Friends

Parshas Shemini

Posted on March 30, 2005 (5765) By Rabbi Pinchas Avruch | Series: Kol HaKollel | Level: Beginner

 “The sons of Aaron, Nadav and Avihu, each took his fire pan, they put fire in them and placed incense upon it; and they brought before G-d an alien fire that He had not commanded them. A fire came forth from before G-d and consumed them, and they died before G-d.” (Vayikra/Leviticus 10:1-2) At this moment of great intimacy between G-d and the Jewish Nation, they were, Rashbam (1) explains, motivated to bring the daily incense that Moshe had not yet told anyone to bring. They were unaware that Moshe was waiting for a Heavenly Fire to descend and consume the incense, to have an even greater sanctification of the Divine Name. How could two so righteous individuals have made such a tragic miscalculation?

The Medrash Yalkut Shimoni (#524) expounds that “each took his fire pan” indicates that each took his on his own without consulting one another. Each thought they were fulfilling G-d’s will with this bold step. As people of great spiritual measure – as Moshe consoled his brother, “Of this did G-d speak, saying ‘I will be sanctified by those nearest to me…'” (v.3) – they must have given the act great forethought. How would consultation have altered the result? After great contemplation they both came to the same conclusion that it was a great act of piety to bring this alien fire. Would not that conclusion have been further solidified had they consulted with one another?

Rabbi Alter Henach Leibowitz (2) explains that the give and take of conversation is not merely an opportunity to confirm previously determined rationales. Rather, the reduction of thoughts and emotions to clear, concise expressions and the verbalization of one’s reasoning and justification compels one to delve deeper into the issue until he discovers the core truth.

Indeed, Pirkei Avos (Ethics of the Fathers, 6:6) states that one of the forty-eight essential qualities for acquisition of Torah is “friends attentive to detail”. Generally, this is thought of as referring to friends who will correct errors. But from our situation, concludes Rabbi Leibowitz, we comprehend another facet. When one has a friend with whom he can share and discuss his thoughts, the friend’s attention to detail will oblige the speaker to clarify the issues and arrive at the truth.

Have a Good Shabbos!

Inner Peace

Parshas Shemini

Posted on April 11, 2018 (5778) By Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky | Series: Drasha | Level: Beginner

At the most importune time in the history of a fledgling nation, tragedy strikes. On the eighth day of the inaugural ceremonies for the Mishkan, in a terribly marring scenario, the Torah tells us that “the sons of Aaron, Nadav and Avihu, each took his fire pan, they put fire in them and placed incense upon it; and they brought before Hashem an alien fire that He had not commanded them to bring.” Immediately, “a fire came forth from before Hashem and consumed them, and they died before Hashem” (Leviticus 10:1-2).

In the next verse, Moshe consoled his brother with words that may not have appeased lesser mortals, “of this did Hashem speak, saying ‘I will be sanctified through those who are nearest Me, thus I will be honored before the entire people.” Ahron understood the true meaning, implications, and essence of the message; and the Torah tells us “vayidon Ahron,” “and Ahron was silent.” The Torah uses words more powerful than Ahron was quieted. It tells us he was. The Hebrew word dohme has the same association as dohmaim, an inanimate object. That is how Ahron is described after hearing Moshe’s words: totally subdued and content. Rashi tells us that in the merit of Ahron’s subjugation and total subservience to Hashem’s decree, he merited to hear a Kohanic law, alone, directly from the Almighty, a route that normally precluded him or at best had him included as secondary to Moshe. The law bestowed on Ahron concerned the prohibition of kohanim in drinking intoxicating beverages before serving in the sanctuary. The Torah tells us, “Do not drink intoxicating wine, you and your sons with you, when you come to the Tent of Meeting, that you not die — this is an eternal decree for your generations” (Leviticus 10:9).Torah principles usually correlate the reward with the act that merited it. What, then, is the connection between Ahron’s silence in response to tragedy and his being the sole student of the Heavenly ordinance against Divine service under the influence? Why did the meritorious acceptance of the Almighty decree prompt a private transmission of the laws against priestly intoxication?

Bill, and his friend were having too much to drink, when they collapsed in a stupor. Bill managed to fall on dry ground, while his friend had collapsed in the mud.

When Bill awoke and saw his friend he thought that he, too, suffered the same filthy fate. Leaving his friend asleep in the grime, he stumbled toward town, looking for a bucket of water to wash himself. In the dark of night he found a bucket, brimming with liquid and sitting in front of the local hardware store.

