego and identity were humbled – the perfect preparation for an eternal union with Hashem.

Finally, the ‘moment’ of marriage at Sinai arrives. It only takes a moment, just as the yichud ceremony constituting the consummation of every marriage takes but a brief few minutes. But now comes the litmus test that determines the true value of the marriage, where we demonstrate our willingness not only to meet our responsibilities to one another, but to discover precisely what the others’ needs are.

 

Enter Parsha Mishpatim. The wedding at Sinai was exciting, but living a ‘real’ married life is far more meaningful. And so, this year when we open the Chumash to Mishpatim, perhaps we will experience instead of a letdown, a twinge of excitement.

 

It sometimes takes a while to detoxify a Hollywood-intoxicated student who thinks after one date that he has met his bashert. “Rabbi,” he tells me, “it was love at first sight; I fell in love.” “No you didn’t, ” I counter, “you fell in lust.”

 

A true relationship is never one that seems to just descend from the clear blue sky. It takes a great amount of work to lay the foundation, The true yardstick of how real the love and devotion are will only be proven over many years, in the crucible of the arduous, demanding responsibilities that follow. When we arrive at Parshas Mishpatim the true journey is about to begin.

 

Wishing you a wonderful Shabbos.

Rabbi Naftali Reich

 

 

Text Copyright © 2013 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.

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

 Old Memories

Parshas Mishpatim

Posted on February 10, 2021 (5781) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

Certain things in life are given, at least for people reared according to Judaic values and ideals. Compassion for the weak and downtrodden. Sympathy for those less fortunate than ourselves. Kindness to the disadvantaged. Hospitality to strangers. Why then does the Torah, in this week’s portion, find it necessary to tell us to be kind to converts? Would it occur to anyone to act otherwise to a newcomer?

 

Furthermore, why does the Torah go on to tell us to be kind to converts because we too were “strangers in the land of Egypt”? Do we really need this rationalization in order to be sensitive to the feelings of a convert? And if we do a reason to be compassionate, will the experiences of our ancestors in Egypt many centuries ago really sensitize us to the feelings of newcomers whom we encounter today?

 

The commentators explain that the Torah certainly does not expect people to be so callous as to offend newcomers to Judaism deliberately. Clearly, these people are going through a very challenging experience, turning away from the old familiar pattern of their lives and setting out on uncharted waters. Many aspects of this experience are undoubtedly very traumatic and disorienting, and we all can be expected to be sympathetic and supportive. The problem lies elsewhere. Do we really know what the convert is feeling? Do we truly relate to the turmoil in his heart? Do we have any firsthand knowledge of the emotional strain, insecurity and loneliness that a newcomer experiences? Obviously not. How then can we be sensitive to them even if we want to?

 

Therefore, the Torah reminds us that we ourselves were once strangers in the land of Egypt, a persecuted minority struggling to survive in a hostile environment. Our very nationhood was forged in an alien setting, and the memory is deeply etched into our national consciousness. We need to connect to that experience in our minds, and in this way, we can revive within ourselves a hint of the experience of being a stranger in an alien land. Only in this way can we sensitize ourselves to the turmoil in the newcomer’s heart. Only in this way can we treat him with true sympathy and friendship.

 

A wise old rabbi was trudging though the snow-clogged streets of a little village. Finally, he came to the house of one of the richest men in the village. He knocked on the door and waited patiently.

 

A servant opened the door and, seeing the old rabbi, immediately invited him in. But the rabbi just shook his head and asked to see the master of the house.

In no time, the rich man came hurrying to the door. “Rabbi, why are you standing outside?” he wanted to know. “It’s so cold out there. Please come in where it is warmer.”

 

“Thank you so much,” said the rabbi, “but I prefer to stay out here. Can we talk for a moment?”

“Why, certainly, certainly,” said the rich man. He shivered and pulled his jacket closer about him.

“Well, you see, it’s like this,” the rabbi began. “There are a number of poor families in this village who don’t have any money – ”

 

“I’m sorry for interrupting, rabbi,” the rich man said. His teeth were chattering. “You know I always contribute to the poor and hungry. Why can’t we talk about this inside? Why do we have to stand out here?”

 

“Because these people need firewood,” the rabbi explained. “I am collecting for firewood for poor families.”

 

“So why can’t we talk inside?” asked the rich man.

“Because I want you to feel what they are feeling,” said the rabbi, “even if only for a few minutes. Imagine how they must be shivering in their drafty little houses with the ice-cold furnaces! The more you give me, the more families will be spared this dreadful cold.”

