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A Drink of Wine • Torah.org
What is the greatest blessing to which a person can aspire in this world? For Jewish people, at least, the answer seems
to be peace. How do people in Israel greet
and take leave
of each other? Shalom, the Hebrew word for peace. What is the traditional Jewish greeting? Shalom aleichem, let there be peace unto you. Peace, always peace. Jewish people know full well that without peace
there is nothing.
The roots of this awareness go back thousands of years. In this week’s
Torah portion, we read about the priestly
blessing, whose climactic words are, “Let Him establish peace
for you.” Peace is the ultimate blessing.
But let us take a closer look at these words.
What is the significance of Hashem’s “establishing peace for you”?
Would it not have been
simpler to say,
“Let Him give
you peace”?
Perhaps
we can find
the answer in the topic
that immediately precedes the presentation of the
priestly blessing – the laws of the Nazir. At certain times,
when a man feels himself drawn by worldly temptations, the Torah allows
him to make
a Nazirite vow whereby he accepts upon himself an abstemious life
style for a specified period
of time. He may not drink wine or cut his hair, and he must
maintain himself on a high
level of ritual
purity.
When the term of the vow expires, these restrictions are removed, and then, the Torah says, “the Nazir shall
drink wine.”
“The Nazir shall
drink wine.” It almost seems
as if the Torah is instructing him to drink
wine, not just
permitting it. But why? Furthermore, the Torah tells
us that at the end of the Nazirite period he is required
to bring certain
sacrifices, one of which is a sin offering. What was
his sin? Our
Sages explain that
his sin was his voluntary abstention from wine.
What is so important about drinking wine?
The answer touches
on one of the most
fundamental tenets of Judaism. The Torah does not want us to withdraw from the physical world and pursue a monastic life. On the contrary, the
Torah insists that
we find a harmonious balance between our spiritual and physical sides.
The Torah does not want us to shun the gorgeous
world Hashem created but rather
to enjoy it in a civilized manner,
to integrate our physical
pleasure into our spiritual connection to our Creator. That is the ideal mode
of living. The Nazir felt himself out of balance,
drawn to worldly
temptations to an inappropriate degree. Therefore, the Torah
allows him to go temporarily to the opposite
extreme in order
to regain his balance. Once that period
is over, once
he recaptures his inner harmony,
he “should drink wine.”
This is the essence of peace. True
peace is not achieved by hiding from
the disruptive forces of life but
by finding an inner harmony
which integrates physical needs and spiritual aspirations. This sort of peace
is not just the absence
of conflict but the positive
presence of harmony, a state that
Hashem helps us “establish” so that we can truly
benefit from all His
other blessings. As our Sages
tell us, “Hashem
found no vessel
capable of containing and preserving blessings other than peace.”
A teacher
and his principal were discussing a young troublemaker who consistently disrupted
the class.
“I would
like to have
him removed from
my class,” said the teacher.
“Maybe then we could
have some peace.”
“Indeed?” said the principal. “Do you think
removing him will bring you peace?”
“Of course, it will,” said the teacher.
The principal shook his head.
“I’m afraid you are wrong.
Removing this troublemaker from your class will
bring you silence. Making him a functioning, contributing member of the
class would bring you peace.”
In our own lives, we all crave
that moment of peace. We dream of the time
when our lives will become peaceful and happy. But more often
than not, our
concept of peace
is the removal
of irritating factors.
The obnoxious co-worker will hopefully find
a different job.
The troublesome teenager will
mercifully grow up and get married. And so on. But that
is not true peace.
It is escape. Why hitch
our happiness to the shallow
satisfactions of an illusive
escape
that may never
come? But if we learn
to live in harmony with
the people and
the circumstances in the here and now, we will surely find happiness in
the profound satisfactions of inner
peace.
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A Powerful Lesson in True Humilty
The Kohen shall
bring her near
and have her
stand before HASHEM.
The Kohen shall
take sacred water in an earthenware vessel, and the Kohen shall
take from the (APHAR) dust
that is on the floor of the Tabernacle and put it in the water… (Bamidbar 5:16-17)
The
Midrash is puzzled
why APHAR- dust
is invited as part of the Sotah
solution. The answer that is given is that in the merit
of Avraham Avinu
when he was
praying on behalf
of Sodom he referred to himself as “APHAR v AIFER – DUST and ASHES”!
OK but how
is that an answer? What’s
the connection between
his declaration and
the requirement of this
unfaithful woman to be offered
to drink water
with dust from the floor of the Temple?
Obviously
Avraham Avinu was adopting a posture of extreme humility
when praying to HASHEM and interceding on behalf of Sodom. How else can one approach
The Creator of the
Universe?! It’s an exercise in ultimate humility, a finite creature standing before an Infinite Being! This portrait of Avraham’s self-effacement and absolute nullification remains etched for
all time as the definitive portrait of humility.
I am afraid though
that we may have a wrong impression of what true
humility is if we view this scene too quickly
and superficially. I saw a phrase that
might illuminate the topic,
“Humility is not thinking
less of your-self. It’s thinking less about your-self.” Is that not the
exact description of what Avraham
Avinu was doing here?