Bill thought it was filled with water. It was not. It was filled with whitewash.

Intending to wash himself with it, he poured the contents over his body, and scrubbed thoroughly. Satisfied, Bill drifted toward a grocery for something more to drink.

Upon seeing the awful spectacle, the proprietor gasped, “Why, Bill, what in Heaven’s name is the matter?”

To which Bill proudly proclaimed, “You should have seen me before I washed myself!”

In order to understand the correlation between the prohibition of drunken service and Ahron’s stoic acceptance of Hashem’s decree, one must appreciate that a Kohen would, in his mind, drink to elevate his spirit, albeit artificially, and thus his service. As one who accepts Hashem’s decree, with no cry or outside manipulation, Ahron HaKohen showed that he understood that there is no artificial source for lifting spirits or understanding G-d. Peace and strength come from within the soul and spirit of those who service Him. When one is content with his perfect relation with Hashem, when he realizes that though he may have fallen he has the innate capacity to rebound, he needs no stimuli.

Acceptance of a decree with no complaints is a recognition that the spirit, form, and embodiment, of a mortal being is completely subservient to the force of Hashem, content with his total situation with no need for outside dispensation, compensation, declarations, or mollifications. He is one with his Creator and His will.

When one looks for outside stimulants, even in the service of Hashem, he looks for more than is necessary to fulfill his mission. He is bathing himself in what he thinks is cleanser, but it is not. It will unnecessarily alter the perfect facilities that Hashem gave him, and that is no benefit, it is rather even harmful. When entering the perfect service of Hashem, one must be perfect with one’s self. Those who can accept Hashem’s decrees in perfect harmony and live with whatever Hashem has bestowed upon them need no stimulants. Outside intoxicants don’t clean the mind; they add confusion. And those who live in holy partnership of their pure selves and the joy of the Almighty, are worthy of carrying the banner of understanding, silence, solitude, and perfect unadulterated serenity.

Good Shabbos ©2000 Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky

A Mirror of His Parent

Parshas Tzav

Posted on June 7, 2002 (5778) By Rabbi Dovid Green | Series: Dvar Torah | Level: Beginner

The following Dvar Torah was paraphrased from a book entitled “Reachings” by Rabbi Yaakov Haber, Director of Jewish Education of the Orthodox Union. “Reachings” will be available shortly from the Project Genesis bookstore: http://books.torah.org/.

There is an interesting midrash concerning this week’s parsha. Moshe, in writing down the Torah at G-d’s dictation, noticed something strange. Nowhere in the Book of Leviticus in the description of priestly functions up to now is his brother Aharon referred to directly. Repeatedly the instructions referred to “the children of Aharon.” Why is this?

According to the midrash, Moshe pleads to G-d on behalf of his brother in the following way; “L-rd, is it possible that you hate the well, but love the water that flows from it?” [Meaning; "How can You hate Aharon by refusing to refer to him, but still love his sons?”] G-d, according to the midrash does not say: “you’re being hypersensitive. I’m not annoyed at Aharon!” In fact, He responds: “very well, because of your plea, I shall relent.” In the very next verse which begins the parsha it says: “G-d spoke to Moshe saying, command Aharon and his sons thus…” (Levit. 6:1). G-d’s annoyance is over!

This is a strange midrash! What is the reason for G-d’s annoyance? We know Aharon was a righteous person. If it was the Sin of the Golden Calf, we know that Aharon had already repented for that. Further, G-d Himself had subsequently appointed him High Priest. Why should He so that with one He was annoyed with?

The explanation, I think, is as follows. There is repentance, and there is repentance. One may repent for a sin according to all the rules, and there could still be something missing. That is that the cause of the sin is still intact in his personality and has not been changed. Maimonides explains that the final step in repentance is to effect a change in one’s self that would make him like another person, and not the one who had previously sinned. It means that he has refined himself to such an extent that such behavior is beyond him now.

Perhaps Moshe understood G-d’s displeasure with Aharon in the following way. Aharon had indeed gone through all the technicalities of repentance for the Sin of the Golden Calf, and was therefore qualified to be High Priest. Perhaps Aharon had not yet completed this final step, and that was responsible for G-d’s continued ire.

How do Aharon’s sons compared to the water from the well come into this? Maimonides makes a fascinating comment regarding child-rearing. He says that a child is much more perceptive than we would give him credit for. A child can intuitively understand what his parent’s want from them. Even if the parent should say “I want such and such from you,” a child will realize if this is not in accordance with the parent’s deepest wishes, and act according to his intuitions.

