Grasp the Moment • Torah.org

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Posted on April 2, 2020 (5780) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

Not everyone has the privilege of saying “thank

you” to the Creator by bringing a thanksgiving offering to the Holy Temple. The Talmud tells us that only people who were recently delivered from extreme danger – an ocean voyage, a desert journey, a serious illness, a term of imprisonment – can bring this special sacrifice.

Why is this so? Why can’t we express our

gratitude for other momentous occasions in our lives by bringing this selfsame thanksgiving offering?

 

Furthermore, we find an anomaly in the laws of this sacrifice. The thanksgiving offering falls into the general category of shelamim, peace offerings. However, we read in this week’s Torah portion that there is less time allowed for eating the meat of the sacrifice. The peace offering can be eaten for two days, but the thanksgiving offering for only one day. Why does the Torah reduce the eating time of this sacrifice?

 

The answers to these questions are rooted in the fundamental concepts of the sacrificial service. The purpose of the sacrifices is to foster closeness between the Creator and ourselves. When we bring a sacrifice to the altar we are symbolically offering ourselves up to Him, subsuming our hearts, our minds, our souls, our very lives in the universal embrace of the Divine Presence. Eating the meat of the sacrifice, the Talmud explains, is an extension of the sacrificial service. Through the act of ingesting the sanctified meat, we connect to the transcendent concepts and symbolism of the sacrifice not only through our intellectual and emotional faculties but through our purely physical ones as well. In this way, the experience becomes total and the connection is absolute.

 

When we bring a thanksgiving offering to G-d, we take advantage of moments of outstanding inspiration to forge a closer relationship with our Creator. Life is full of little inspirations and numerous opportunities to express our gratitude to Hashem. Most of these, however, do not move us to our core, and therefore, they are not powerful enough to warrant a sacrifice. But when a person is reprieved after staring death in the face, he is totally energized and exhilarated, and the words of thanksgiving and joy he directs heavenward emanate from the essence of his being. This sort of inspiration can be brought to the Temple and presented to Hashem in the form of a thanksgiving sacrifice. This sort of inspiration can be channeled to foster an everlasting closeness.

But inspiration is an ephemeral thing. Like a flash of lightning, it illuminates our surroundings in painfully sharp clarity and then is gone, leaving only a memory that slowly fades away. During that moment, we gain a totally different and highly vivid perspective of what is important and what is trivial. During that moment, we have the ability to find new direction and meaning for our daily existence. Later, it is too late. Therefore, the Torah limits the time period for eating the thanksgiving offering. Grasp the moment! If we wait, it will be gone.

 

A high-level royal minister was deeply involved in a national crisis situation. During this time, while the king and his ministers conferred daily to discuss developments, the king’s birthday came and went without the customary celebration. The crisis eventually passed, and the conduct of government affairs returned to normal. Shortly thereafter, the minister purchased a beautiful birthday gift and sent it to the king.

 

A few weeks later, the king and his minister were discussing the crisis and what could be done to prevent future recurrences.

 

“We can’t afford to go through something like this again,” said the king with a wry smile. “Do you realize that I didn’t even receive any birthday gifts this year because of the crisis?”

 

“Your majesty, have you forgotten?” the minister protested. “I sent you a very beautiful gift.   Didn’t you receive it?”

 

“Indeed, I did,” said the king. “And I thank you. Had you given it to me on my birthday, I would have perceived it as an expression of your joyous celebration of such an important day in my life. But it was given several weeks later. It did not represent your sense of joy but rather your sense of obligation. Much as I appreciate it, I do not consider it a true birthday gift.”

 

In our own lives, we are often profoundly inspired during times of great joy or, Heaven forbid, great distress. On these occasions, we are inclined to take stock of our existence and resolve to make important changes, either to improve our relationship with our Creator, to correct our flaws and shortcomings or simply to spend more time with our families. When this happens, it is important to translate our inspiration into action immediately, for if we wait until we get around to it, more often than not we never will.

 

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

 

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

Don't Cut Corners • Torah.org

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Posted on March 22, 2019 (5779) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

The money didn’t come out of the priests’ own

pockets. It came from the well-filled coffers of the Temple. Every year, money poured from all the Jewish people to a special fund which provided for the daily sacrifices. There really was no reason to skimp.

