Leadership Qualities

Parshas Chukas

Posted on June 28, 2023 (5783) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

He brought down the wrath of Heaven on Egypt until Pharaoh agreed to let the Jewish people go. He led them out to freedom. He parted the sea and led them through. He brought them to the foot of Mount Sinai to receive the Torah. He guided them through the desert for forty years. But at the last moment, when they stood poised on the threshold of the Promised Land, his leadership came to an end. Moses passed away without stepping a foot into the Promised Land.

 

Why wasn’t Moses granted the privilege of entering the Promised Land to which he had labored so diligently to bring the people?

 

We find the answer in this week’s Torah portion. After Miriam died, the miraculous well from which the people had slaked their thirst in the desert vanished, and they were left without water. They maligned Moses for taking them from the gardens of Egypt into an arid wasteland. Hashem told Moses to assemble the people and speak to the rock, which would then give forth water. Moses called the people together. “Listen, you rebels,” he declared angrily. “Can water come out of this rock?” Then he struck the rock with his staff and water flowed. But Moses had erred. Instead of speaking to the rock, he had struck it. And for this, Hashem decreed that Moses would not enter the Promised Land.

 

Let us now look for a moment at the Torah reading of Devarim, where Moses is reviewing the events of the previous forty years in his parting words to the Jewish people. He reminds them of how the people had responded to the slanders spread by the spies upon their return from the land of Canaan, and how Hashem had decreed that the entire generation would die in the desert and only their children would enter the Promised Land. “Hashem was also infuriated with me because of you,” Moses concluded, “saying, `You too will not arrive there.'” It would seem, therefore, that Moses was barred from entering the Promised Land because of the sin of the spies, not because of the sin of striking the rock. How do we account for this apparent contradiction?

 

The commentators explain that Moses had originally been exempt from the decree barring the Jewish people from entering the Promised Land because of the sins of the spies. As a leader of the Jewish people, he was in a class by himself.

 

He was not integrated into the body of the common people. He was not driven by their motivations or influenced by their social currents. Although he was always sensitive to their needs, his thoughts, convictions and motivations were never controlled by the ebb and flow of public opinion. Therefore, since he was not really one of them, he did not have to share the unfortunate fate of the people when they erred and sinned.

 

But at the incident of the rock, Moses lost his immunity to public opinion. No longer aloof and remote in his decision making, he flared at the Jewish people. “Listen, you rebels!” he cried in anger. He allowed the people to get to him, and as a result, he struck the rock instead of speaking to it, in disobedience of Hashem’s command. Therefore, he no longer deserved to be considered in a class by himself, and he shared the fate of the people who were barred from the Promised land because of the sin of the spies.

 

A man once asked a great sage for his opinion of some popular political leaders.

 

“They are like dogs,” he replied.

 

The man was puzzled. “Like dogs? Why?”

 

“Very simple,” said the great sage. “When a man walks down the street with his dog, the dog always runs ahead, yapping excitedly.

 

But when he gets to the corner, he doesn’t know which way to turn. So he stands and waits for his master to catch up. Once his master chooses the new direction, the dogs is off and running once again. These leaders you mentioned have no opinions or convictions of their own. They sniff the air to discover in which direction the wind is blowing, and then they are off and running. Some leaders!”

 

In our own lives, we are called upon to act as leaders, whether in the broader community, our immediate circles or simply in our own families for our children. Everything we do sets an example for others and influences them at least to some extent. But in order to be true leaders, we must have the courage and integrity to follow our own convictions. We must have the fortitude to live spiritually rather than cave in to the pressure of the fashionable materialistic trends. Despite the decadence of our society, or perhaps because of it, there is a latent thirst for spirituality among the people around us. If we live by our convictions, we can have a part in bringing that thirst into the open and literally change the world.