Moshe was saying, in effect: “see how wonderful Aharon’s sons are! It must be due to their carrying out the desires of Aharon’s deepest nature. That proves that Aharon has carried out the final step of repentance.

Even though G-d knew of Aharon’s worthiness, He was not willing to consent to fully accept Aharon. There was still one detail left; Moshe’s prayer on Aharon’s behalf. Prayer is the bottom line for any endeavor to succeed. Even after everything had been accomplished humanly, there was still the need to pray to G-d on Aharon’s behalf.

Moshe’s unselfish behavior is an example for us all. He was more concerned for his brother Aharon than even the status he himself was standing to lose. Let’s take his example to heart, and may we merit the blessing of “one who prays on another’s behalf, and he needs the same thing, is answered first.”

Good Shabbos!

 

A Man from Among Us

Parshas Vayikra

Posted on March 31, 2017 (5777) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

It was certainly much easier to expiate a transgression two thousand years ago than it is today. In ancient times, the transgressor would bring a sacrificial offering to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. He would confess his sins, repent and offer up the sacrifice as a symbol of his desire to rededicate himself to his Creator. The sanctity of the place and the sublime spirituality of the process would cleanse his soul and purify his spirit, and he would go home spiritually rejuvenated.

The Torah, while describing the process of the sacrificial service at great length and in exhaustive detail, introduces the topic with a curious statement. “When a man (adam) from among you brings a sacrifice . . .” The Torah usually refers to a man with the Hebrew word ish, yet here the Torah chooses the unusual word adam, which brings to mind Adam, the first man. What is the point of being reminded of Adam when we bring a sacrifice to atone for a sin?

Furthermore, why does the Torah speak of a man “from among you” that brings a sacrifice? What is added by this seemingly superfluous phrase? Isn’t every man “from among you”?

The commentators explain that the purpose of a sacrifice is not only to express contrition for the sin but also to repair the damage that sin caused in the world. A person does not live in a vacuum, an island unto himself. Every sinful act creates a void of the Creator’s presence in the spiritual ecosystem, causing the retraction, so to speak, of the Divine Presence and the proliferation of negative energy. A sinful act causes the spiritual level of the world to fall, just as a mitzvah causes it to rise. Therefore, a person committing a sin affects not only himself but also his surroundings, his family, his friends, his community and to a certain extent the entire world.

Adam was the first man in the world, and in his mind, his decision to eat the forbidden fruit was a private decision. He thought it affected no one but him. But he was wrong. His one sinful act had tremendous ramifications for all future generations. It introduced death to the human experience.

This is the lesson we learn from Adam. There are no private decisions. Every act we commit has far-reaching implications for the spiritual condition of our environment. This is what a person should have in mind when he brings a sacrifice to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. He must realize that, like Adam, he mistakenly considered his sinful act victimless, affecting only himself. But he was really “from among you.” His sinful act affected others as well, and it is the purpose of the sacrifice to repair the damage he has wrought.

A young man booked passage on a pleasure cruise ship. He took a cabin on the lowest deck, because those were the least expensive. After a few days, he locked himself in his room and ordered his meals delivered to his door.

The waiter who brought the meal noticed that the passageway was damp, and as he approached the young man’s door, he saw water pulsing out from under his door. He bent down to smell it, and to his horror, he discovered that it was seawater. In a panic, he banged on the young man’s door, but there was no response.

He ran to get the captain, and in a few minutes, the captain arrived with two crew members carrying axes. They broke down the door and found the young man drilling holes in the side of the ship.

“What are you doing?” screamed the captain. “Do you want to kill all of us? Do you want to sink this ship?”

“What are you talking about?” the young man retorted. “This is my private cabin. I paid for it, and I have the right to do anything I want in it.”

In our own lives, we are all living in cabins on the great cruise ship of life. We may sometimes think we are independent individuals, answering only to ourselves. But as the popular saying goes, we are indeed all connected. The things we say or do, a harsh word, a thoughtless act, a spiritual transgression can harm the people around us. On the other hand, a warm smile, an act of kindness, a word of encouragement can touch, move and inspire. Our acts may cause a ripple effect whose extent cannot be measured. And even if we manage to keep certain behaviors in total isolation, they still leave a mark in the spiritual world. We may think we are “Adam,” but let us always remember that we are really “from among us.”

Text Copyright © 2008 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.

