Gentle Reminders

Parshas Shlach

Posted on May 31, 2010 (5770) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner The universal image of the devout Jew is a praying figure wrapped in a tallis, but it is not the tallis that is significant. Rather, it is the long fringes on each of its four corners. At the conclusion of this week’s Torah portion, we read that these fringes were to be dyed a particular shade of blue called techeiles. What was the significance of this particular shade of blue?

The Talmud explains: “Because techeiles is reminiscent of the sea, and the sea is reminiscent of the sky, and the sky is reminiscent of the Kiseh Hakavod, Hashem’s celestial throne.” Wearing techeileth, therefore, draws the mind to thoughts of Hashem and is a source of constant inspiration.

The questions immediately arise: Why do we need any memory devices at all to remind us of Hashem? Why doesn’t the Torah simply command us to think of Hashem continuously?

Furthermore, why does the Torah choose techeiles which reminds us of Hashem in such a roundabout way? Why doesn’t the Torah simply choose a color directly associated with Him?

The commentators point out that our natural tendency of people is to connect what we see with whatever is dear to our hearts. Thus, a businessman spotting a piece of paper on the ground will think of the problems of waste disposal, the new technologies, the investment opportunities in companies active in this field. A policeman spotting the same piece of paper will think of the littering laws, zero tolerance policies, litterbug fines. An environmentalist will think of the tree that was cut down to produce this piece of paper which was so casually discarded. The businessman, the policeman, the environmentalist may all have been walking along absorbed in totally unrelated thoughts. But that little deviation from the ordinary, the simple piece of paper lying on the ground, pulls each one out of his reverie and sets him off in his own individual direction along the route that is dear to his heart.

In this light, the commentators explain the rationale behind techeiles. The Torah does not make unrealistic demands of us. The Torah realizes full well that no matter how spiritual we want to be, no matter how much we would like think of Hashem, we still live in the mundane world. We have to earn a living and pay the mortgage and take care of the children, and we cannot realistically expect to keep our minds focused on Hashem at all times.

If, however, we truly yearn to be connected with Him, if we harbor a strong love for Him deep in our hearts, then a few gentle reminders here and there will bring Him squarely back into our thoughts. Therefore, the Torah does not simply command us to think of Hashem at all times. It is too much to expect of us amid the sea of distractions in which we live. Instead, the Torah tells us to keep a symbol with us at all times, a symbol which will remind us of Hashem with just a brief glance.

To accomplish this purpose most effectively, the Torah does not choose a symbol directly associated with Hashem. Rather, the Torah chooses a fairly simple symbol which can insinuate itself easily into the mad rush of daily life, a shade of blue that reminds us of the sea. But once the chain of thought is set in motion, our natural tendencies take over. That flash of blue sets us to thinking, and if there is a true love for Hashem deep in our hearts, our thoughts will naturally turn to Him. If the heart is set in a good direction, the mind is sure to follow. But the converse is also true.

A great sage was visiting an art gallery, and he saw a large redfaced man protesting vigorously in front of a colorful abstract painting.

“How can you display such lewd art?” the angry man yelled.

Intrigued, the sage drew closer and looked at the painting.

“My good fellow,” he said. “This is a wonderful painting. It is a warm representation of a mother soothing a distraught child. The lewd images you see on the canvas are a reflection of the lewd images that occupy your own mind.”

In our own lives, we are all caught up in the dynamics of our daily existence, continuously distracted by financial, familial, social, emotional and all sorts of other concerns that make up the fabric of our lives. Under these circumstances, it is very easy to forget about Hashem. But if He has a permanent place in our hearts, if deep down we recognize and acknowledge that life has no meaning without a strong relationship with Him, then we will inevitably find myriad symbols everywhere that will nudge us gently back on track and bring Him back into our thoughts.

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

 

 

Challah: The Breadwinner

Parshas Shlach

Posted on June 19, 2008 (5768) By Rabbi Osher Chaim Levene | Series: The Living Law | Level: Beginner

The Mitzva:

When kneading a sizeable dough of the five main types of grain (wheat, barley, rye, spelt and oats), a portion of challah was first separated as tithes to the Kohen before the bread was eaten (Bamidbar 15:19-21). (Today, the separation of challah is performed but burnt).

The fruit from the field can be eaten immediately. The production of bread, however, necessitates an elaborate series of activities including threshing, winnowing, grinding, kneading, and baking. Still, a portion of dough is first set aside to G-d before man partakes of it.

Bread is the mainstay of man’s diet. Bread, that is not the foodstuff of animals, magnificently embodies the uniqueness of humanity. In fact, there are some remarkable parallels illustrating the affinity between “bread” and “man”.

Only man has to work as a “breadwinner” with backbreaking labor. Actually, this toil was as a direct consequence of man misusing his bechira, “free will” and the repercussions of Adam’s sin, eating of the Tree of Knowledge, which according to one opinion was of wheat (Berachos 40a). Adam feared “shall I and my donkey eat out of the same trough?” (Pesachim 118a) but his fears were allayed when G-d declared to him “with the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread” (Bereishis 3:19).

The sophisticated manufacture of bread, despite its elongated process, affirms man’s superior intelligence.

When his actions are holy and directed to G-d, he is rightly crowned the “king” over the other creatures of this world. However, were he to sin, he plummets from his position and loses this title. Adam was rightly concerned lest he degenerate to the lowly level of an animal, to indulge in animalistic behavior.

In his formation on the Sixth Day of Creation, Adam’s body was “kneaded [like a dough] from the [earth of the] ground” (Sanhedrin 38b) into which G-d implanted a divine “soul” to elevate and uplift him from a purely materialistic existence. In-other-words, Adam’s curious description of the “challah of the world” (Bereishis Rabbah 14:1) points at his exalted status that rests upon his ability to sanctify himself and the world around him just as the portion of challah is sanctified to G-d before partaking of the rest of the bread.

It is true that this task “with the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread” would require wrestling the stubborn earth to elicit the latent holiness within. But do this he must – until he can declare G-d in the universe as evident within the blessing on bread produced by man, proclaiming G-d with the words: “hamotzei lechem min ha’aretz, the One who brings forth bread from the ground” (Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim, 167:2).

It is appropriate how, like man as king over the creatures, bread is similarly elevated above everything else.

Bread is itself a symbol of kingship. When Boaz gave Ruth “bread” (Ruth 2:14) he symbolized how she was deserving of siring kings (Shabbos 113b). It is not coincidental that King David, descendant of Ruth, came from “Beis Lechem” (Bethlehem) that literally translates as “House of Bread”. The most prominent and “king” of all foods, bread has a separate blessing of its own. It is the basis of the meal (breaking bread) which is typically eaten first and afterwards there is the biblical obligation to recite “birchas hamazon, blessing after the Meal”.

This, then, provides an additional dimension of the symbolism of challah. Lest man forget how he is the “challah” and “king” over the lower world, his diet is distinctive to that of the other beasts.

His goal is to always be the “breadwinner”: to grapple with the “ground” and to bring forth its “bread” and spend his energies to ensure the sanctification of G-d in the world.