 

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

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

Reflecting on G-d

Parshas Chukas Balak

Posted on June 28, 2023 (5783) By Rabbi Moshe Peretz Gilden | Series: Kol HaKollel | Level: Beginner

With the Jewish people complaining of thirst, Moshe and Aaron retreated to the Tabernacle for Divine guidance. They were instructed to speak to a specific rock and it would provide the needed water. Moshe inadvertently spoke to the wrong rock, and, lacking an alternative approach, chose to employ a tactic G-d instructed him to use in an earlier circumstance: hitting the rock (see Rashi, Bamidbar/Numbers 20:11). G-d, in his infinite compassion, allowed the water to flow forth from the rock, but Moshe and Aaron were chastised and punished. “Because you did not believe in Me to sanctify Me in the eyes of the Children of Israel, therefore you will not bring this congregation to the Land I have given them.” (20:12) Bringing forth water from a rock in the middle of a desert is quite a miracle. In what way did Moshe diminish the honor of G-d?

 

Rabbi Yosef Albo (1380-1444; Rabbi of Saragossa, Spain and later Castille; proficient in medicine, mathematics and philosophy and famous for his religio-philisophical work Sefer HaIkkarim/Book of Principles) explains that one branch of the belief in Divine Providence is the understanding that G-d bends nature to the will of righteous believers. As the need arises, they have the ability to pray for a miracle and G-d grants their wish. Tanach (the Bible) is replete with incidents of prophets and great individuals in Jewish history who performed miracles. Here, too, Moshe should have prayed for a miracle from the outset and not withdrawn to the Tabernacle.

 

Meshech Chochmah (Rabbi Meir Simcha HaKohen of Dvinsk; 1843-1926; foremost Torah scholar of his time) elucidates that throughout Moshe’s leadership of the Jewish people G-d determined when it was appropriate to utilize a miracle – in contrast to later prophets who announced that a miracle would occur and G-d responded by fulfilling their call. Moshe chose a different modus operandi because of his humility. Whereas other prophets would physically tremble when they were receiving their prophesy, making it readily evident that the forthcoming miracle was coming from a higher power, G-d communicated with Moshe as a person speaks to his friend. Without the visible tremoring, Moshe feared the masses would believe the miracles actually came from him, as if he possessed some Divine power, so he always requested Divine assistance and let G-d formulate the method to address the quandary.

 

The exception to Moshe’s rule was the events involving Korach in last week’s parsha. When Korach rebelled and publicly questioned the legitimacy of his leadership, Moshe proclaimed that a miracle would happen and G-d opened the earth, which swallowed Korach and his co-conspirators, just as Moshe had stated. Moshe broke his own rule because the situation mandated a display of his spiritual greatness and the intimacy of his relationship with G-d – to demonstrate G-d’s endorsement of his leadership.

 

Now, Moshe reverted to his original practice. But the nation now knew that he had the ability to call for miracles, and, not appreciating the unique nature of the Korach situation, they questioned why he was only willing to do so for the sake of his leadership but not for the Jewish people at a time of distress. Moshe’s decision to not openly call upon the rock to give water at a time that the needs of the masses mandated such a miracle desecrated the Divine name, a great dishonor to G-d.

 

We are all leaders – as teachers, as parents and even as peers. We must appreciate that our actions are watched and interpreted – even misinterpreted – reflecting on us and, more significantly, as Jews, reflecting on the Jewish people and on G-d.

 

Have a good Shabbos!

 The Seesaw Principle

Parshas Balak

Posted on July 1, 2020 (5780) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. This was apparently the philosophy of Balak, King of Moab, when he was faced with the vast multitude of the Jewish people approaching his lands. Terror stricken, he sent messengers to summon Bilam, the famous sorcerer, to come to Moab and curse the Jewish people.

 

Balak led Bilam to a high promontory from which they saw the entire Jewish encampment. Balak gleefully rubbed his hands together in anticipation of Bilam’s potent curses, but to his astonishment, blessings rather than curses poured forth from Bilam’s mouth.

 

Frustrated, Balak took Bilam to a different vantage point from which he could only see the edge of the encampment. Once again, Balak implored Bilam to curse the Jewish people, and once again, he could only speak blessing rather then curses.

 

Finally, Bilam turned to face the Wilderness and managed to utter some vague, ineffectual curses.

 

The commentators are puzzled. Why did Bilam repeatedly narrow his focus on the Jewish people after each failure to curse them?