 

In our own lives, we often relate to others – children, family members, friends, associates – by the standards of our own point of view. We see them through the prism of our own experience. But this does not lend itself to true sympathy and effective communication. Their attitudes and mindsets are colored by the nuances of their own characters and experiences and are therefore vastly different from ours. In order for us to be truly sensitive to them, we must try to put ourselves in their place. Only then will we be able to listen with open ears. Only then will we gain an inkling of what they are going through, of what they really feel inside. Only then can we even begin to provide the sympathy and support they deserve.

 

Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.

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

 

Old Memories

Parshas Mishpatim

Posted on February 10, 2021 (5781) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

Certain things in life are given, at least for people reared according to Judaic values and ideals. Compassion for the weak and downtrodden. Sympathy for those less fortunate than ourselves. Kindness to the disadvantaged. Hospitality to strangers. Why then does the Torah, in this week’s portion, find it necessary to tell us to be kind to converts? Would it occur to anyone to act otherwise to a newcomer?

 

Furthermore, why does the Torah go on to tell us to be kind to converts because we too were “strangers in the land of Egypt”? Do we really need this rationalization in order to be sensitive to the feelings of a convert? And if we do a reason to be compassionate, will the experiences of our ancestors in Egypt many centuries ago really sensitize us to the feelings of newcomers whom we encounter today?

 

The commentators explain that the Torah certainly does not expect people to be so callous as to offend newcomers to Judaism deliberately. Clearly, these people are going through a very challenging experience, turning away from the old familiar pattern of their lives and setting out on uncharted waters. Many aspects of this experience are undoubtedly very traumatic and disorienting, and we all can be expected to be sympathetic and supportive. The problem lies elsewhere. Do we really know what the convert is feeling? Do we truly relate to the turmoil in his heart? Do we have any firsthand knowledge of the emotional strain, insecurity and loneliness that a newcomer experiences? Obviously not. How then can we be sensitive to them even if we want to?

 

Therefore, the Torah reminds us that we ourselves were once strangers in the land of Egypt, a persecuted minority struggling to survive in a hostile environment. Our very nationhood was forged in an alien setting, and the memory is deeply etched into our national consciousness. We need to connect to that experience in our minds, and in this way, we can revive within ourselves a hint of the experience of being a stranger in an alien land. Only in this way can we sensitize ourselves to the turmoil in the newcomer’s heart. Only in this way can we treat him with true sympathy and friendship.

 

A wise old rabbi was trudging though the snow-clogged streets of a little village. Finally, he came to the house of one of the richest men in the village. He knocked on the door and waited patiently.

 

A servant opened the door and, seeing the old rabbi, immediately invited him in. But the rabbi just shook his head and asked to see the master of the house.

In no time, the rich man came hurrying to the door. “Rabbi, why are you standing outside?” he wanted to know. “It’s so cold out there. Please come in where it is warmer.”

 

“Thank you so much,” said the rabbi, “but I prefer to stay out here. Can we talk for a moment?”

“Why, certainly, certainly,” said the rich man. He shivered and pulled his jacket closer about him.

“Well, you see, it’s like this,” the rabbi began. “There are a number of poor families in this village who don’t have any money – ”

 

“I’m sorry for interrupting, rabbi,” the rich man said. His teeth were chattering. “You know I always contribute to the poor and hungry. Why can’t we talk about this inside? Why do we have to stand out here?”

 

“Because these people need firewood,” the rabbi explained. “I am collecting for firewood for poor families.”

 

“So why can’t we talk inside?” asked the rich man.

“Because I want you to feel what they are feeling,” said the rabbi, “even if only for a few minutes. Imagine how they must be shivering in their drafty little houses with the ice-cold furnaces! The more you give me, the more families will be spared this dreadful cold.”

 

In our own lives, we often relate to others – children, family members, friends, associates – by the standards of our own point of view. We see them through the prism of our own experience. But this does not lend itself to true sympathy and effective communication. Their attitudes and mindsets are colored by the nuances of their own characters and experiences and are therefore vastly different from ours. In order for us to be truly sensitive to them, we must try to put ourselves in their place. Only then will we be able to listen with open ears. Only then will we gain an inkling of what they are going through, of what they really feel inside. Only then can we even begin to provide the sympathy and support they deserve.

 

Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.

