The Heart Before the Force

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Posted on March 4, 2020 (5780) By Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky | Series: Drasha | Level: Beginner

It takes a lot to build a Sanctuary in the desert. And it takes perhaps, even more to adorn the Kohanim (priests) who serve, in beautiful vestments that both symbolize deep spirituality while depicting splendor and glory. You need more than golden threads and fine tapestry.

You need more than the ability to weave and design ornate garments. You need devotion, and you need heart. Not ordinary heart. Not the heart that pennant winners have or athletic

coaches call for. You need a special type of heart. You need a heart filled with wisdom — Divine wisdom. That is why Hashem commands Moshe to gather “all the wise-hearted people whom I have invested with a spirit of wisdom” to make the priestly garments (Exodus 28:1).

 

But the Torah is unclear. Were these select people Divinely ordained with a spirit of wisdom for this particular mission, or were intrinsic “wise-hearted” people imbued with an extra “spirit of wisdom”?

 

If the former is correct, then what did Hashem add? And if all their wisdom was divinely- gifted, then why didn’t Hashem simply ask Moshe to “gather all the people in whom I have invested a spirit of wisdom”?

 

Rav Sholom Shwadron, the Magid of Jerusalem, of blessed memory, once told a story about the famed Dubno Magid, Rabbi Yaakov Kranz.

 

The Dubno Magid once spoke in a town and a few maskilim (members of the enlightenment movement) attended. After the talk one of the cynics, who was totally unaffected by the warm and inspiring message, approached the famed Magid. “The sages tell us,” began the skeptic, “‘that words from the heart, penetrate the heart.’ Rabbi,” he snickered, “I assume that you spoke from your heart. Your words, however, have had no impact on me whatsoever! How can that be? Why didn’t your words penetrate my heart?”

 

Rabbi Kranz smiled. In his usual fashion, he began with a parable. “A simpleton once went by the workplace of a blacksmith, who was holding a large bellows. After a few squeezes, the flames of the smith’s fire danced with a rage. The man, who always found it difficult to start a fire in his own fireplace, marveled at the contraption.

He immediately went and purchased the amazing invention. Entering his home, he smugly announced, “I just discovered how to make a raging fire with the simple squeeze of a lever!”

 

He set a few logs in the cold fireplace and began to push the two ends of the bellows together. Nothing happened. The logs lay cold and lifeless. Embarrassed, the man returned to the blacksmith and explained his predicament. “I want a refund!” he shouted. This blower doesn’t work!”

 

“You yokel,” laughed the experienced blacksmith. “You were blowing on cold logs! You must start a small fire on your own! If you don’t start with a spark, a fire will never erupt!”

 

The Magid turned toward the maskil and sadly shook his head sadly. “If there is no spark, the    largest bellows will not make a fire.”

 

In telling Moshe whom to choose for the sacred task of designing the Mishkan, the Torah tells us how G-d invests. He wants people that were imbued with a ruach chachmah – a sprirt of wisdom. But he prefaces the statement by telling us how one receives spiritual wisdom.

The gift of spiritual wisdom does not go to just anyone. Hashem looks for those who have wisdom of heart. Those who understand what it means to be kind, compassionate, and loyal. Those who have the devotion to His will and the desire for more enlightenment get His ordination. The people who were imbued with Hashem’s Divine spirit previously had a spark. And from that spark grew a force – a Divine force – that propelled wise hearts into a Divine spirit of wisdom.

 

Hashem tells us that we must begin the process on our own. If we supply the heart, He will supply the power to have deep, spiritual, even holy insight. He will supply the force. We must make sure, however, that we put the heart before the force.

 

Asking the Impossible

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Posted on February 26, 2020 (5780) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

What is the point of asking someone to do the impossible? What is to be gained by having a person make the attempt and fail? In bringing up our children, we are always careful to demand of them only what they can realistically accomplish. Otherwise, we would be setting them up for failure. Yet in this week’s parashah, we find that Hashem does exactly the opposite.

 

“And you shall make a menorah of pure gold, hammered,” Hashem told Moses, “the menorah will be made.” The Midrash observes that at first Moses was commanded “to make a

menorah,” but much as he tried, he was unable to produce it according to the Torah’s specifications. Finally, Hashem told him to throw the gold into the fire and “the menorah will be made” by itself – miraculously.