 

A quick look into this week’s Torah portion brings Bilam’s character into sharp relief. His most striking features were his bloated ego and his insatiable hunger for flattery. People seeking constant self aggrandizement generally tend to disparage and humiliate others. Whether consciously or subconsciously, they feel superior only when they diminish other people. By putting others down, their own egos are by contrast inflated. They view life like a seesaw, with themselves on one side and the world on the other. If the other side goes down, they go up.

 

Balak understood this aspect of Bilam’s character, and he played on it. At first, he brought Bilam to a point where he could see the entire people. If Bilam could curse and disparage an entire people, what a surge his ego would enjoy. But he was unsuccessful. Conceding failure, he narrowed his focus to only part of the people, concentrating on individuals in the hope that their shortcomings would be more glaring. Once again he was unsuccessful, and therefore, he narrowed his focus even more by cursing the people even though he was unable to highlight any particular fault. But even these curses were ineffectual, because Hashem protects the righteous.

 

Two businessmen were once sitting in a bar, discussing the state of the world.

 

“You know,” said the first man, “if you really think about it, there are really only two classes of people in the world – our countrymen and foreigners. And we both know that all foreigners are totally worthless.”

 

“Of course,” said the second man. “But even among our countrymen there is clear division into two classes. The city dwellers and the peasants.”

 

“Exactly,” said the first man. “And we both know that peasants are worse than useless. Only city dwellers are worth anything at all. But even among city dwellers, there are two classes – intellectuals and businessmen.”

 

“I totally agree,” said the second man. “Intellectuals are pointy headed fools. Totally useless. Only businessmen have any worth.”

 

“But not all businessman are worthy,” said the first man. “Plenty of them are nothing more than bumbling fools.”

 

“I agree,” said the second man. “In fact, if you really think about it. You can probably rule out just about every businessman on one count or another. I guess, that just leaves us with me and you, my friend.”

 

“Exactly,” said the first man, “and just between you and me, we both know perfectly well that you’re nothing but a windbag.”

 

In our own lives, we may sometimes find ourselves bring inadvertently critical of other people or even entire ethnic or racial groups. Perhaps we would do well to look into ourselves to find the source of these sentiments. Why in the world should we be flirting with mean spiritedness and bigotry? Why should we be so eager to highlight other people’s flaws?

 

More likely than not, these are signs of latent insecurities which mistakenly lead us to think we can secure ourselves better by undermining others. In actuality, however, tearing other people down only diminishes and demeans us, while looking at them in a positive light enhances our spirits and brings us the serenity and satisfaction of recognizing our own true worth.

 

Wealth Risks

Parshas Korach

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

The Torah teaches us in this week’s reading that one should never underestimate the power and influence that ego and arrogance can play within the lives of people who are otherwise seen as wise, capable, and even moral. Throughout the ages, the commentators have asked themselves the famous question, quoted by Rashi and based on midrash: “What drove Korach to commit such a foolish act?”

 

Rashi points out that Korach understood that his descendants in future generations would be prominent people of great leadership. He could not imagine that they would achieve such a status of power and recognition when he himself was not able to boast of such an achievement. While this explanation certainly cast some light on the issue, it does not fully resolve the problem.

 

There are many instances in life and history when later generations of a certain family rose to power and influence, even though their origins were humble. Most commentators fall back on the idea that it was the great wealth that Korach possessed that drove him to this folly of behavior.

 

We are aware that wealth and money many times do strange things to otherwise normal people.

 

The Talmud always pictured money – coins – as being made of fire. They can warm and illuminate or burn and destroy. That certainly is true of the nature of money and how it affects individuals, especially those who have become wealthy over a short period of time. Our world is full of examples of wealthy people who suddenly become experts in all sorts of disciplines in life, whereas before they were wealthy, did not claim such expertise.

 

It is interesting to note that the Torah sought to limit the potential for any of the Levite families from becoming exceedingly wealthy. Levites in the land of Israel were subject to public service. Their income was based upon the goodwill of their Israelite neighbors, who would grant them their share of the food  ordained by the Torah. I imagine that no matter how much of the tithe any given Levite would have received, the feeling of being wealthy – certainly, exceedingly wealthy – would not ever be experienced.