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

 

 

Delayed Gratitude

Parshas Yisro

Posted on February 4, 2021 (5781) By Mordechai Dixler | Series: Lifeline | Level: Beginner

 

After the great miracles of the Exodus — the splitting of the sea, the falling of the Manna, and the Jewish victory when attacked by the Amalek nation — Yisro (Jethro), Moshe’s father-in-law, was so impressed by this evidence of G-d’s love for His nation that he traveled into the desert to join them, to become one of them.

 

Upon his arrival, Moshe recounted to Yisro all that had transpired. To this Yisro responded, “Blessed is G-d, who saved you from the hand of Egypt and Pharaoh!” The Talmud comments that no one said “Baruch Hashem” (Blessed is G-d) before Yisro.

 

“Baruch Hashem” is essentially an expression of thanks to G-d. Was Yisro really the first to thank G-d? The Torah recounts numerous instances when the Patriarchs and others gave thanks as well. Moshe and Miriam led the Jewish People (separately) in singing praises to G-d after the sea split and the pursuing Egyptians were drowned. What, then, was unique about Yisro’s expression of thanks?

 

Those who preceded Yisro were thankful, but they only expressed their thanks immediately after they were personally favored with G-d’s goodness. The moment of deliverance overwhelmed them with a sense of gratitude, and they recognized G-d as the source of their blessing. Yisro’s special expression of thanks came long after the splitting of the sea, possibly many months later [and in addition, he was not there himself to witness it]. He was the first to give thanks after the excitement of the moment had abated. He showed we should be no less thankful, and express our thanks even for kindnesses of the past. (Based on a weekly Maamar of HaRav Moshe Sternbach)

 

As any self-help book will tell you, gratitude is an essential ingredient of happiness. The challenge is to be thankful even when life appears to be unkind to us. To keep ourselves in good spirits, it is crucial to maintain a feeling of gratitude for previous kindnesses, even many years after they happened — for that feeling will help us pass through what may seem to be darker times.

 

We must also be thankful for G-d’s daily gifts, which are so common that we may not think about them. The simple ability to breathe is a constant gift. Tragically, the Covid virus, one that can severely infect the lungs and impair breathing, has taught all of us not to take steady breathing for granted. So this, too, is a constant reason to give thanks.

 

In reality, we should constantly be giving thanks for the gifts given to us at every moment, but routine would quickly drain this of all meaning. We owe it to G-d and to ourselves, nonetheless, to express our thanks for the commonplace at least periodically, and to recall the gifts of the past as well.

 

Judaism incorporates gratitude into our daily prayers: “Modim,” in particular, is both an essential part of the Amida, the standing prayer, and a beautiful expression of thanks (in translation, its text may be found here). It is important both religiously and psychologically that we teach ourselves not to merely recite, but to deeply feel its words.

 

And we owe our thanks to Yisro for teaching mankind this meaningful lesson!

 

The post Delayed Gratitude appeared first on Project Genesis, Leaders in Online Jewish Learning.

 

Yisro’s Active Ingredient

Parshas Yisro

Posted on January 19, 2022 (5782) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

 

A literal reading of the Parsha tells us that Yitro, who was the high priest of Midian and the father-in-law of Moshe, saw of the events of the Exodus from Egypt and, according to Rashi based on Midrash, saw the battle the Jewish people fought against Amalek.

 

The Torah implies, and Rashi states openly, that upon hearing of these events, Yitro was propelled to leave his home, and to come into the desert to accompany the Jewish people, at least initially, on their travels through the Sinai desert. The Torah does not tell us how he heard about these events, but, apparently, they were of such earth-shattering proportions, that the news spread rapidly throughout the Middle East.

 

From the verses in the song of Moshe and the Jewish people, at the splitting of the waters of Yam Suf, it is obvious that Yitro was not alone in hearing about these wonderous events. The verse says that all the nations of the area were also astounded to hear of these miracles, and to realize that a new nation had been born from the slavery of Egypt. Yet, the reaction of the people in those countries and especially that of Amalek certainly differed greatly from the response of Yitro to the very same news.

 

The nations of the world chose either to oppose the news by attacking the Jewish people, or, mostly, to simply ignore it as not being worthy of their concern. People are so confirmed in their inertia that even when there is an event that obviously is historic and earth-shattering, but which would, at the same time, cause a reassessment of their own lives, attitudes, and policies, they will, in the main, either deny the news, besmirch the miracle, or ignore the matter completely.

