In Control

Parshas Pinchas

Posted on July 23, 2024 (5784) By Rabbi Yochanan Zweig | Series: Rabbi Zweig on the Parsha| Level: Intermediate Beginner

“On the seventeenth of Tammuz the Tablets were broken” (Ta’anis 26a)

 

Five calamities occurred on the seventeenth of Tammuz. The first of these calamities is recorded in the Torah. Upon descending the mountain after having received the Decalogue, Moshe witnessed Bnei Yisroel celebrating the creation of the golden calf and he shattered the Tablets[1]. The verse describes the Tablets as “charus” – “engraved[2].”

 

The Mishna states that the word “charus” can also be read as “cheirus” – “freedom”, for only the study of Torah brings true freedom[3]. Therefore, the breaking of the Tablets reflects a loss of freedom for the Jewish people[4]. What is the difference between the secular definition of freedom and that of the Torah? How do we reconcile the “pshat”, the straightforward reading of the text as “charus” – “engraved”, with the “derush”, the homiletic interpretation as “cheirus” – “freedom”?

 

Freedom is often defined as our right or privilege to act or express ourselves without coercion in whichever manner we desire. The Torah’s definition of freedom is cognizant of the fact that very often we behave in a manner which hides under the guise of freedom of expression, yet in reality we are submitting to coercive forces. Whether our actions are influenced by societal pressures or by our physical or emotional desires, these actions cannot be described as completely free from coercion. We ourselves are aware of the destructive nature of our actions but are helpless to overcome the deceptions of societal acceptance and self-gratification. The pursuit of Torah not only empowers the individual with the ability to overcome any coercive forces, but also removes the conflict that exists in the decision-making process, synthesizing the individual’s visceral sense to behave appropriately with his desires. Being bound by restrictions does not imply a lack of freedom; restrictions are not only ultimately for our benefit, but they prevent us from taking actions which we truly wish to avoid.

 

The words of the Decalogue symbolize spirituality and the Tablets themselves, that which is physical. Had the Decalogue been described as ink which is scripted upon parchment, this would imply imposition of the words upon the Tablets. Chazal teach us that Hashem miraculously caused the letters of the Decalogue to suspend themselves within the Tablets. The Tablets wrapped themselves around the words, conforming to them[5]. This reflects the complimentary nature of the physical and the spiritual which can coexist without any conflict.

 

We all have a natural tendency to behave in an appropriate manner. The Torah removes the impediments that mask our true feelings, breaking through the misconceptions and misguided value system which society creates for us.

 

Peace Without Conjunctions

Parshas Pinchas

Posted on July 23, 2024 (5784) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

Peace is the ultimate blessing of the Jewish people. When we are at peace, we have everything. When we are not at peace, we have nothing. Indeed, the concluding statement of the Talmud is that Hashem found peace to be the only vessel capable of preserving the blessings of the Jewish people.

 

But how is all this peace meant to come about?

 

In this week’s Torah portion, we read that Hashem sealed a covenant of peace with Pinchas, the grandson of Aaron, as a reward for his zealous defense of the Torah. For all future generations, the priestly descendants of Pinchas would be the guardians of the peace. By serving as role models and arbiters, they would spread peace among the Jewish people.

 

The commentators draw our attention to an unusual aspect of the lettering in these verses. A close look into the Torah scroll at the word for peace, shalom, reveals that the third letter, the vav, is broken across the middle. Why is this so?

 

The commentators explain that there are two distinctly different levels of peace. On a more prosaic level, peace exists when people reach an accommodation for reasons of expediency. It may be that they are working together in order to reach a common goal by putting aside their differences and concentrating fully on their objective. Or else, they may simply find themselves living together in close proximity and therefore find it necessary to tolerate each other. This is a no more than a superficial peace imposed from without, a marriage of convenience.

 

There is, however, a higher form of peace which comes when distinct and separate individuals develop a profound sensitivity to each other’s thoughts and feelings, when they learn to become perfect complements to each other. Far more than an expedient accommodation, this peace results from the bonding of two individuals into one organic whole. It is a marriage of love.