 

And yet, I this week’s Torah portion we read that Hashem told Moses to “command Aaron and his sons” regarding the daily olah sacrifice.

Why did the priests have to be “commanded”? Why wasn’t it enough for them to be “told,” as was usually the case? Our Sages tell us that Hashem was forewarning the priest not to cut corners in order to reduce the considerable expense of bringing an animal every morning and every afternoon.

 

But why was this necessary? Why would the priests even consider such a thing? After all, there was no cost to them personally, and there was plenty of public money for the sacrifices.

 

Let us consider for a moment the nature of the sacrificial service. There were actually two aspects to it. First, the detailed physical process of the sacrifice. Second and even more important, the thoughts, feelings and commitments that the sacrifice represented; without the idea behind it, the sacrifice was meaningless.

 

Unlike most of the sacrifices, which were partially burnt on the altar and partially eaten, the olah sacrifice was kalil, completely incinerated. Therefore, the commentators explain, there was a real possibility that the priest would focus on the intent and not attribute enough importance to the physical act itself. Since the sacrifice was all being given to Hashem, they might reason, what difference would it make if fewer funds were expended on the sacrifices? All that mattered was the intent.

 

Not so, the Torah warned. It was not the place of the priests to make such judgments. If the Torah commanded that two animals be brought daily, the commandment was to be obeyed without question.

 

An elderly king appointed a new chamberlain to oversee his palace affairs.

 

“Your first major responsibility in your new post,” said the king, “will be to arrange the  parade in honor of my birthday next week. Find out how it is done every year. The information is in the palace records.”

The following week, on the king’s birthday, there was no parade. Instead, the chamberlain   brought together the greatest poets in the land in a gala public ceremony, and each of the poets read an exquisite poem composed for the occasion. The king was pleased.

 

The next day, the king summoned the chamberlain and removed him from office for failing to  stage the customary parade.

 

“But, sire,” the chamberlain protested, “I only tried to please you, and if I am not mistaken, you really did seem pleased.”

 

“The poems were very beautiful,” said the king, “but it is not for you to substitute poems for the customary observance. You are not a chamberlain for me.”

 

In our own lives, it is easy to take a somewhat cavalier attitude towards the rituals and observances of the Torah by rationalizing that it is the heart that counts. The heart indeed counts a great deal, but actions speak more loudly than words. As servants of the Almighty, we should leave it to Him to decide what form those actions should take. With our own limited scope, we cannot possibly know the extent to which a particular ritual or observance described in the Torah may stimulate our inner feelings and touch our very souls. We all understand that the Almighty needs nothing from us. Therefore, if the Torah calls for a certain action, we can rest assured that it is for our own benefit and that in the end it is we ourselves who will be immeasurably enriched.

 

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

 

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

 

Listen to Your Still Small Voice

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Posted on March 17, 2021 (5781) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

 

Moshe hears the voice of the Lord as G-d calls

to him. However, it is not the same experience that it was at Mount Sinai. There, it was with noise and fanfare, thunder and lightning, pageantry, and awe. At Mount Sinai, even the soundwaves were visible and real. But here, according to the Midrash, it is a private revelation exclusive to Moshe. The great heavenly voice is not heard outside the precincts of the Tabernacle itself.

 

According to some commentators, this is one of the reasons why the word Vayikra itself is spelled with a small letter –Aleph zeira – the small Alef at the end of the word Vayikra. It is interesting to note that one of the celestial powers of the Almighty is that of tzimtzum – the ability to diminish the godly presence, so to speak, in the universe, to allow for nature and human beings to function in the so-called vacated space.

 

We find that when the prophet Elijah searches for G-d, he does not find Him in the great wind or in thunderous sound, but, rather, in the still small voice of silence itself. I have written many times about the importance of being able to find G-d within our own being, within our own soul, for only by discovering G-d in that manner can a person achieve permanent elevation of spirituality and faith.

 

External events may make a great impression upon us, both physically and spiritually. But they are usually only a temporary influence, a momentary catalyst. Determined pursuit of spiritual and moral attainment is always dependent upon that still small voice that Elijah heard within himself and is the voice that all of us can also hear for ourselves, if we will do so.