 

It is to the credit of Yitro that he chose to act positively upon hearing of the events that occurred to the Jewish people in their exodus from Egypt. Of course, being the father-in-law of Moshe, he also had a personal vested interest in visiting his family, but, nevertheless, it must be recorded to his credit, that he uprooted himself to join the Jewish people in their travels through the desert.

 

One of the great tests in life is how one responds to news that is momentous and unexpected, that makes it necessary to change one’s habits and life direction. Jews often piously – and I do not doubt their sincerity when they say it – put off momentous decisions until the Messiah arrives. But the little I know of human nature teaches me that even when the Messiah arrives, there will be many who will not be willing to change their life pattern, sell everything to join the Jewish people in the land of Israel, with all the accompanying hardships that inevitably will be involved. People hear many things, many times very important things, but this knowledge does not necessarily imply that they are willing to act upon them in a positive and productive manner. Yitro is eternally privileged to have a portion of the Torah on his name because he heard and shortly thereafter, he acted.

 

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Berel Wein

 Complain All You Want

Parshas Yisro

Posted on February 5, 2021 (5781) By Rabbi Label Lam | Series: Dvar Torah | Level: Beginner

 

You shall neither prostrate yourself before them nor worship them, for I, HASHEM, your G-d, am a zealous G-d, Who visits the iniquity of the fathers upon the sons, upon the third and the fourth generation of those who hate Me, and [I] perform loving kindness to thousands [of generations], to those who love Me and to those who keep My commandments. (Shemos 20:5-6)

 

Of those who hate Me: As the Targum [Onkelos paraphrases: when the sons continue to sin following their fathers, i.e.], when they cling to their fathers’ deeds. — Rashi

Perform loving-kindness: that a person does, to pay the reward until the two-thousandth generation. It is thus found that the measure of reward [from G-d] exceeds the measure of [His] retribution by [the ratio of] one to five hundred, for this one is for four generations, and that one is for two thousand [generations] – Rashi
–
Rashi explains that we are being treated to an important mathematical ratio right in the introductory words of the Ten Commandments, HASHEM is visiting iniquity for 3 or 4 generations and rewarding 2000 generations. It seems there is not 2000 generations to speak of. History is not that long. The giving of the Torah was only 26 generation from Adam the first man and we are now 3333 years since that awesome day. Even if a generation is 30 years, then there have been slightly more than 100 till now. Rashi helps by spelling out the ratio of HASHEM’s kindliness to strictness being 500 to 1. What are we to do with this formula? Of what practical import is it to us? Dare I ask?! Here are a few approaches.

 

A few years back I was driving daily to school in Queens from Monsey and back again to Monsey after a long day. One wintry evening I was approaching the toll at the Whitestone Bridge as I had done many times before. We had just passed through a strong winter storm and were still in the middle of a severe cold spell. As I was nearing the toll plaza I watched in horror as if it was unfolding in slow motion before my eyes.

 

On the top of a van traveling in front of me was a huge slab of ice like a giant tomb stone and hard like one too. It came flying off of the roof of the van and it was spinning horizontally in the air. Suddenly with great force it hit my windshield, across the entire windshield with full force.

If I was going 50 MPH and this projectile was flying at my car 30 miles an hour then this was a huge 80 MPH hit. I was temporarily blinded, unable to see out of my front window for 7 or 8 seconds and when the ice dispersed my windshield was a spiderweb of broken glass. I called a mechanic friend who assured me that the glass would not shatter into the car at me because it was made of two layers. That comforted for the ride home. I was still pretty shaken up.

 

The next morning I came to school with my wife’s car and I entered a class where the Rebbe was teaching about the Ten Commandments and he was up to this Rashi that explains the 500 to 1 ratio. He was explaining to them that HASHEM is always 500 times more benevolent. Then something occurred to me and I started to make a calculation: How long I had been working there, how many times I had made that trip back and forth.

 

I asked to speak to the class and I shared with them my harrowing experience heading home the night before. I was thinking and wondering why this terrible episode had happened to me and then it dawned on me that I had made that trip about 500 times with no incident and this may have been my 501st trip that I had taken. Now I felt that rather than complain and groan about what had happened and almost happened to me I needed to celebrate the 500 times nothing happened. THANK YOU HASHEM!

 

I was speaking with someone who had a lot to grumble about and after listening and validating his pain I told him the following based on the Rashi that explains this holy ratio; “Complain as much as you want and deservedly so but first you have to express gratitude about 500 things and then launch one complaint. Find another 500 things to celebrate and complain all you want!