 

Ideally, the first form of peace leads to the second. What starts as a marriage of convenience blossoms into a marriage of love.

 

The different forms of peace are reflected in the Hebrew word shalom, peace, which is formed by adding the letter vav to the word shalem, complete. In the Hebrew language, the vav serves as a conjunction, a point of connection between two disconnected entities. There is a peace which is based on the vav, a conjunction of the disconnected. In its pure form, however, peace derives from a sense of completion or wholeness, a sense of perfect harmony and fusion. In its pure form, it jettisons the vav and becomes shalem, complete.

 

One of the missions of the priestly caste is to promote peace among the Jewish people, but a simple peace of accommodation is not enough. The ultimate goal must be to create a harmonious fusion among the Jewish people so that they become one organic whole.

 

Therefore, the letter vav in the word shalom is broken, to indicate that peace founded on a conjunction is inadequate. Pure peace is shalem, complete.

 

An elderly sage brought his wife to the doctor.

 

“What seems to be the problem?” asked the doctor.

 

“Well,” said the sage, “whenever we walk more than a short distance, we feel very fatigued and often experience shortness of breath.”

 

“Indeed?” said the doctor. “Are you telling me that both of you have the same symptoms?”

 

“Oh no,” said the sage. “I feel perfectly fine. It is my wife who is ill. But when she becomes fatigued and out of breath, I feel as if I am suffering as well.”

 

In our own lives, we all yearn for the gift of peace which will allow us to savor life’s blessings.

 

But what sort of peace do we seek? A peace of accommodation and expediency may give us some respite from the hurly-burly of existence, but in the end, it is superficial. Deep down, we are still at odds with the world around us. All we will have accomplished in doing is putting a lid on it. Our true goal should be to achieve a deeper peace, a peace that connects us with our people, our world, our Creator, a peace that enriches us with the transcendent serenity that comes from the sense of being complete.

 

 

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 businessmen 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 sign 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.

 

 

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

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

 

 

Miriam’s Well

Parshas Chukas

Posted on July 10, 2024 (5784) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

Without water, life cannot survive. Nonetheless, millions of Jewish people survived in the parched and barren desert for forty years. How was this possible? Only through a miracle.

 

During their travels through the desert, the Jewish people were accompanied by a rock from which an abundant supply of water constantly flowed. It was called Miriam’s Well, because it existed in the merit of Moses’ older sister Miriam, who was a righteous woman and a prophetess in her own right.

 

In this week’s portion, we read about Miriam’s death only months before the entry of the Jewish people into the Holy Land. The Torah also tells us that Miriam’s Well ceased to function after she died, and the people were faced with a critical water shortage. They besieged Moses and demanded that he provide water for them, for otherwise they would die. G-d told Moses to take his staff in hand and speak to the rock. Instead of speaking, however, Moses struck the rock with his staff. The waters gushed forth again, but Moses forfeited the opportunity of entering the Holy Land. Because of his mistake, he passed away while the Jewish encampment was massed on the east bank of the Jordan River.

 

A number of questions come to mind. Why was the water given to the Jewish people only in the merit of Miriam? Why couldn’t the water continue after her death without Moses speaking to the rock? Why didn’t G-d want to leave the faucet open for the Jewish people?

 

The commentators explain that one of the most striking features of water is that its viscosity allows it to adapt perfectly to its surroundings; water will naturally assume the shape of any container into which it flows. Symbolically, Miriam represented this quality. She was able to adapt her faith and her steadfast loyalty to G-d’s will under any and all circumstances. Come what may, Miriam shone as the paragon of staunch faith.

 

Miriam was born during the darkest chapter of the Jewish bondage in Egypt. Her name, recalling the word marah, bitter, evokes the bitterness of the Jewish condition. When she was just a young girl, Pharaoh decreed that all male babies be thrown into the river. Husbands and wives separated in order to avoid producing children who would be drowned, but Miriam persuaded her parents to have faith and remain together. As a result, her brother Moses, redeemer of the Jewish people, was born. Miriam was the famous midwife Puah, who sang to the infants when they were born.