 

We are all aware that it is much easier to hear loud sounds than furtive whispers. To hear a low voice or a whisper requires concentration. It demands a desire to hear, not an automatic reflex of our auditory senses, but, rather, an intentional expression of our inner desire to hear the seemingly inaudible. The gurus of espionage and counterespionage, of police and governmental surveillance, have constructed elaborate technological methods for blocking out all the extraneous noise that their microphones pick up, so that they are able to eavesdrop on the whispered conversations of enemy agents, spies, saboteurs, and criminals. Only one extraneous noise can cancel a surveillance project and prevent a consequence or benefit.

 

I would hazard to say that this is true in the pursuit of a meaningful spiritual life as well. All the outside static of everyday life, of the mundane and the tawdry, foolish and the distracting, must be eliminated, for us to hear our own still small voice in our soul. We live in a very noisy world, and the ruckus of life often prevents us from hearing what we ourselves wish to say to ourselves, because of the outside static of noise that constantly engulfs us. We should certainly concentrate more on hearing our own inner self and soul.

 

Shabbat shalom Rabbi Berel Wein

A Man from Among Us • Torah.org

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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.

 

Investing For The Long Term

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Posted on February 20, 2014 (5774) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

The master craftsman who implemented the Torah’s blueprint for the building of the mishkan was an individual named Betzalel. The Torah tells us that Betzalel was uniquely endowed with a “spirit of wisdom” that equipped him for this loftiest of tasks.

 

Mystical sources tell us that the mishkan, the tabernacle, was a spiritual microcosm of the entire world. Betzalel was knowledgeable in all areas of esoteric wisdom. He knew the letters and permutations with which Hashem fashioned heaven and earth; he knew how to harness this spiritual energy in the construction of the mishkan, Hashem’s heavenly abode in its earthly form.

 

Our sages tell us that Betzalel was a young boy at the time of the mishkan’s construction–no older than 13. How could such a youngster have a level of wisdom that towered way above all the greats of his generation?

 

The Torah alludes to the spiritual greatness of Betzalel in the pasuk that enumerates his lineage. “Behold I have called upon Betzaelel, the son of Uri, the son of Chur from the tribe of Judah,” it says.

 

Here is precisely where Betzalel’s greatness lay–in his being a grandson of Chur. Who was Chur and what was the source of his greatness that he merited such an extraordinary grandchild? We find scant information about Chur’s life in the Torah. However, we do find Chur at the tragic scene of the Golden Calf, where the Jewish people embraced the worship of the golden image.

 

Chur was appalled at their behavior and stood up to admonish them. The frenzied mob was carried away by a wave of hedonistic behavior and anarchy. They silenced Chur by brutally killing him.

When we consider these tragic events, we can’t help but ask ourselves why Chur chose to admonish and oppose the people who were bent on defying reason? Surely he saw it was futile, that they were determined to carry out their degenerate plans. Why endanger your life, Chur, where is your common sense? Wait a bit until the people’s senses return and then they will be more receptive to your sobering message.

 

The commentaries explain that Chur was motivated by something nobler than practical common sense. He saw the Jewish people hovering at the edge of an abyss. Just one day before, the nation was the connecting bolt between heaven and earth; now that divine bond had been ruptured. The people were plunging wildly downward.

 

His grief over this downfall was so great that he was willing to sacrifice his life even if his action could not prevent catastrophe.

 

Whenever we act for the sake of Heaven, our self-sacrifice calls down Divine reciprocity. Although we may not see this cause and effect immediately, the reward for such mesiras nefesh will be great.

 

Chur was willing to give up his life to secure the Divine connection between heaven and earth; his grandchild was therefore given transcendent wisdom far beyond his age and capacity to absorb. He merited the Divine mission of repairing that sublime connection between heaven and earth through the medium of the mishkan.

 

Oftentimes I look at students in the yeshiva who hail from families that are so distant from our Torah heritage. These students persevered against all odds and miraculously found their way back to their spiritual source. From where did they draw the courage and inspiration?

 

Very likely there was a grandmother in their family tree who cried copious tears for her children’s spiritual safety when lighting the Shabbos candles. They were off to the ‘Goldene Medina’ and she prayed that they would not succumb to the temptations that abounded there.