 

Yisro’s Active Ingredient

Parshas Yisro

Posted on January 19, 2022 (5782) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

 

A literal reading of the Parsha tells us that Yitro, who was the high priest of Midian and the father-in-law of Moshe, saw of the events of the Exodus from Egypt and, according to Rashi based on Midrash, saw the battle the Jewish people fought against Amalek.

 

The Torah implies, and Rashi states openly, that upon hearing of these events, Yitro was propelled to leave his home, and to come into the desert to accompany the Jewish people, at least initially, on their travels through the Sinai desert. The Torah does not tell us how he heard about these events, but, apparently, they were of such earth-shattering proportions, that the news spread rapidly throughout the Middle East.

 

From the verses in the song of Moshe and the Jewish people, at the splitting of the waters of Yam Suf, it is obvious that Yitro was not alone in hearing about these wonderous events. The verse says that all the nations of the area were also astounded to hear of these miracles, and to realize that a new nation had been born from the slavery of Egypt. Yet, the reaction of the people in those countries and especially that of Amalek certainly differed greatly from the response of Yitro to the very same news.

 

The nations of the world chose either to oppose the news by attacking the Jewish people, or, mostly, to simply ignore it as not being worthy of their concern. People are so confirmed in their inertia that even when there is an event that obviously is historic and earth-shattering, but which would, at the same time, cause a reassessment of their own lives, attitudes, and policies, they will, in the main, either deny the news, besmirch the miracle, or ignore the matter completely.

 

It is to the credit of Yitro that he chose to act positively upon hearing of the events that occurred to the Jewish people in their exodus from Egypt. Of course, being the father-in-law of Moshe, he also had a personal vested interest in visiting his family, but, nevertheless, it must be recorded to his credit, that he uprooted himself to join the Jewish people in their travels through the desert.

 

One of the great tests in life is how one responds to news that is momentous and unexpected, that makes it necessary to change one’s habits and life direction. Jews often piously – and I do not doubt their sincerity when they say it – put off momentous decisions until the Messiah arrives. But the little I know of human nature teaches me that even when the Messiah arrives, there will be many who will not be willing to change their life pattern, sell everything to join the Jewish people in the land of Israel, with all the accompanying hardships that inevitably will be involved. People hear many things, many times very important things, but this knowledge does not necessarily imply that they are willing to act upon them in a positive and productive manner. Yitro is eternally privileged to have a portion of the Torah on his name because he heard and shortly thereafter, he acted.

 

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Berel Wein

 

 

Miracles Gone Stale

Parshas Beshalach

Posted on January 12, 2022 (5782) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

 

If a person lights even a small candle in a dark room, the resultant light is instantaneously recognizable. Even the flickering of the smallest of candle shines brightly in an enclosed space that is dark. However, if one is to light even a large candle in a room filled with brilliant sunlight or an excess of artificial illumination, the light of that candle is hardly noticeable.

 

One can say the same idea regarding miracles. If one views a world full of ever-present miracles, then one individual miracle, no matter how powerful and supernatural it may be, will, at best, cause only a minor, temporary impression. The very definition of miracles is that these are events that do not often occur and are not predictable or subject to rational, scientific analysis.

 

However, when there is a plethora of miraculous events, miracles themselves, no matter how wondrous they may be, begin to lose their impact and power. A miracle that happens regularly is no longer a miracle at all, but, rather, is part of what people view as being the natural course of events in the world. Miracles that are repeated often eventually become stale and regular and lose their miraculous status.

 

Witness today’s great wonders of nature, of medicine, of technology, and of all other fields that border on the miraculous. When the first rocket with a human inside was launched, it was considered miraculous. Today, it is a weekly event and nothing special for the spectator. The more an experience becomes regular and expected, the less any special quality is attached to it.

When there is a multiplicity of miracles occurring all at the same time, like the candle lit in a room with floodlights, its brightness is hardly noticeable. The individual miracle has lost its power of influence and is already discounted by human beings.

 

All of this is a preface to understanding the Jewish people after they experienced the Ten Plagues that delivered them from Egypt. The splitting of the sea that delivered them from the sword of the Pharaoh and his army was followed by the miraculous sweetening of the bitter waters in Marah and then the heavenly bread that was given to them for their sustenance. In that floodlit world of miracles, the flame of an individual miracle and its influence waned greatly.

