Details Make the Difference

Parshas Acharei Mos Kedoshim

Posted on April 22, 2021 (5781) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

 

The Torah reading for this week is a double portion, which together contains the largest number of commandments that appears in any one section of the holy Torah. One question which has challenged Judaism throughout the ages is why do we need so many commandments to fulfill our obligation to be good, kind, and faithful? Is it not sufficient that we understand the general principles as outlined in the Ten Commandments, which permeate all Jewish life and scholarship?

 

Since we are aware of the goal – namely that of being a good, honest, and compassionate human being – shouldn’t that realization suffice and not require all of the particular details that make up the bulk of this week’s Torah reading. Even though we understand, as any lawyer will tell you, that the devil is in the details, at first glance and even with a superficial understanding, it seems completely superfluous to have these many instructions hurled upon us, to achieve the goal that we are all aware of.

 

By the way, this has always been the contention of some factions in Jewish life through history – that the details of the commandments were not really that important, but as a Jew, it was crucial to be a good person at heart. This was the contention of the ancient Sadducees in second Temple times and continues to be the philosophy of all those groups that deviated from Jewish tradition and observance of the Torah Commandments throughout the ages. It remains, even today, the banner of the non-Orthodox groups that loudly proclaim and justify their essential non-Jewish Jewishness. To them, the details are unnecessary, burdensome and of little value. Just be a good person, they proclaim, and that alone is the essence of Judaism.

 

But human history teaches us differently. As has been famously articulated: the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and good intentions often lead to tyranny over others, and even to murder and genocide. Without the details, how are good intentions to be fulfilled. We cannot rely upon human judgment to guarantee that those good intentions will ever be realized.

 

The worst dictators and murders of the past few centuries such as Napoleon, the Kaiser, and even Hitler and Stalin always proclaimed that they had good intentions for their country, and, in fact, for all of mankind. They maintained that to achieve those good intentions they were entitled to use force and coercion against millions of others, to actualize their good objectives.

 

In our current world society, good intentions alone, without the restraint of the commandments and details, led to the murder of millions of unborn but living fetuses, concentration camps, gulags, the cancel culture, and the tyranny of the majority over the minority, no matter how slight the margin of majority in terms of numbers and popularity.

Good intentions without the restraint of details and commandments are, in fact, a danger, and not a boon to human society. Through the Torah commandments, Judaism offers instructions as how to become a good person and maintain a moral life. It teaches us that oftentimes it is the minority, not the majority, that is correct.

 

Even though the goal of being a good and holy person should never be forgotten – for otherwise the observance of the details would be of little value, as is noted by Ramban, that one can be a wicked person while believing oneself to be within the purview of the Torah. It is the balance between the great ultimate goals and the details of how to achieve that which makes Judaism unique, vibrant, and eternal. This balancing act is the secret of the survival of Judaism and the Jewish people throughout the ages.

 

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Berel Wein

 A Matter of Opinion

Parshas Acharei Mos

Posted on May 5, 2017 (5777) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

The two festivals of Pesach and Shavuos come in such rapid succession they almost seem like one extended celebration. Indeed, some commentators compare the intervening days between Pesach and Shavuos, when we count down to the Omer, to Chol Hamoed, the Intermediate Days of the Festivals. By rights, this should be one long period of uninterrupted festivity – but it is not.

 

The days of Sefiras Haomer, the Countdown to the Omer, are also days of mourning and sadness. We mourn a catastrophe that befell the Jewish people in Talmudic times, shortly after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. The Talmud (Yevamos 62) tells us that a plague broke out among the disciples of Rabbi Akiva during the period between Pesach and Shavuos, killing twenty-four thousand of them.

 

This was indeed a terrible tragedy, but an annual memorial is nevertheless somewhat puzzling. Unfortunately, Jewish history is a long succession of terrible tragedies that blankets the entire calendar, and if we were to observe annual mourning for them all, we would never cease to mourn. Our Sages, therefore, selected only the most disastrous calamities for annual commemoration. Why then does this plague rank among the most disastrous calamities ever to befall the Jewish people?

 

Furthermore, let us consider the cause of the plague. According to the Talmud, it happened because “they did not have sufficient respect for one another.” Two problems immediately come to mind.

 

First, why would an infringement on the respect of their fellow disciples precipitate such dire consequences?

 

Second, why indeed did they fail to respect each other sufficiently? Rabbi Akiva was one of the foremost proponents of ve’ahavta lereiacha kamocha, loving one’s fellow as oneself; he considered it one of the fundamental concepts of the Torah. Surely then, he would have stressed this idea to his disciples, impressing on them the importance of treating other people with absolute respect. After hearing such words from the holy lips of Rabbi Akiva, how could twenty-four thousand of his disciples even consider being disrespectful to one another?