 

People who are dependent upon the goodwill of others never feel themselves as secure as those who possess great wealth. The truth is that no one is secure, and that even great wealth can disappear in an unknowing and unpredictable fashion. Nevertheless, when a person knows that he or she does not possess great wealth, that person is more careful and circumspect in advancing opinions and demanding honor. The combination of the natural ego that exist within all of us, and especially those like Korach who have aristocratic bloodlines combined with the largess of great wealth, can oftentimes be a lethal mix that leads to disaster. That certainly was the case regarding Korach and his group of followers.

 

Shabbat shalom

Rabbi Berel Wein

 

 

The Lure of Life

Parshas Shlach

Posted on June 21, 2022 (5782) By Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky | Series: Drasha| Level: Beginner

Rarely do we find that Hashem’s commands assume personal connotations. The commands are meted for the sake of Judaism and the glory of Heaven. Yet, disturbingly, we find the mission of the spies defined with very personal invectives.

 

The Torah begins with Hashem commanding Moshe, “Send for yourself spies to scour the land of Israel.” Why is the command tainted with such a personal epithet? Is Moshe sending the spies for himself? In fact, Moshe reviews the entire episode in Deuteronomy, stating how the idea of spies found favor in his eyes. The commentaries are quick to point out that the idea found favor in Moshe’s mortal’s eyes, but Hashem disapproved. Therefore, He told Moshe send the spies for yourself. “As far as I am concerned,” Hashem infers, “it is a mistake, but if that is what you desire, then proceed.” Thus, the words, “send for yourself spies.”

 

Of course, the dire consequences of the mission are well known. The spies returned and maligned the Land of Israel. They were punished along with the entire nation that joined them in their misconceived sorrow, and the next 40 years were spent wandering in the desert.

 

But we are human, and our intentions are tinged with mortal bias. Isn’t every mortal action filled with human bias and mortal partiality.

 

Adam Parker Glick, President of the Jack Parker Corporation, told me a wonderful story:

 

A wealthy man decided to take up the sport of fishing. He rented a cottage near a Vermont lake and barreled into the local sport and wildlife shop and demanded to see the manager.

 

“I want to buy the best of everything: the most expensive rod and tackle, the best hooks, anglers, and even the most exquisite bait!”

 

The store owner, who had seen his share of city-folk, was not impressed. He instructed a young salesman to follow the man around the store and serve as a human shopping cart. The man chose the most exquisite rods and reels; he selected a mahogany tackle box and a refrigerated bait cooler. Money was no object, and the fisherman-to-be selected the finest of all. The enthusiastic young salesman was extremely eager to please and offered him every imaginable fishing item and accessory. The owner, a crusty and seasoned Vermonter just smirked at the naivete of the new-found angler.

 

As the tycoon approached the checkout counter, he noticed brightly colored, hand-painted fishing lures whose prices were as outlandish as the colors. “Wow!” he exclaimed, as he gathered a bunch into his hand. “These look really wonderful!” Then he turned to the manager and in a voice sounding as well informed as possible, he asked the owner, “do fish really go for these?”

 

“Don’t know,” shrugged the old-timer. “I don’t sell to fish.”

 

Moshe reluctantly agreed to the whims and premonitions of a nervous and anxious nation. He agreed to their pleading to allow spies to check the land that they would ultimately inherit. But by no means was it a Divine mission. Hashem told Moshe send spies for yourself. He taught Moshe that missions that are fueled by self-fulfillment are doomed.

 

Often, we stand at the check-out counter of life and choose the impulse items with the view that they are necessary for our success. We marvel at the brightly-colored lures and find it hard to imagine life without them. We rationalize that they are needed for the sake of family, livelihood, and even spirituality. We think we are purchasing them for lofty reasons and negate the fact that perhaps selfishness and insecurity are the driving forces behind the proverbial sale. We buy them thinking that they are the items that will catch the fish, but ultimately, we are the only ones caught!