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

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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A House of Hearts

Parshas Pekudei

Posted on March 2, 2011 (5771) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level:

Beginner

If we were to count up all the verses in the Torah that describe the construction of the Mishkan in minute detail, beginning with Parashas Terumah and culminating with this week’s Torah portion, the number would reach into the hundreds. Why does the Torah pay such extraordinary attention to the construction of a building that existed only in Biblical times and was eventually replaced by the Temple, which was of totally different dimensions? What message does this painstaking description convey to us today?

In order to find the answers we must go back to last week’s parashah. As their contribution to the construction of the Mishkan, the Nesiim, the tribal princes, offered to wait until the end and provide everything that still remained to be done, a most magnanimous gesture. But was this indeed a good offer?

Let us try to find a parallel in a contemporary setting. A philanthropist comes to a major charitable organization or institute of Torah study and offers to cover the annual deficit for the next ten years. No matter what the shortfall, he will foot the bill. What would the reaction be? Wild celebration! Ecstasy! The philanthropist would be hoisted onto the shoulders of the administrators and fund-raisers, and they would dance through the streets. A grand dinner would be arranged in his honor, and he would be presented with a beautiful plaque.

This was also the offer of the Nesiim, and it would seem that it, too, should have been greeted with appreciation and gratitude. But it was not. The Torah castigates them subtly by omitting a letter from their name (35:27). Our Sages point out that, although their intentions were noble, they should not have postponed their contribution until the very end. But the question remains: Where exactly did they err? What was wrong with offering to guarantee that there would be no deficit?

The commentators explain that the Nesiim’s error was in bringing a businesslike attitude to the construction of the Mishkan. From a very practical point of view, their offer was excellent. But Hashem did not ask for contributions to the Mishkan because he needed help making ends meet on the construction project. He wanted the people to contribute their love, their passionate devotion, their enthusiasm, their excitement. He wanted the Mishkan to be constructed of the outpourings of Jewish hearts. The gold and silver of the donations were simply the conduits by which these sentiments were infused into the structure of the Mishkan. The Nesiim, however, took a cool, pragmatic attitude, and for this lack of passion and irrepressible fervor, the Torah takes them to task.

In this light, we can understand why the Torah meticulously enumerates each minute detail of the construction. Each little nugget of gold, each little piece of embroidery represented another piece of a Jewish heart aflame with devotion to our Creator, and as such, it is infinitely and eternally precious.

A very wealthy man once came to the director of a large charitable institution. “Rabbi,” he said, “my father just passed away, and in his memory, I would like to cover your entire budget for the coming year.”

The rabbi looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. “I will accept a nice donation from you, but I cannot accept this offer.”

“But how can you refuse?” asked the wealthy man, completely taken aback. “Don’t you have a responsibility to the poor families who depend on you?”

“Let me explain. Every year, our fund-raisers travel to distant towns and villages, collecting small contributions from hundreds, even thousands of Jewish people. Hashem could undoubtedly provide for our needs more easily, but He surely wants all these good people to share in the mitzvah of giving charity. So you see, I have a responsibility to these people, and I cannot deprive them of this mitzvah.”

In our own lives, we are often inspired to get involved with important causes, but we might sometimes feel that what we can contribute, either in time, talent or resources, is simply inadequate. How will the big picture be affected, we ask ourselves, by the few dollars or hours we can contribute? It seems to us like a drop in the ocean. Unfortunately, such feelings may prevent us from participating to the full extent of our capabilities. Let us remember the lesson of the Mishkan – that Hashem does not seek our help, only our hearts. It is not how much we do that is important, but how we do it. If we contribute with love, caring and compassion, then even the smallest contribution assumes tremendous proportions.

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

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

 

Accountability

Parshas Vayakhel Pekudei

Posted on March 15, 2012 (5772) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

The book of Shemot concludes with a key message for Jews – accountability. The Torah records for us how the Mishkan was actually built and then it records for us a detailed accounting of how the donations for its building were actually spent and accounted for. The Torah holds Bezalel and Ahaliav accountable for their talents and industry. Their actual efforts and final accomplishments are compared to the original plans for the Mishkan as detailed to us in parshiyot Trumah and Tetzaveh.

The praise for the architects, supervisors and builders of the Mishkan is that they did not deviate from the original plans and fulfilled their tasks completely and enthusiastically – with a full heart and great commitment. They fulfilled their obligation of accountability to G-d and man.

