… But
Were Afraid To Ask
Parshas Behar
Posted on May 22, 2024 (5784) By Rabbi Mordechai
Kamenetzky | Series: Drasha| Level: Beginner
The Torah does not usually
leave room for official questions of faith. It tells us, in no uncertain terms,
what our responsibilities are and the commitment we must make to be observant
Jews.
Every mitzvah entails sacrifice. Sometimes it requires
a monetary commitment, sometimes a commitment of time and morals. Not often
does it consider the human trials one encounters in mitzvah performance.
They are our problem, and we must deal with them as human beings and as Jews.
Yet this week the Torah
uncharacteristically provides leeway for those who may waver in their
commitment.
In Parshas Behar
the Torah charges the Jewish people with the laws of shmittah. Every seventh
year, we are told that the land of Israel is to lie fallow. No work is to be
done with the earth.
There is not to be a
harvest, nor may the ground be sown or reaped.
Observing shmittah is a
true test of faith. Imagine! One must not harvest his grain but instead rely on
pure faith for his daily fare. Yet the Torah does not leave us with the austere
command.
The Torah deals directly
with the human emotion related to the issue. In Leviticus 25:20 the Torah
foretells a human side. “And if you will say in your heart, ‘what shall we eat
in the seventh year, behold the land has not been sown nor has it been
reaped?'” Hashem reassures the people that His bounty will
abound in the sixth year and they will live the seventh year in comfort.
This is not the only time
the Torah realizes human wariness. In reference to the command of conquering
the Land of Canaan, the Torah states in Deuteronomy 7:17: “Perhaps you shall
say in your heart, ‘these nations are more numerous than me. How will I drive
them out?'” Once again Hashem reassures His nation
that He will not forsake them.
The question is glaring.
Why does the Torah answer to human psyche? Why doesn’t the Torah just command
us to let the land lie fallow, or conquer the Land of Canaan? If there are
problems or fears in our hearts, they are our problems. Those fears should not
be incorporated as part of the command.
Isidore would meet his friend
Irving every other week while doing business. “How are you Irving?” Isidore
would always ask. “How’s the wife and kids?” Irv would always grunt back the
perfunctory replies. “Fine.” “A little under the weather.” “My son Jack got a
job.”
This one sided
interrogation went on for years until one day Isidore exploded. “Irv,” he said
abruptly.
“I don’t understand. For
six years I ask you about your wife, your kids, and your business. Not once
mind you, not once did you ever ask me about my wife, my kids, or my business!
Irv shrugged. “Sorry,
Izzie. I was really selfish. So tell me,” he continued, “how is your wife? How
are your kids? How is your business?”
Izzie let out a sigh of
anguish and began to krechts. He put his hand gently on Irv’s shoulder,
tightened his lips, and shook his head slowly. “Don’t ask!”
Reb Leible Eiger
(1816-1888) explains that there are many questions of faith that we may have.
The faithful may in fact fear the fact that there is fear. “Is it a flaw in
faith to worry?” “Am I committing heresy by fearing the enemy?” “Am I allowed
to ask?” The Torah tells us in two places, “you will have these questions. You
will ask, ‘how am I going to sustain myself and family?’ “You will worry,” ‘how
will I conquer my enemies?’ ‘Will I be destroyed?'” The Torah reassures us that
there is no lack of trust by asking those questions. We mustn’t get down on
ourselves and consider questions a breach of faith.
Life and sustenance are
mortal attributes.
They warrant mortal fear.
Adam, the first man was
originally blessed with eternal life without having to worry for his
livelihood. After sinning, he was cursed with death and was told that he would
eat by the sweat of his brow. The Torah assures us that it is not only human
but also acceptable to worry about these two issues — one’s livelihood and
survival, as long as we believe in the reassurances about those worries.
Good Shabbos!
Small
Coincidences
Parshas Behar
Posted on May 23, 2019 (5779) By Rabbi Naftali
Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner
Fire and thick clouds
descended on Mount Sinai as millions of Jewish people trembled in awe at the
foot of the mountain. And then the voice of the Almighty spoke directly to all
the people, the first and last time that such an incredible divine revelation
would occur in all the history of mankind. What did the Almighty say to the
Jewish people on that historic day at Mount Sinai?
He gave them the Ten
Commandments.
But what about the rest of
the Torah? Where and when was that given to the Jewish people? In fact, all the
rest of the Torah was also given to the Jewish people at Mount Sinai. The
encampment remained at the foot of the mountain for over a year, and during
this time, Moses taught the entire Torah to the Jewish people, and the process
of study began.
This week’s portion,
however, when presenting the laws of the sabbatical year, opens with a strange
statement. “And Hashem spoke to Moses at Mount Sinai, saying . .
.” What is the connection between Mount Sinai and the sabbatical year? wonders
the Talmud. After all, wasn’t the entire Torah
taught at Mount Sinai. Why make particular mention of Mount Sinai with regard
to one commandment?
The Talmud explains
that this we are meant to draw a parallel from this commandment to all the
other commandments in the Torah. Just as the laws of the sabbatical year, which
require that the land be left fallow every seventh year, were taught in full at
Mount Sinai so too were all the laws of the Torah taught there.
The question remains: Why
were the laws of the sabbatical year singled out as the example which all the
other laws follow?
The commentators point to
an interesting passage a little deeper into the Torah portion we are reading
this week. “And if you shall say, ‘What will we eat in the seventh year?
Behold, we cannot plant nor gather in our produce,’ then I will command My
blessing for you in the sixth year, and it will yield enough produce for three
years.”
What an amazing statement!
Here is clear proof (among many others) of the divine origin of the Torah.
First of all, do laws of the sabbatical year sound like something people would
make up?