 

Like water, Miriam adapted to the oppression and the suffering and remained strong in her faith. Therefore, in her merit, G-d provided the Jewish people with miraculous water in the desert. And when she died, a new demonstration of supreme faith was required. G-d wanted Moses to draw water from the rock by speaking alone.

A man hired a wagon driver to take him to a distant city. As they traveled through dense forests and over craggy mountains, the passenger sat relaxed in his seat, enjoying the scenery.

 

Suddenly, a thunderstorm arose. The passenger told the wagon driver to pull over, but he insisted that they could not do so safely. They had to push on through the storm.

 

The passenger began to tremble with fear.

 

“Don’t worry,” the wagon driver reassured him. “All will be well.”

 

“But how do I know that?”

 

“Because I am telling you so,” the wagon driver replied. “You were not afraid when we were travelling through dangerous forests and over steep mountain roads on the edge of sheer cliffs.

 

You relied in my skills. Well, do you think I’ve never driven through a thunderstorm? You can trust me.”

 

In our own lives, we find it easier to have faith when things are going reasonably well. When we seem to be on the road to success and encounter trials and struggles, we have faith that we will ultimately succeed. But what happens when things are falling apart, Heaven forbid? What happens when they become stormy? Those are the times that test our faith. Those are also the times when our faith can spell the difference between hope and despair.

 

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

 

Imaginary Fears

Parshas Chukas Balak

Posted on June 29, 2023 (5783) By Rabbi Yaakov Menken | Series: Lifeline | Level: Beginner

Several years ago, one of the writers for Torah.org reached out to me in a hurry. He had made a mistake and wanted to stop the distribution of the email he had just sent.

 

What was his mistake? He had identified the weekly reading as “Parshas Bila’am” — this was, of course, in a year when Balak, half of this week’s reading, was read separately, unlike this year when it is read together with the previous parsha, Chukas.

 

Misnaming this particular parsha was what we might call a “scholar’s error:” The reading is named after the Moabite King Balak, but the story centers around Bila’am, the evil prophet hired by King Balak to curse the Jews. Balak is something of a minor figure in the parsha that carries his name; it is primarily about Bila’am!

 

But, of course, without the actions of Balak, the whole story of Bila’am would not have happened.

 

I heard the following from Rabbi Meilich Biderman, a well-known inspiring speaker. He asks, did you notice that Balak is in a panic about the Jews coming from Egypt, that he is terrified of them? He says the Jews “will eat up everything around us like the ox eats up the vegetables in the field” [22:4]. He expects the Jews to come through, ruin the fields, and eat the crops. That is what caused Balak to send messengers to Bila’am to hire him to deliver curses, and the entire parsha comes as a result of this fear.

 

Balak’s fear was entirely, unquestionably, 100% baseless. Hashem had specifically told the Jews “Do not bother Moav and do not provoke war with them, for I will not give to you from their land as an inheritance…” [Deut 2:9]. So Balak was afraid for no reason. And because he acted on his irrational fears, he brought destruction upon himself and his people.

 

What do we learn from this? The Torah, Rav Biderman said, is eternal, and there’s a lesson in here for us today. I should introduce what he says by explaining that our Sages teach that everything G-d does is good, in ways we do not understand, and specifically good for us.

 

Nothing comes to a person unless G-d wants it to be so, and He only wants the best for us.

 

So, he says, we shouldn’t be living in fear! We must remember that Hashem runs the world and there’s nothing to be afraid of. Obviously, we should behave in a way that is prudent and reasonable, but not second guess ourselves, regret bad investments, or be afraid of every distant possibility. Balak’s unfounded fears led to the entire story!

For those interested, it’s not really possible to retract or stop a bulk email once sent. So every subscriber did receive a class entitled “Parshas Bila’am” that day. Yet the teacher had nothing to be afraid of—few noticed, and none, to my knowledge, lost any respect for him. It was, after all, a wise man’s error!