 

The answer to those heartfelt prayers may not have come in her own lifetime. But when we see evidence of it in her grandchild and perhaps much further down the line, in a great-great grandchild, we can be sure of what its source is–the pure prayer of a devout, beseeching heart.

 

Let’s invest our heart and soul into our spiritual undertakings and do our best to ensure that we will reap the dividends of our good deeds for many years to come.

 

Wishing you an inspiring Shabbos. Rabbi Naftali Reich

Text Copyright © 2014 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org

Accountability Always

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Posted on March 10, 2021 (5781) By Rabbi Berel Wein | Series: Rabbi Wein | Level: Beginner

 

 The book of Shemot concludes with the

detailed accounting of the materials collected and used in the building of the Tabernacle.

Even though this accounting may appear to us to be superfluous and even overly detailed, the words and letters that appear in this week’s Torah reading are as holy and important as any others that appear in our holy Scriptures.

 

There is an important overriding lesson – a moral imperative – that is being imparted to us in the words of the reading of this week. That

lesson can be summed up in that we are responsible for each of our actions and behaviors during the year, and during our lifetime. It is as if each of us signs our name at the bottom of the pages that record each of our activities in life with one word: accountability.

 

Judaism holds its adherents to strict standards of accountability. Accountability in speech, in deeds and action, regarding financial income and expenses, and in all other matters of human interaction and relationships. We are informed by the prayer services of the High Holy days that each of us has pages in G-d’s ledger book, so to speak, and that each of us signs with our own signature at the bottom of those pages to attest to the accuracy of that accounting.

 

The basis of all responsible human behavior is accountability. Without that, having good intentions and high hopes by human beings to accomplish good things are mostly doomed to failure and disappointment. It is only the concept of accountability that is the driving force that creates efficiency, and the feeling of spiritual advancement and accomplishment within us. Educational institutions that never administer exams or do not make demands upon its students are really cheating them out of the benefits that an education can bring to a person.

 

The Torah is exacting and meticulous in recording for us all the activities, donations, and actual results regarding the enormous task of constructing the Tabernacle in the middle of a wasteland, by a people just recently freed from physical and mental bondage. One could be fooled to say that in such circumstances any demand for accountability should be lenient, if not even muted. However, we see that the Torah makes no allowance for the inherent difficulties and stress that must have been involved in building the Tabernacle in the desert. In general, we can say that Judaism rarely, if ever, accepts excuses for poor performance or lack of effort, no matter how seemingly valid they might be. No excuse, no matter how good and valid it may be, ever equals accomplishing the task that was set out before the person to realize and fulfill.

 

The Torah wishes to impress upon us that accountability requires exactitude, paying of attention to what otherwise may seem to be small and unimportant, and an understanding that in the great picture of life there really are no small events or minor incidents that can be glossed over as though they never occurred. That is not our method of accountability. The Torah is never sloppy in dealing with human events.

 

Shabbat shalom Rabbi Berel Wein

 

From Rags to Riches

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Posted on March 11, 2020 (5780) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

Parshas Ki Sisa describes the tragic downfall of

the Jewish people at the very pinnacle of their spiritual achievement.

 

The people encamped as one around Har Sinai in their zeal to receive the Torah. Hashem’s voice thundered off the mountain tops, proclaiming the Aseres Hadibros, the Ten Commandments, and designating the Jews as

His chosen people for accepting His eternal covenant.

 

From the lofty heights of those wonderful intoxicating days, the Jewish people spiraled downwards. Moshe had ascended to Heaven to bring down the Luchos, the stone Tablets, and in his absence, the nation had strayed far. The Torah describes how, only forty days later, the people embraced the worship of the Golden Calf and were dancing around it in wild abandon.

 

Hashem revealed to Moshe in Heaven exactly what was taking place down below, and instructed him to go down and take control of the tragic scene. Moshe grabbed the Tablets and made his way down the mountain. He was greeted by Yehoshua and by the crescendo of noise emanating from the camp.

 

As he approached the camp and saw the people dancing to musical instruments around the golden calf, Moshe took the miraculous Tablets of stone and smashed them at the foot of the mountain.

 

The commentaries ask why Moshe waited until he descended the mountain to shatter the Luchos. Did he not believe Hashem when He told him the Jews were worshiping a golden calf?