 

Moshe was about to send spies on a seemingly sacred mission. The mission may have been falsely justified in hundreds of different ways: the operation would save lives, it would prepare a young nation for a smooth transition and pave a new level of spirituality for the fledgling folk. But those were not the true objectives. There was selfishness involved. And the mission was doomed. For the road to the lowest of places is paved with disingenuous holy-intent.

 

Therefore Hashem told Moshe that there is only one motivation behind the mission. They are not sending spies for Hashem. The nation is sending spies for its own ego and insurance. “Send them for yourself.” G-d does not need scouts, guides, or pathfinders. He does not sell to fish. He just may yield to those who are selfish. And ultimately they get the hook.

 

Good Shabbos

(c)1998 Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky

 

Hard Choices

Parshas Shlach

Posted on June 22, 2022 (5782) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

The vast Jewish encampment stands at the edge of the desert on the threshold of Canaan. It is a time of incredible excitement. After centuries of bondage in Egypt, the Jewish people are finally returning as a nation to their ancestral homeland. They know that Hashem has promised them the land, but they also know they will have to fight a war of conquest. They choose twelve outstanding men, one from each tribe, and send them off to reconnoiter the land before they invade. The results of this ill-fated expedition are disastrous, to say the least.

 

The spies deliberately slant their reconnaissance reports to sow fear and despair among the people. The generation of the Exodus loses its chance to enter the Holy Land and is doomed to remain in the desert for forty years. Moreover, as our Sages tells us, because of the betrayal and subversion of the Meraglim, the night of their return, the ninth of Av, becomes an occasion of national mourning for all time.

 

How could such a thing happen? Was it a mistake to send the spies?

 

The Torah tells us that the Jewish people asked Moses to send the spies, and as always, Moses presented the question to Hashem.

 

“Shelach lecha,” Hashem replied. “Send for yourself.”

 

What did Hashem mean by “send for yourself”? Rashi explains that, in effect, Hashem was saying, “You decide. Send them if you so choose, but I am not instructing you to send them. I leave it completely to your discretion.”

 

Many questions immediately come to mind: Why did Hashem refrain from giving Moses specific instructions regarding how to proceed? Why didn’t Hashem spare the Jewish people all this grief by simply instructing Moses not to send the spies?

 

Furthermore, since Hashem specifically declined to endorse the reconnaissance plan, why did Moses choose to go ahead with it anyway? Why didn’t he let the whole thing go, just to be on the safe side?

 

The answers to these perplexing questions derive from one of the fundamental aspects of Judaism. We all know how difficult it is to cope with the temptations and challenges of life, and it would certainly be easy to deal with it by withdrawing into a monastic life of sheltered meditation. But that is not what we are meant to do. The Torah teaches us to live spiritually at the very center of civilization. It teaches us not to run away but to face the issues squarely and make the hard choices.

 

As long as the Jewish people were in the desert, they lived in a spiritual cocoon, shielded from the choices of everyday existence. Their food, water and clothing were miraculously provided, nor did they engage in commerce or agriculture. But all this was part of the process of preparation for their entry into the real world where they would face the hard choices. In the desert, the bread falling from heaven conditioned to the concepts of faith and trust in Hashem, but the ultimate goal was to carry this faith forward to a time when bread would grow from the ground. This was their national destiny.

 

As they stood on the threshold of Canaan, this time had come. Soon they would inherit the land and begin the daunting task of building a functioning society built on faith in Heaven and Torah values and ideals. It was time to begin making the hard choices.

 

When Hashem told him to decide on his own if he should send spies to Canaan, Moses realized that Hashem, far from expressing divine disapproval, was actually presenting the Jewish people with their first opportunity to make their own choice. From the point of their very entry, Hashem was telling them, would already be allowed to choose. Moses chose to send the spies. But now the choice shifted to the spies themselves, and tragically, almost all of them chose poorly.

 

In our own lives, we are bombarded with myriad choices. The media and technology bring the temptations and blandishments of contemporary culture into the innermost privacy of our homes, making every day a never-ending struggle to maintain our sanity and morals. How can we preserve our ideals and values for ourselves and our children in such an environment? It can only be done if we see beyond the glitter and hype that surrounds us, if we reach into our reservoirs of faith and recognize the hand of Hashem guiding us – as it always has and as it always will.