 

We can safely assume that Moses, the greatest man who ever lived, made the most valiant attempt to fulfill the commandment of making a menorah, that he exerted himself to the full extent of his considerable talents and abilities. And yet he failed. Surely, then, it was not humanly possible to create such a menorah by any means short of a miracle. If so, why did Hashem command Moses to produce a menorah when He knew failure was guaranteed? Why didn’t Hashem produce the menorah miraculously right from the beginning?

 

A similar question arises earlier in the parashah, where we find an interesting paradox. The Torah commands that the Holy Ark be carried by long wooden rods inserted through golden rings in its sides, and that these rods never be removed; other Tabernacle furnishings were also carried by similar means, but there is no prohibition against removing the rods. Why was it so important that the rods of the Holy Ark never be removed? After all, our Sages tell us that the Holy Ark traveled under its own power and actually carried its bearers with it. The act of carrying was only an illusion. In real terms, however, the bearers of the Holy Ark contributed nothing to its transportation, and yet, here in particular, special emphasis is placed on keeping the rods of the bearers in place. Why is this so?

The commentators explain that a profound lesson is being taught here. Every person in the world is obligated to accomplish as much good as he possibly can. He is obligated to provide for his family, help those less fortunate than himself, support institutions of Torah and charity. This is called hishtadlus. Although a person knows that in the final analysis Hashem controls the world and everything that happens in it, he should not say, “Why should I bother when it is all up to Hashem anyway?” Hashem wants all people to exert themselves to the full extent of their abilities, as if it were all up to them. Then – and only then – does Hashem reward their efforts.

 

True, the Holy Ark carried itself, and it is for this very reason that the rods must never be removed. Don’t delude yourself, says the Torah, into thinking you don’t need to lift up the rods because it won’t make a difference anyway. The omnipresent rods are there to remind you that you are always obligated to do your utmost – no matter what.

 

For this same reason, Hashem commanded Moses to make the menorah, even though He knew it was impossible. Again, we are being taught the same lesson. A person is required to try to the best of his ability, regardless of whether he can assume that his efforts will be crowned with success. Moses was rewarded for all his exertions in the attempt to make the menorah, even though in the end it took a miracle to produce it.

 

In our own lives, we too are sometimes overwhelmed by the daunting tasks that face us, whether in our private lives, the workplace or our obligations to the community. We sometimes cannot see how we will ever achieve success, and therefore, we become discouraged and lose heart. Let us draw on the lessons of the golden menorah and the Holy Ark. Let us reflect on the deeper truths of existence, that success and failure are never in our own power, that all we can do is try. And let us pray to Hashem that He look kindly upon our sincere efforts and bless them with success – even if it takes a miracle.

 

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

 

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

 

Teachable Moments

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Posted on February 16, 2012 (5772) By Rabbi Label Lam | Series: Dvar Torah | Level: Beginner

 

Do not offend a stranger (verbally) and do not oppress him (financially) because you were strangers in the land of Egypt. (Shemos 22:20)

Because you were strangers: If you hurt him with words he can say to you that you also come from strangers. “Do not tease friend about a blemish that you- yourself possess!” A stranger is someone who was not born in that country but rather came from a different country to live there. (Rashi)

It sounds a little odd that we should not put down a stranger is because the same thing could be said about us! Is that a worthy reason? Don’t do it because it’s offensive! It’s wrong! That’s all! Do we need a justification at all? Why then are we reminded that we were strangers in Egypt as a reason not to speak hurtful words to a stranger?

It could be that we might even have a stronger subconscious tendency to look down on someone that reminds us of our own weakness or vulnerability. Perhaps that’s what Rashi means but maybe there’s another purpose to those words, “because you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

One of my boys, when he was in grade school, was being picked on daily. We wanted badly to champion his cause but he refused to identify the instigators. The administration and Rebbe were consulted. Attempts were made to squelch it. Nothing changed. The poor kid came home in tears every day. We all know the remedy. Kids who pick on others only do it when they sense that they are getting a reaction. There’s a tendency to want to tell a child (or an adult) “Don’t let them bother you!” Unfortunately it rarely works. If someone tells you not to think about pink elephants suddenly they are dancing even more in your head. He was in pain and we were frustrated. What were we to do?