 

The Tablets transcended the laws of nature; the letters penetrated the stone through and through, yet one could read the holy text on them from either side. The Tablets were a reflection of the divine connection that the Jewish people had with their creator-but which, by worshiping the golden calf, they had lost. The Jewish people, after this serious breach of faith, were no longer worthy of being the recipients of the Luchos. So why did Moshe wait? Why didn’t he leave them in Heaven instead of smashing them at the foot of the mountain?

The commentaries explain that although Moshe knew beyond any doubt that the Jewish people had worshiped the golden calf. Yet he rationalized that it was surely just a temporary lapse, not done willfully or with enthusiasm. Perhaps they had succumbed to their base urges momentarily and could still be restored to their previous lofty stature.

 

But when he saw the people brazenly dancing around the calf, with musical accompaniment and great gusto and excitement, he realized the truth: they could never again be worthy of those heavenly Tablets.

 

It is one thing to abandon G-d out of fleeting temptation while all the while experiencing pangs of guilt. It is another to abandon Him without compunction, with relish and merriment. After such debasement, the disconnect is complete and absolute.

 

When not acting in harmony with the inner vibrations of our conscience, we often feel stirrings of guilt and remorse. We may wonder why we need to be plagued with misgivings and confusion about our behavior. Why can’t we feel whole and happy with what we are doing?

 

In truth, Jewish guilt is a gift from Hashem. It doesn’t allow us to re-define our priorities and our  character, based on our “fall from grace.” That little voice inside of us that is telling us we    shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be doing this, this is not me-is making sure that our substandard actions do not define our essence. It is ensuring that we regain our grip and give genuine expression to our innermost aspirations.

 

Wishing you an inspiring Shabbos. Rabbi Naftali Reich

Lighting The Internal Flame

Every action that we do falls into one of two categories. The activity either has no intrinsic (foundational) value other than facilitating reaching a desired goal, or the activity may be necessary to reach   a desired goal, but it also has its own intrinsic value as well. Those activities which do not contain their own intrinsic value are deemed burdensome and are almost always performed with resistance because the individual has the knowledge that if the desired goal could be achieved without having to perform these tasks, that would be the preferred course of action. Only those endeavors which a person perceives as having intrinsic value stimulate and energize him.

The study of Torah involves two aspects; one is the acquisition of knowledge which enables us to observe the precepts in the prescribed manner. Additionally, the study of Hashem’s wisdom connects us to Him, giving intrinsic value to the actual study.

 

The very essence and philosophy of Amaleik,( Amalek represents the worst form of evil. ) that this world is devoid of Divine providence and is therefore ruled by chance, removes all value from anything that they do. Since, according to them, there exists no Divine blueprint, all of existence is governed by the pursuit of self-gratification, making every endeavor void of intrinsic value. This notion is reflected in Amaleik’s name, “amal kof” – “toil of a monkey”; a monkey is the primate closest to man and can be taught to mimic human behavior. However, although its actions are human in appearance alone, they possess no intrinsic value. The Amaleik perspective leaves a person unfulfilled and very often depressed. This leads to self-destructive behavior which is the trademark of Amaleik, who are described by our Sages as suicidal.[6]

The Torah identifies the deficiency within Bnei Yisroel as becoming weary from the study of Torah. If a person approaches Torah study as only a means to an end and does not appreciate its intrinsic value, the actual study will make him weary. Weariness from Torah study indicates that we have allowed the insidious Amaleikite philosophy, the feeling that our actions have no value and we pass through life just going through the motions, to seep into our own thought patterns.

 

It is the fire of Torah which energizes and gives us our fulfillment and sense of purpose. Lacking this perspective weakens us not only spiritually, but physically as well. When we allow our internal Amaleikite tendencies to rise to the surface we open ourselves up to the attack of an external Amaleik. On Purim we defeated our external enemies together with our internal Amaleik which was eradicated by rekindling the flame of Torah. This comes with the awareness of the intrinsic value of Torah study.

 

1.Megillas Esther 8:16 2.Megilla 16b and Shabbos 88b 3.Shemos 17:8

4.Mechilta 5.Devarim 25:18 6.See Rashi ibid