 

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

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

Learning from the Spies

Parshas Shlach

Posted on June 7, 2002 (5761) By Rabbi Yaakov Menken | Series: Lifeline | Level: Beginner

“Send men for yourself, and they will spy out the Land of Canaan, which I give to the Children of Israel, one man for each of the tribes of their fathers shall you send, every leader in them.” [13:2]

 

Our Torah reading relates the tragic story of the Spies, sent to travel through the Land of Canaan in advance of its conquest by the People of Israel.

 

G-d told Moses, “send men for yourself” — you, Moses, should personally select the Spies. Should we imagine, given the disastrous results, that Moses chose poorly, picking unreliable people for this important task? We know that this is not so.

 

The Torah itself says that those chosen “were leaders among the Children of Israel.” Even in the company of the Holy Generation that stood at Mount Sinai, these twelve were exceptional.

 

They stood before Moses, handpicked representatives of the Jewish People to go scout out their new homeland. Forty days later, only two returned to discuss how wonderful this land was and would be. The other ten Spies told the nation that the residents were unconquerable giants — and besides, the land was killing its inhabitants. The nation believed this evil report, and sat down to mourn its fate. As a result, G-d decreed that this generation, which mourned unnecessarily, would not be privileged to enter the land. They would, instead, die in the desert.

 

These ten great men were recorded in the Torah not for their good deeds, but for becoming an “evil congregation” and inflicting forty years of desert wanderings upon the entire nation. Obviously they fell before a destructive force of massive potential, yet one so devious in its influence that they failed to see it.

 

In reality, what struck them down was a toxic mixture of an evil eye and an evil tongue. One looks out for the bad side of every story, and the other carries that tale to others.

 

The Spies entered Canaan, and met with a wonderfully fertile land. A single cluster of grapes was so large that two of them had to carry it back, hanging from a pole (as depicted in the logo of today’s Israeli Tourism Ministry). And as they toured the country, G-d arranged another miracle on their behalf, timing deaths in various communities to coincide with the Spies’ arrival. The populace was so distracted by funerals that they did not think to confront their visitors.

 

How did the Spies respond? They found the worst possible interpretation of events. With fruits so large, the people were large as well — and the Spies discussed this as if G-d expected the nation to go in and conquer it on their own, without His help. They confidently proclaimed that such conquest was impossible. And furthermore, they viewed the funerals not as a sign of Heavenly protection, but as an indication that the land was turning upon those who lived on it, telling the nation that if they moved in, they would be its next victims.

 

The Medrash asks why the story of the Spies occurs immediately after that of Miriam, for whom the nation waited while she was cured of the spiritual blemish of Tzora’as. The answer is that she was afflicted by this blemish because of the same problem. Miriam was punished because she spoke badly of Moses’ wife, and the Jewish People saw that the evil of gossip can hit even the most upstanding members of the community. Concludes the Medrash, “these wicked men did not take the opportunity to learn ethics.” They should have learned from what happened to Miriam, but did not.

 

If the Torah has one goal for us, it is for us to learn ethics. It is for us to see the devastating power of evil, and learn to pursue good. We cannot afford to be like the Spies, who failed to take the opportunity that lay before them.

 

Who can claim not to behave like the Spies? Who among us looks only for the good in other people, refrains from repeating the latest gossip, and attempts to change the subject when gossip comes their way?

 

There is no easy antidote for this poison. Fortunately, we in the Jewish religious tradition have an extensive body of literature upon which to draw, to learn to control our nearly-instinctive penchant for evil speech. Just over a century ago, Rabbi Yisrael Mayer Kagen published a work on these laws, called “Chafetz Chaim.” Several derivative works are available in English, and there is a section of our web site devoted to gossip-controlling behavior:

 

http://www.torah.org/learning/halashon/ .

 

We, like the spies, already know how destructive gossip is. If we judge others more favorably, and refrain from spreading every harsh rumor, we can hardly imagine the amount of good we can and will do for our families, our neighbors, and our community.