 

It is interesting that Rabbi Biderman is often described as a Mashpia, which translates as “influencer.” In today’s culture, an “influencer” is a teenager or twentysomething with many social media followers, who convinces them to buy the brands that he or she is being paid to promote. Think about the difference between one “influencer” and the other. We can all be influenced, it’s just a matter of which influencers we listen to!

 

Handing Over the Mantle

Parshas Chukas

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

The fate of the generation that left Egypt and came to the Sinai desert is finally sealed in this week’s Torah reading. Even though we already read in last week’s Torah portion about the disaster and eventual demise of that generation because of the slanderous report of the Spies that visited the land of Israel, Moshe somehow was convinced that he himself would escape their fate. He appears to be confident that he will yet lead his beloved people into the promised land of Israel.

 

However, as we read in the Torah, the Lord informs Moshe that he also will not enter the land of Israel. The Torah does give us a reason for this harsh decree against the greatest of all prophets and leaders. Moshe chose to strike the rock to bring forth water instead of complying with the heavenly order speak to the rock. At first glance, we are certainly troubled by this seemingly asymmetrical form of judgment and punishment. The retribution for this sin seems to be far too harsh, especially when we consider the decades of service, sacrifice and loyalty that Moshe previously exhibited in his relationship with the Almighty.  Simply put, it seems unfair. The punishment does not seem to fit the crime.

 

This issue has vexed Jewish minds over the ages. It is almost as though the Torah is purposely writing a real cause-and-effect relationship regarding Moshe and the land of Israel. Because of this intuitive feeling of uneasiness about the true nature of this incident, many varied explanations and commentaries have been offered over the ages.

 

Maimonides described the real crime as being the tendency to become angry, and anger always leads to a ruptured relationship with the Almighty and eternity. Others have pointed out that it was not so much the behavior of Moshe, as it was that this was the appropriate time when Joshua should have taken over the mantle of leadership. Every generation has its leaders, and leaders of previous generations, no matter how great they may have been, are not destined to serve as leaders of later generations.

 

It is this rule of history and of human nature that governs this situation. The fact that Moshe struck the rock is not the essential reason that some commentators believe that a new generation demanded new leadership to be successful. Another nuance added to this explanation is that the leader of each generation is responsible for what happens to that generation. Therefore, it is obvious that if the generation that Moshe redeemed from Egypt and led through the desert of Sinai was not going to merit entering the land of Israel, then its leader, no matter how great and noble a person he may have been, must share the same fate of the generation that he so faithfully led.

 

Shabbat Shalom

 

Faint Perception

Parshas Korach

Posted on July 3, 2024 (5784) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

Korach says to Moshe, “Why do you elevate yourself above the congregation of Hashem?”

 

Korach claimed that Moshe was acting haughtily. How could he possibly have accused Moshe, the humblest of all man of vanity, wasn’t this rather absurd?

 

Commentators explain that Korach’s charge was reserved of projection. As our sages teach us ‘one who seeks to disqualify another projects his own defects on him.’ Korach’s distorted perception of Moshe was because he himself possessed such an inflated self view. It was impossible for him not to see that characteristic in others. But why do we see ourselves in others? Why can’t we judge others rationally and objectively, outside of our tainted self perceptions? The answer is that this is a natural weakness of the human condition. We deeply desire to feel comfortable with ourselves. And the only way we rationalize our defects is by seeing the world as an extension of our own tainted selves.

 

A young man lived through the horrors of the holocaust and told a religious leader that in the valley of death he lost his faith in G-d. It was one story he said that stripped him of his faith. A religious Jew had smuggled a prayer book into the barracks and fondly shared it with those who shared half their daily bread rations with this opportunistic wicked Jew. When I saw the long line of emaciated Jews being forced to give up their lifeline to this supposedly religious Jew, I knew I would never be religious again.

 

“What do you mean”, said the Rabbi? “Why did you look at those other Jews that refused to share the siddur with others? Why didn’t you look at those who were willing to give up their precious life support for their faith?”

 

In our own lives, all too often we too see others with our own warped sense of pointing out the failings of others. We are simply trying to justify our own weaknesses. Let’s try to cultivate a positive sense of hi-lighting other peoples good points, thus accentuating our own positive traits.

 

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