 

This helps us understand the behavior of the Jewish people throughout their forty-year sojourn in the desert of Sinai. Everything was so miraculous that nothing was special any longer. What resulted was that the evil instinct of rebellion, arrogance and carnal desires continued to surface over and over throughout the Torah.

In our time, the rejuvenation of the Jewish people, the mass study of Torah, the creation and continued growth of the State of Israel in the land of Israel, are all events that border upon the miraculous and supernatural. Yet they, too, are not treated in that manner, for the recognition of miracles is difficult for human beings to maintain and preserve.

 

For forty years in the desert, the Lord attempted to protect the Jewish people through heavenly intervention, but they did not understand or appreciate what was happening. They only complained. Our Rabbis teach: “One who is experiencing a miracle does not recognize the miracle that is happening at that moment.” And so, it is.

 

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Berel Wein

 

Leap of Faith

Parshas Beshalach

Posted on January 27, 2021 (5781) By Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky | Series: Drasha | Level: Beginner

 

 

A defining moment of Jewish faith takes place on the shores of the Yam Suf, the Reed Sea, as the fleeing, fledgling nation is cornered into a quick and fateful decision. Trapped between raging waters and a raging Egyptian army, the nation had but few choices to make. Some froze in fright. Others wanted to run back to Egypt straight into the hands of their former tormentors. Others just prayed. Still others wanted to wage war against the former taskmasters. But one group, led by Nachshon ben Aminadav forged ahead. Replacing fear with faith, he plunged into the sea. Only then did the sea split and the Jews cross. The Egyptians pursued. The waters returned, and the enemy was left bobbing in a sea of futility, totally vanquished under the turbulent waters. In defining that moment of faith, the Torah tells us,” Israel saw the great hand that Hashem inflicted upon Egypt; and the people revered Hashem, and they had faith in Hashem and in Moses, His servant” (Exodus 14:31). The strange connection between faith in Hashem and Moshe His servant needs clarification. What is the minor role of the servant in relationship to the great role of faith in the Almighty?

 

After hearing a fiery speech about the meaning of faith, a disciple of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter approached him and asked, “Rebbe, are you telling me that if I have perfect faith in Hashem, He will provide me with all my needs?”

 

Rabbi Salanter affirmed. “Yes, my son,” he smiled. “If one has perfect faith in the Almighty, He will provide for him.” The man made a quick reposte. “Good, if that is the case I need no longer work. I will sit and study Torah and rely solely on my faith, and the 20,000 rubles that I’ll need to survive will come to me in full as if it were manna from Heaven!” The man went home and began to study Torah. But after one week when the money did not appear he returned to the Rabbi to complain. “I have the faith you claimed to need, and so far no money has arrived!”

 

Rabbi Yisrael was pensive. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I will offer you 8,000 rubles cash today if you would commit yourself to give me the 20,000 rubles that you are sure will come to you because of your faith.” The man jumped from his chair. “8,000 rubles! Sure! I’ll take it.” Rabbi Yisrael Salanter smiled, “who in his right mind would give up 20,000 rubles for a mere 8,000 rubles? Only someone with does not have perfect faith that he will receive 20,000 rubles! If one is positive that he is about to receive 20,000 rules, and is absolutely confident that it is coming, he would not, in his right mind, give it up for a mere 8,000! Obviously you have more faith in my 8,000 rubles then in Hashem’s 20,000!”

 

The Torah tells us that the nation feared G-d, and it believed in Moshe, His servant. Notice that the first and foremost belief is in the Almighty. That immortal faith is the springboard for faith in all the mortal messengers, who are only vehicles of His command.

 

Normally, more or less, man believes in man much faster then he believes in G-d. On a hot tip, people throw thousands at the market. Ominous predictions of economic forecasters send us into panic. On a doctor’s dire prognosis, we react with despair. We forget that the source of faith is in the Almighty. Only then can we believe in his messengers.

 

Rabbi Yeruchom Levovitz, z”l, the Mashgiach of the Mirrer Yeshiva explains that the Jews at the sea reached the highest level of faith. Their following of Moshe was not in any sense due to his charisma or prior leadership. It was due to a total subjugation to a faith in an immortal Hashem. Only then did they follow the lead of a Moshe. That is the faith of those who take the leap. It is a faith they would not trade or deal for any offer in the world.

 

Dedicated by Michael & Rikki Charnowitz in memory of Ephraim Spinner Liluy Nishmas Ephraim Yitzchok ben R’ Avraham — 17 Shevat