With help from heaven I stumbled upon a practical approach. At first I sat with my boy and asked him what they had been saying about him that made him feel so tortured. The words bled out slowly, “dummy-head”, “cookoo”, “stinky” and stuff like that. I wrote down each on a piece of paper and tried to logically dispute the veracity of their claims. I soon realized though, that I was talking to the head when it was the heart that hurt. Then in I put my money where their mouths were and I gave him three dollars- one for each false utterance. I now had his undivided attention. I asked him to please do me a favor and write down each insulting phrase they say tomorrow and that I would pay him a dollar for every one. I even gave him a special pad of paper and a pen for the occasion.

Well, the next day he came home with a long face covered with sadness. I was curious to see the paper. Empty! He reported that nobody teased him today. It worked! Once they realized that not only was he not poised to be hurt by their words and that he was happily awaiting them their thrill was ended and so they ceased.

Now that it was finally over, I didn’t want to lose this precious parental opportunity to crown the episode with a lasting lesson. This was the teachable moment! I felt it necessary to tell my son the following which he accepted with unusual depth and sensitivity, “Now that you know what it feels like to be picked on you should make certain not to do it to anybody else. If there is ever a kid who is different or isolated or is for whatever odd reason a candidate for being picked on you should make it your business to befriend or defend him. With that in mind, son, maybe this whole messy episode will have been worthwhile!”

It could be that our struggles and even our most suffering situations, just like being in Egypt, can be converted into super assets. How so? In English there’s a difference between the words, “sympathy” and “empathy”. “Sympathy” is a remote feeling of pity while “empathy” is a feeling of identification with another’s pain. Maybe it’s a strategy to keep from feeling superior to the stranger amongst us to consciously recall our vulnerabilities and realize teachable moments.

 

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

 

The Torah is a Book of Reality

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Posted on January 24, 2014 (5774) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

The Torah reading of this week deals with the difficulties and pettiness of human life. I find this to be extraordinary since only last week the Torah dealt with the exalted principles and values system of holiness as represented by the Ten Commandments.

It seems to be a letdown to have to speak about oxen goring and people fighting, enslaving and damaging one another when we were apparently just elevated to the status of being a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.

The beginning point of the education of many a Jewish child in Mishna and in Talmud is located in the very prosaic laws of torts and damages discussed in this week’s Torah reading. In effect the law book part of the Torah begins by showing us people at their worst behavior and weakest moments. Would it not be more inspiring if the Torah somehow began this detailed part of Jewish law with more inspiration and spirituality?

Yet we are all aware that the most studied volumes of the Talmud – the real meat and potatoes – are those tractates that deal with many of the laws presented in this week’s Torah reading. The rabbis in fact advised us to study these laws of torts and of human failures, translated into negative actions and behavior, in order to sharpen our brains and somehow make us wiser.

And most of the study effort concerns itself with how to deal with the damage and hurt that has already been done and very little time and effort, so to speak, with the moral strength necessary to prevent these very damaging events from occurring.

The Torah is a book of reality. It does not gloss over situations nor is it in the least bit hagiographic in dealing with the main characters that appear in its narrative. The perfect Torah speaks to a very imperfect world. The Torah does not allow us to have illusions about how people will behave when money, emotions, negligence and spite are present in society and in the lives of people.

Slavery is wrong, perhaps the greatest wrong, but it has been a fact of life in human history till and including our time. Slavery breeds inequity and as we have witnessed time and again ending slavery does not in any way end bigotry.

The Torah comes to address the how and why of overcoming this inequity and of making slavery subject to such rigorous legal restraints as to prompt the Talmud to say that he who acquires a slave for himself in reality is acquiring a master for himself.

People will be people, damages and hurts will occur and the temptation of wealth and money will not disappear from the face of this earth. Therefore, we have to have a set of rules and an ability to deal with these problems so that they do not completely consume us. The Torah, of necessity, must propose a program of compensation to help the victims and restrain the perpetrators. It is this recognition of human behavior that sets the Torah apart from all other so-called spiritual and religious texts. These assume the best of behavior and values. The Torah makes no such assumption. It is the book of reality and the most holy of all works.