This aligns with
the famous statement from the Kotzker
Rebbe. A person should
have two pieces
of paper. One
is each of two pockets. On one piece
of paper the
words from the Mishne in Sanheidrin should be inscribed, “A person has an obligation to say, ‘The
whole world was created for me!’”
On the other
piece of paper
the words of Avraham Avinu
should be written,
“I am dust and ashes!”
The trick is to know
when to take
out which piece
of paper!
Avraham Avinu
was hoping to change the mind of The Almighty! He did not consider him- self completely unworthy. How
else can one
have the temerity to countermand G-d!?
It seems he understood very well the
import of his
position in the world. Obviously Avraham, in all his humility, was not thinking too little about
him-self!
It’s very clear that Avraham was not thinking about him-self. Just the opposite! All that he is depicted doing
is for the sake of the people
of Sodom. He was not asking for anything for him-self.
When he was called upon
to deliver his
beloved son Yitzchok as a Korbon
he did not whisper a word
of protest. For the people
of Sodom, Avraham
Avinu carried on as a defense
attorney before a strict judge
to protect a community he knew was guilty of many crimes.
Avraham thought
enough of him-self, to have the courage to face off with HASHEM,
and at the same time he though not about him-self
at all, but only about
the welfare of others.
That’s the real portrait of humility.
Now let us apply
this same standard to the other
side of the
equation, the Sotah.
The woman who allowed her-self to be lured by the seductive sirens of
temptation and indulgence was either not considering or was underestimating the import and impact of her
actions, which are serious
and severe. She
obviously thought too little of herself.
At the same time
she was thinking
only about herself! She engaged in an act
of ultimate selfishness! Rather her behavior betrays
qualities that demonstrate just the opposite
of true humility. Perhaps that’s
why, now she is forced
to digest APHAR-
dust, as a strong reminder of and a powerful lesson in
true humility.
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It’s All in the Delivery
On the Shabbos
immediately after Shavuos
we are treated
to the longest
Torah reading of the year – the one hundred and
seventy-six verses of Naso. Interestingly enough, the longest
tractate of the Talmud (Bava
Basra) has one
hundred and seventy-six pages, and the longest chapter
of the Psalms
(119) has one
hundred and seventy-six verses.
The massive tractate
is famous for the range
and complexity of its subject
matter, and the long psalm explores the full gamut of a Jew’s relationship with his Creator. But what constitutes the bulk
of this week’s
protracted Torah portion?
It is an elaborate description of the offering
brought by each of the twelve tribal
princes at the dedication
ceremony of the Mishkan. All the offerings were identical, yet the Torah describes
each offering in the same precise, meticulous, apparently repetitive detail
– twelve times!
How utterly amazing!
Surely, it would
have sufficed to describe the offering once
and point out that
this selfsame offering was brought by each and every tribal
prince. What’s more,
each letter in the Torah
is so carefully measured that
even a single seemingly superfluous one is considered a clear sign
of a hidden message. Surely,
therefore, there must be some transcendent message in this
cascade of seemingly superfluous letters!
Furthermore, we find that
Midrash compares the
offerings of the tribal princes
to the songs of joy sung by the Jewish people at the parting of the Sea of Reeds. What exactly is the parallel between the two?
The commentators explain
that the offerings of the tribal
princes were only
identical to each other in their external appearance. But the
essential element of each man’s
gift was not in
the physical composition of the offering but in the emotions, sentiments and expressions of devotion it represented. In this respect, all the offerings were as different from each other
as the men were
different from each
other, and each offering was the particular expression of each individual’s state
of mind and heart.
But the question remains: If each
man’s offering carried
a different message,
why didn’t they bring different offerings?
This is the very crux
of the Torah’s
message in this
week’s portion. It is not necessary to find
varieties of external forms
to satisfy the varieties of internal expressions. The Torah identifies the perfect physical
form, and through
it, a limitless variety of expression can be
channeled. At the splitting of the sea,
six hundred thousand
people sang the exact same song. Undoubtedly, each individual had his own nuances and
personal angles on that song, yet the exact same song could
serve as the conduit for the exultant
expressions of six hundred thousand different hearts
bursting with joy.
The offerings of the tribal
princes also followed this
pattern. The Torah
identified the perfect
physical form of the offering, and each man’s
innermost thoughts and feelings were
able to find
expression through it.
How critical is this concept to our understanding of Judaism? Clearly, it is extremely critical if the Torah
saw fit to repeat the
offerings of the
tribal princes twelve
times to hammer
home this message.
In our own lives, we are confronted by this paradox
all the time.
The prayers are exactly
formulated, the times and modes of mitzvah performance are strictly delineated by Halachah.
Tinkering, modifying and improvising are sometimes tempting options for
frustrated people, but they are strictly forbidden. Where then is the room
for individual expression and creativity, for the development of a personal
relationship with the Creator?
It is there between the lines. We must learn from the example of the Jewish people who witnessed the splitting of the sea and the
tribal princes who brought their
offerings for the dedication of the Mishkan.
They were able
to take the divinely ordained formulae and find with them endless potential for personal nuance
and creativity. Similarly, when the Torah
or the Sages
present us with
the ideal forms
of observance, we can give
free rein to our
creativity by focusing on the inner
feelings of connection they are designed to engender rather
than on the external physical
forms themselves. Rich motherlodes of spirituality await us there. They need only
to be mined.