There can be no greater accomplishment for a human being than fulfilling that obligation of accountability. It disciplines our minds and our behavior and creates a responsible and secure society. Much of the Jewish world today says openly or subliminally: “Don’t count on me.” People do not want to commit themselves to marriage, to ideals, to the Torah or the Jewish people. They do not want to engage with the test of accountability so they avoid the issue completely.

The Jewish future cannot be built on people who do not wish to be held accountable for the use of their lives, their talents and their material blessings. That is really the most important message that these parshiyot impart to us. And make no mistake about it, Judaism holds all human beings accountable in an exact fashion.

The Torah also holds Moshe accountable for the materials that were collected in order to construct the Mishkan. Every item that was donated has to be accounted for. The story is told about a bookkeeper for a certain company that was unable to balance the books of the company. He was off by five dollars. So he simply left a five dollar bill in the ledger and went home. That type of accounting is not acceptable when it comes to dealing with public funds.

Moshe feels compelled to account for every piece of silver donated to the construction of the Mishkan. And when he finds the books don’t balance, he is terror stricken until he remembers that the missing amount of silver was used to manufacture the hooks that held the curtains of the Mishkan upright and taut. Only then is he relieved and his leadership role is again justified and secure.

A leader, more than the average person or simple citizen, is held to the highest possible standard of fiscal and moral accountability. The Bible records for us how the kings of Judah and Israel were continually reminded and often chastised by the prophets of their times for failing this test of responsible accountability. The Torah states the matter succinctly: “And you shall be found innocent and blameless before God and Israel.”

The Torah demands accountability and is loath to accept excuses. A generation that does not feel itself accountable to the Jewish past and to the Jewish future fails miserably in its role as being the conduit of Jewish life and holiness.

Shabat shalom,

Rabbi Berel Wein

 

Home Is Where the Soul Is

Parshas Vayakhel

Posted on February 26, 2008 (5768) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

The great drama of the birth of the Jewish people unfolds in the hallowed pages of the Torah in five acts, corresponding to the five books of the Pentateuch. The Book of Exodus, the last portion of which we will be reading this week, begins with the enslavement of the Jewish people. It tells of their suffering, their heartbreak, their anguished outcries that tore the heavens asunder. As we read on, Moses, the messenger of Hashem, humbles and humiliates the Egyptians with miracles and plagues. Then, in the spectacular climax of the book, we see the Jewish people emerge from slavery to a rendezvous with destiny at Mount Sinai, where they receive the Torah directly from Hashem, forming a bond to last forever.

And then we come to the conclusion. What do the last chapters tell us about? What exhilarating finale appears on the last pages of Exodus? Surprisingly, it is a minutely detailed architectural description of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle that served as the earthly Abode for the Divine Presence until the construction of the Holy Temple. How do these chapters serve as the conclusion to the Exodus story?

Let us reflect for a moment. What is the essence of the Exodus story? It is the spiritual adventure of the Jewish people, rising from the nadir of existence, from abject bondage in an alien land and to the glorious heights of exalted nationhood in their own homeland. But what constitutes a homeland? Is it simply the place where we work, eat and sleep, the place where we own a little piece of the soil? It must be something more. Millions of soldiers have perished in wars to protect their homelands. Why were their homelands more precious to them than life itself?

The answers go to the essence of our very identity. We are more than flesh and bones, more than hearts and minds. We are aggregates of our beliefs, our values, our attitudes, all the cultural habits engendered and nurtured by our environment. We are a reflection of the land and the culture in which we live, and our culture is, in turn, a reflection of us. Our environment thus becomes an extension of ourselves, the fountainhead of our identity, and without it we are lost and incomplete. It makes sense, therefore, that people feel so deeply threatened by an attack on their homeland that they are prepared lay down their lives to defend it.

When the Jewish people left Egypt for a homeland of their own, they were not simply exchanging one terrain for another. They were leaving behind a corrupt society steeped in idolatry, magic and superstition and preparing to build a sanctified society predicated on a special relationship with the Master of the Universe. This was the overriding feature of the new Jewish society, the value that would make the Holy Land a true home for the Jewish people.

Therefore, the construction of the Mishkan, giving the Divine Presence a permanent Abode among the Jewish people, was the ultimate realization of a Jewish homeland. In this sense, even when they were in the Desert for forty years, moving from encampment to encampment, they were always at home, because the Mishkan was in their midst. The finale of the Exodus story is indeed the entry of the Jewish people into their new homeland, but that entry occurred well before they crossed the Jordan River. As soon as they built the Mishkan, as described in this week’s Torah portion, the Jewish people were finally at home.