 

The commentators explain that Rabbi Akiva’s disciples were certainly people of sterling character who would never have dreamed of uttering a single rude word to another person. Rather, their “disrespect” manifested itself in the intellectual sense.

 

The Talmud tells us that just as no two people are exactly identical in their appearance, they are also not identical in their outlook and opinions. Every person has his own particular way of looking at things, and no one else in the world has exactly the same perspective. When Rabbi Akiva taught his disciples, each one absorbed the teachings according to the nuances of his particular perspective. This was, of course, as was to be expected. But how did they view the opinions of their colleagues?

 

This is where the “disrespect” came into play. They could not acknowledge the possibility that other people’s perspectives might also have validity. Each one considered his own opinion the absolute truth and the opinions of his colleagues as erroneous. This attitude reflected a lack of objectivity and intellectual honesty. They were so enamored of their own wisdom that they could not see the wisdom of others and respect their opinions. The transmission of the truth of the Torah to future generations, however, required intellectual purity and integrity, and these disciples were found lacking in that respect. Therefore, in order to prevent the chain of transmission from being compromised, these disciples perished in a plague.

 

And we mourn. We mourn the loss of twenty-four thousand great Torah scholars. But even more, we mourn the riches of Torah knowledge and insight we could have gained from an additional twenty four thousand conduits of Torah, with all the textures and nuances of their varied perspectives – if only they had been worthy. How these disciples could have made the Torah blossom before our eyes – if only they had been able to achieve perfect objectivity. But they did not, and our loss is irreplaceable.

 

In our own lives, we sometimes become so wrapped up in our own point of view that we fail to acknowledge the possibility that an opposing point of view may also have validity. There is an element of egotism and conceit behind such an attitude. We love ourselves, and therefore we must be right. But if we find it in ourselves to love our fellow as we do ourselves, we will suddenly see the world with a new and profound clarity. Things that bothered us will no longer do so. Things we did not appreciate will take on new value and importance. And more likely than not, we will discover we have gained much wisdom and peace of mind.

 

Text Copyright © 2011 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.

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

 

 

Changing the World

Parshas Acharei Mos

Posted on May 2, 2019 (5779) By Rabbi Label Lam | Series: Dvar Torah | Level: Beginner

 

And no man shall be in the Tent of Meeting when he comes to effect atonement in the Holy, until he comes out. And he shall effect atonement for himself, for his household, and for all the congregation of Israel. (Vayikra 16:17)

 

I am struck by the list of recipients of atonement and the order. Why is it not just “all the congregation of Israel”? That would include the Kohain Gadol and his family. Why must he be atoned for first and his household before affecting atonement for the nation?

 

I have a dangerous habit. I like to read bumper stickers. Sometimes the print is awfully small and in order to read it one has to get close enough, at a traffic light of course. Some are humorous. I saw one that read, “Maybe the Hokey Pokey is really what’s it’s all about!”

 

Somehow I doubt it! Some I find aggravating and absurd. On two sides of the same bumper, one reads, “Pro-Choice” and the other says, “Imagine World Peace”. Hard to visualize both in one picture! Every once in a while I see one that I absolutely agree with. It may even be stating a Torah true principle. Try for example this one, “Think Global! Act Local!” I love it!

 

There are many people with noble intentions, and we know what which road is paved with good intentions, who are actively trying to change the world. There are generally two approaches. Only one has the desired affect while the other tends to do more harm than good.

 

One type is very busy thinking local about them-selves while acting global. They are actually actively trying to change themselves through the world. Absurdly, some imagine that if they improve the world then they will somehow – magically become that much better. If one cannot change himself then how can he hope to change the world?

 

They tend to project their shortcomings and foibles on the world. Then they try to fix those far away problems. It does solve their own personal issues, as their eyes are on the end of the earth. The results of their efforts, as idealistic as they may be, are predictably meager because their real intention is to enrich or improve themselves through a world they cannot help. It’s like someone who is not happy with the way they look so they begin to paint the mirror. While the mirror gets smeared they remain unchanged.

 

The other approach is what the Talmud calls, “the longer way which is a short way”. Thinking global while acting local means – “being the change that you wish to see in the world”. In one place the Talmud expresses it like this, “Fix up yourself first and then others!” In Pirke Avos Hillel famously stated, “If I am not for me who will be for me, and if I am only for me then what am I, and if not now then when!?” If I do not develop myself first then who else can do that for me. If I remain unimproved, then I am trapped in true and deep identity crisis. The point of my fixing my-self is to become a resource to help others who want to develop themselves and help others. If the goal of my-self improvement is just for me, then it is not an identity crisis any more but a humanity crisis, “what am I?!” The reason I work on me is because the world, the people around me, need a better and more resourceful version of me!

 

Reb Yisrael Salanter, the father of the Mussar Movement, declared that when he was young he wanted to change the world. Then he realized there was enough work to do in his community. Later he realized that he needed to cure himself. He ended up changing the world.