And even if we could
conjure up some motivation for instituting such laws, how exactly did they plan
to deliver on the three-for-one crop in the sixth year? This was not written by
men. It couldn’t have been.
This, the commentators
explain, is the point the Torah is making here. Just as the sabbatical laws
were formulated by the Almighty and not by men, so too are all the other laws
of the Torah from Mount Sinai, divine in origin and not the product of human
imagination.
A man, who had business in a
distant city, bid his wife farewell, left his apartment and went out to the
street to find a taxi. To his delight, a taxi was standing at the curbside. At
the airport, he found a skycap waiting to take his luggage just as he opened
his door. His ticket was waiting for him at the counter, and once again, he was
delighted to discover he had been assigned his favorite seat. What wonderful
coincidences, he thought.
The coincidences continued
throughout his trip, and he marveled at his good fortune. Finally, he arrived
at the hotel in the city of his destination and found that a delicious meal had
been prepared for him. Moreover, the food was prepared and arranged exactly as
he preferred it!
Aha! he thought. This is too
much to attribute to coincidence. Now I clearly see my wife’s loving hand.
She made sure that I was happy
and comfortable every step of the way. I must thank her not only for the meal,
but for every convenience I have so fortuitously encountered on my trip.
In our own lives, most of
us can easily think of at least one or two times when we saw clearly the
Almighty’s hand leading us through difficult times. But think about it. Doesn’t
it stand to reason that all the other good things that have happened to us in
the normal course of events, all the little coincidences that we are so
accustomed to taking for granted, all of these were also engineered by the
loving hand of the Almighty? Once we come to this realization, our relationship
with Him will rise to a new level and will be forever spiritually enriched.
Familiarity Breeds Respect
Anticipation. What a
wonderful feeling. As the long-awaited event draws ever closer, we cannot help
but count the days. Five days left. Four days. The excitement builds and builds
until it is almost unbearable.
We experience this excited
anticipation at this time of the year, during the days of Sefiras Haomer, when
we count down towards the Giving of the Torah on Shavuos. But
the count does not follow the expected pattern. We do not count 49, 48, 47 and
so on, calculating the diminishing number of days remaining. Instead, we count
1, 2, 3 and so on, calculating the days that have already passed. Why is this
so?
A look into this week’s
Torah portion offers an illuminating insight. Hashem reassures
us that if we are faithful to the Torah, He will shower us with blessings.
Among these is the promise to “place My Abode among you, and I will not be
revolted by you.” The choice of words here is quite puzzling. If Hashem chooses to establish His Abode among the
Jewish people, why in the world would He be revolted by them?
The answer lies in a very
familiar concept. We have always been conditioned to believe that “familiarity
breeds contempt,” and indeed, it is true in most cases. When we observe a
person from afar, we develop an idealized impression formed of his most
striking characteristics. But as we become more familiar, as we draw closer, we
begin to notice the minute faults, the moles and warts, both literal and
figurative, that are not visible from afar. We no longer think of this person
as such a paragon of virtue but as an ordinary person with human failings – if
not worse. Furthermore, a relationship that falls into familiarity loses its
glamour and mystique. The old thrill is often gone.
One might have thought,
therefore, that when the Creator chose to establish His Abode among the Jewish
people it would spell the beginning of the end for His special relationship
with them.
Although, He certainly is
all-seeing and all-knowing, when the shortcomings and foibles of the Jewish are
not brought into the spotlight of the Divine Presence, so to speak, they are
not as easily dismissed. When Hashem actually
dwells among the Jewish people, a higher standard of behavior is required;
anything less would be “revolting” to Him. From the side of the people,
furthermore, one might have thought that the thrill of having the Divine
Presence among them would eventually dissipate, and the people would take it
for granted, once again causing Him to be “revolted,” so to speak. Therefore, Hashem reassures us that this will not happen.
The relationship would grow ever stronger, breeding respect not contempt.
During the days of Sefiras
Haomer, our counting is not merely an emotional outburst of impatience and
anticipation. Rather, it is a sober expression of a gradual process of drawing
closer to Hashem, whereby each day is a building block
resting on the previous day and forming a foundation for the next.
As we contemplate the
approach of the awesome Giving of the Torah, as we condition our inner selves
to become attuned to the eternal truths of the universe, we undergo a process
of growth. As we draw closer to the Creator, we are increasingly overwhelmed by
His infinite greatness. And we become ever more purified and more beloved to
Him. The Count of the Omer, in its ideal form, is the record of this growth, of
this blossoming relationship.
Two cross-country travelers met
in a roadside inn.
“Tough trip,” one of them
commented to the other. “But just one thousand miles to go, and I’ll reach the
coast. How about you?”
“I’m also heading for the
coast. I’ve covered two thousand miles already, and I’ve had a very good trip.”
“Really? Say, if we’re
both going coast to coast, how come I find the trip tough and you don’t?”
The other thought for a
moment, then he said, “It’s really quite simple. You say you have a thousand
miles to go, which shows your mind is totally focused on the destination, and
the entire trip is just terrible drudgery. I say I’ve already covered two
thousand miles, which shows the trip itself has value to me. I enjoyed the
spectacular vistas, seeing new places and observing their ways of life. I look
at my two thousand miles as an accomplishment, and so, I’m having a very good
trip.”
In our own lives, we
acknowledge that we need to strive toward idealistic goals, to a life of
goodness and spirituality, but we sometimes lose sight of the transcendent
value of each passing day in helping us achieve those goals. We think that at
some future time we will become more spiritual, that we will live a higher and
better life. But these goals cannot be reached by a mere decision and a snap of
the fingers. Only by painstakingly building a structure of days set upon days
can we reach the peaks to which we aspire. And in the process, we will discover
that getting there is itself a very rewarding and enriching experience.
Text Copyright © 2010 by
Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.