A mother took her young son on a trip around the world. Together, they traveled by airplane, ship, train, bus, automobile and even camelback. They climbed the highest mountains, sailed the bluest seas, explored most remote corners of the earth.

After a year, they returned, exhausted but happy, to the warm embrace of their family.

“Come here, young man,” said the youthful traveler’s grandmother.

“Tell me, where were you this past year?”

“Don’t you know, grandmother?” asked the boy. “I was with my mother all the time!”

In our own lives, we almost invariably focus on the appearance of our homes, because we see them as extensions and expressions of ourselves. And rightfully so. But our homes reflect not only our tastes in architecture, furniture and art. Our values, our ideals, our level of spirituality are all more integral to the nature of our homes than anything else. They truly make our homes shine with a spiritual light that can enrich our families and all those who enjoy our hospitality.

Text Copyright © 2008 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.

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

Shabbos Will Cure This Ill!

Parshas Vayakhel Pekudei

Posted on March 8, 2013 (5773) By Rabbi Label Lam | Series: Dvar Torah | Level: Beginner

 

Moshe called the whole community of the Children of Israel to assemble, and he said to them: “These are the things that HASHEM commanded to make: Six days work may be done, but on the seventh day you shall have sanctity, a day of complete rest to HASHEM; whoever performs work on it [this day] shall be put to death. You shall not kindle fire in any of your dwelling places on the Sabbath day.” (Shemos 35:1-3)

You shall not kindle fire: Some of our Rabbis say that [the prohibition of] kindling was singled out for a [mere] negative commandment, while others say that it was singled out to separate [all types of labor]. -[from Shab. 70a] The prohibition against kindling a fire is employed here as an example so that we can learn from it all the other forbidden activities of Shabbos. Using the written Torah as a self-referential dictionary we can infer the definition of Malachah-“work”here in these few verses. We dare not come to the wrong conclusion that this is the only thing not permitted to do on Shabbos. Still we can ask why fire is singled out as the exemplar “work” not allowed on the Holy Shabbos!

I once heard that besides the Hallachic – implications against light a fire there is a hint here that one should not become angry on Shabbos! That would be equivalent to lighting a fire, metaphorically speaking. There is an equation of values as told to us by our sages. Keeping the Shabbos is equal to keeping the entire Torah. Violating Shabbos is like worshipping idols. Anyone who becomes angry is considered to have worshipped an idol. We can detect some strong comparison between anger and violating Shabbos! How does it work?

I find myself in school constantly counseling little kids and big kids too on the solitary notion of “taking personal responsibility”. The conversations are hauntingly similar if not exactly the same. “Why are you here in my office? Were you in fight? What did you do? Did you hit him?” The answer always begins with something like the words, “Well he called me a name… he looked at me… he pushed me first…” I always redirect the telling of the story. “I asked you what you did!” Then the persistent response again is, “but he….” It sometimes takes dozens of tries before we are able to calmly zero in on what the perpetrator himself did. “So he made you hit him? Is that what you are telling me? Who speaks out of your mouth? Who moves your hands?” After a moment of confusion, “I do!” “Aha! So how can he make you hit him? You gave yourself permission to hit him or you decided to let yourself become angry by what he said!” It’s not so easy for we adults either!

One boy told me today he hit a kid because he pushed him. I agreed that his pushing is not nice and I understand how you might feel that way but pushing someone does not have to produce an angry response. I told him I can prove it. I know a fellow who got a giant shove from a total stranger and he did not get even a little angry. Just the opposite, he thanked him.

My friend, Chaim was making a coffee in the back of a 7-11 in Nanuet New York when this fellow came over and really gave him a shove. My friend, a bulky and somewhat macho guy went flying. Moments later a car crashed through the window of the store and embedded there where Chaim had been standing. The fellow saw the car coming and not having time to explain reacted heroically. That push saved his life. It’s not the push! It’s the meaning or the interpretation of the push!

Working six days may just delude us into thinking that we’re doing; we’re making this old world spin. Then comes Shabbos! The hammer is parked. We are able to behold in the quietude of Shabbos the awe in things large and small. One who gets angry makes himself the boss of reality. His interpretation of what people mean by what they say and do rules supreme. Others violate his rules! So by reframing Shabbos will cure this ill.

DvarTorah, Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Label Lam and Torah.org.