Shabat shalom

Rabbi Berel Wein

 

 

An Imperfect System

Parshas Yisro

Posted on February 3, 2021 (5781) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

 

One of the basic lessons learned from this week’s Torah reading, though barely discussed by the commentators, is that there is no perfect system of justice if it involves human beings and judges. After the granting of the Torah to the Jewish people at Mount Sinai, our teacher Moshe allows himself to become the sole judge regarding disputes that arise in the camp of the Israelites. He is besieged by claimants and litigants from early morning until sunset. Naturally, anyone who had the ability to appear before such a judge as Moshe would wish to take advantage of that opportunity.

Though Moshe possesses supernatural wisdom and insight, he is known to be incorruptible, fair, equitable and decisive. What other qualities can one expect or hope for in a human judge? None. Nevertheless, as his father-in-law Yitro points out to him, the judge may be as perfect as can be, but the judicial system that Moshe has instituted is far from perfection. Yitro warns that by being the sole judge and having everyone wait their turn to have their claims adjudicated by him alone, both Moshe and the people will eventually become exhausted and wither away. What is needed is a tiered system of judges, courts, police, and other officials of the judicial system that must be appointed and empowered.

This signifies the creation of a bureaucracy, with all the attendant fields that it contains and necessarily entails. But it is the only practical way of dealing with this issue of sustainability that will allow Moshe and the people of Israel to continue to function. In effect we are being taught that attempting to achieve perfection in this instance will lead to exhaustion and eventual destruction.

One of the great lessons of the Revelation at Sinai was and is a simple basic understanding of the true nature of human beings, both individually and in society. The Lord is perfection, while humans are doomed to operate within an imperfect and frustrating world. Sometimes better is the enemy of good, in the attempt to achieve perfection, and only leads to greater imperfection, frustration and even violence.

Moshe aspired to give every Jew who came before him a perfect answer, a judgment that would harmonize with ultimate truth and nobility. He realized that this could not be done through the establishment of a bureaucracy. Within that system, there would be many cooks in the kitchen, and power would be diffuse. Personal interests could govern all decisions, no matter how noble the intent of the persons involved. His father-in-law agreed with Moshe’s goal, but Yitro told Moshe, based upon his own life experience as being the chief executive priest of Midian, that Moshe’s goal was unachievable in this world.

In this world one can only deal with practicalities, and practicalities always spell imperfection, compromise and the possibility for error and wrong decisions. But that is the human condition, and one must operate within that condition and accept imperfection as one of the basic tenets of human life and society.

Shabbat shalom

Take the Next Step

Parshas Yisro

Posted on February 12, 2020 (5780) By Torah.org | Series: Lifeline | Level: Beginner

 

What happens when you hear something that truly inspires you? What do you “take home” afterwards?

I once heard that there are three possible reactions people might have. Some will simply shrug it off, thinking, “it really wasn’t important to me, and won’t affect me tomorrow.” Another group will share it with others — they’ll “like” it on Facebook, perhaps even create a meme to share it with their contacts. Then there’s the last and smallest group: those who, upon hearing something that strikes them, will ponder the importance of what they’ve heard, and take action steps to internalize and live by the lessons they just learned.

Sharing is admirable, but we cannot imagine that we have “fulfilled our responsibility” by disseminating newfound wisdom to the rest of the world. Our first and foremost obligation is to change ourselves.

This week’s Torah portion begins with Yisro (Jethro), the father-in-law of Moshe (Moses), hearing about the Jews’ Exodus from Egypt. The Talmud says that he was particularly moved by the splitting of the sea and the Jewish victory over Amalek. The news of these events inspired him to leave his home in Midian, and join Moshe and the Jewish people in the desert.

Now in reality, news of the Jewish Exodus and the miraculous events that followed had spread throughout the world. But the Torah says “And Yisro heard,” implying that others didn’t hear. What was different about Yisro?

Yisro had a sincere desire for the truth. The Midrash describes how Yisro explored all the faiths in the world, hoping to be convinced of the truest and purest form of spiritual service, and was left unsatisfied. So when he heard what G-d did for the Jewish people in Egypt and the subsequent miracles, he was impressed. Even more, he made a change.

Every day we are inundated with news and information from around the world. Now, more than ever, it is unreal how much we can read and study. So, it is naïve to imagine that we can capitalize on every thought, take inspiration from each and every story, and change ourselves.

Perhaps, though, we can find one thing we hear in the average week which strikes a chord. Yisro teaches us to ponder that thought, not to ignore it, or even share it, but to ask ourselves, “So what am I going to do about it?” When we learn from events and make changes, that is when we have truly “heard.”