Parshat Chukat takes its name from the word chukat which appears in the first verse of this week's portion: "Zot chukat HaTorah...."
The word chok carries special significance for the rabbis: it is not just any mitzvah implied, but a mitzvah whose reasoning is beyond us.
The mitzvah in question is the Parah Adumah (red heifer), archetype for alogical commandments.
When Jews come in contact with the dead, they are considered tamei, ritually impure. In order for the person who is tamei to again become pure (tahor), he or she must participate in the Parah Adumah process. The riddle intrinsic in the ceremony is that the priest's actions "heal/purify" that person, but leave the priest himself tamei.
Much has been written concerning why that should be so, but the Lubavitcher Rebbi addresses a different aspect of the story.
Let's think about things from the priest's perspective. To help his fellow Jew, he must hurt himself, sacrifice his own purity. He must put himself second. He must, in short, do the opposite of what so many of us do naturally and are taught to do.
The priest could rationalize, could focus on all the reasons why staying pure would enable him to do more, to grow more. He could even craft the spiritual equivalent of a cost-benefit analysis: I can help 5 people if I stay tahor, versus 1 person who needs purification.
But the priest's job is clear and his response assured. He will purify the Jew who needs it, he will sprinkle ashes, and go through the necessary steps, including the step and stage of his own suffering.*
How different is this from those who remain aloof, who don't extend themselves, who hide behind a cloak of holiness and in so doing turn away from what is a most holy obligation -- and opportunity. To help others is noble, and ennobling.
This past week, I heard a beautiful story about Rabbi Ari Berman, Rabbi of The Jewish Center in Manhattan and a former classmate of mine. At a gathering of rabbis, talk turned to the role of a rabbi. "What, at its core" these Rabbis asked each other, "is our role?"
Several answers were suggested.
To teach.
To inspire.
To guide the community closer to God.
"No," said Rabbi Berman said "Our role is to love each and every member of our congregation."
This comment moves me each time I reflect on its simple profundity.
A rabbi, a kohein, a moreh or morah in school, a pricipal: their obligation is to love.
It's not because the other things don't matter, but because when a leader truly loves the kehillah, all of the other responsibilities will flow naturally, and take care of themselves.
In Kol Torah, Rabbi Elie Munk makes an astute observation on the proximity of two p'sukim which come later in this week's Torah portion. In verse 12 (Bamidbar 20:12), Moshe and Aharon are told they will not live to enter the land of Israel, and verse 13 concludes the description of their punishment.**
The very next verse shows Moshe dispatching emissaries and doing all he can to help the Jewish people enter Israel. Citing the Midrash Tanchuma, Munk says:
"Although [Moshe] has just learned that he would not enter the Holy Land, he now finds nothing more pressing than to approach the King of Edom so that the people can enter the Promised Land as fast as possible."
Think about the emotions Moshe must have been feeling: disappointment, possibly even anger at the nation*** whom he might have felt "made me so upset I couldn't help myself."
Instead, Moshe rushed to help them, was happy for them. According to Rashi, he did not even wait for Hashem's instruction but, on his own initiative, Moshe continuued, just as before, to love them and look after them.
That's love. That's leadership.
That's dedication.
Like the kohein who purifies us, even when and if it means he will become impure.
We are a nation of priests (Exodus 19:6) and we must all look after each other.
-----------------------------------------------
End Notes:
*In The very first Torah U'Madda Journal, my father, Rabbi Benjamin Blech, amosh, has a beautiful description of a similar choice, in his case, between being a shul rabbi, and studying less personally, or remaining as a full time student and scholar. The backdrop for this story, and the support for his decision, rests on an ingenious exploration of the story of Joseph, and the laws of egla arufah.
**as well as possibly offering a further clarification of why they need to be punished; I will explain more elsewhere.
***This would be more than likely. In Al Hateshuvah by the Late Rav Yoseif Dov Soloveitchik, there is a fascinating description of the pyschology of sin, and its aftermath. Samuel 2, Chapter 13, tells the story of Amnon and Tamar.
In an analysis of the story of Amnon in which Amnon sleps with his half-sister Tamar, Rav Soloveitchik points out that after the sin, Amnon could not even refer to her by name, instead saying "Get this woman out of here...". In his mind, she became associated with the sin, and because he hated the sin, he hated her as well.
(the relevant verses are:
11 But when she took it to him to eat, he grabbed her and said, "Come to bed with me, my sister." 12 "Don't, my brother!" she said to him. "Don't force me. Such a thing should not be done in Israel! Don't do this wicked thing. 13 What about me? Where could I get rid of my disgrace? And what about you? You would be like one of the wicked fools in Israel. Please speak to the king; he will not keep me from being married to you." 14 But he refused to listen to her, and since he was stronger than she, he raped her. 15 Then Amnon hated her with intense hatred. In fact, he hated her more than he had loved her. Amnon said to her, "Get up and get out!" 16 "No!" she said to him. "Sending me away would be a greater wrong than what you have already done to me." But he refused to listen to her. 17 He called his personal servant and said, "Get this woman out of here and bolt the door after her."
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Parshat Chukat and the Need to Inspire
Chapter 20 in the Book of Numbers tells a by now familiar story of the Jewish people complaining to Moshe, and bemoaning their condition. The impetus this time is a lack of water, and in the first verse of this chapter, the Bible hints at a connection, explored further in commentaries and Midrashim, between the death of Miriam and the water shortage. Putting aside the question of why there was no water, the people "assemble against Moshe and Aharon," (20:2) quarrel ("vayarev" 20:3) and, similar to past complaints where they said, "we would have been better off dying in Egypt", they wistfully declare "If only we had expired in front of Hashem" (20:3) possibly referring to the most recent plagues surrounding last week's story of Korach and his followers. Kill me, already, in other words -- anything but this. They conclude, "And why did you bring us up from Egypt to bring us to this bad place? It's not a place of seed and fig and vine and pomegranate, and there's no water to drink." (20:5)
It's time for Moshe to act and in verse 8, Hashem tells Moshe precisely what to do. The rest of the story is pretty well known. Hashem told Moshe to gather the people and his brother Aharon, to "take/pick up the staff" (20:8) but to solve the problem by "speak[ing] to the rock" (20:8), assuring Moshe that the rock would then "give its water." (20:8)
Instead of speaking to the rock, Moshe spoke to the people, and spoke harshly, calling them "rebels" (morim, 20:10). He then "lifted his hand and struck the rock with his staff" (20:11) and while "much water came out" (20:11) the mission was far from a success.
God responds immediately. Both Moshe and Aharon will be punished dramatically: neither will be allowed to lead the Jewish people into the land of Israel -- lo taviu et hakahal hazeh el ha'aretz asher natati lahem, in the Hebrew text.
How do we understand this? Is it a pure punishment, expressing God's anger? Is it a more practical expression of the fact that something about the current leadership simply isn't working? It's also interesting because the tail end of the Jews' complaint in verse 5 -- "And why did you bring us up from Egypt to bring us to this bad place? It's not a place of seed and fig and vine and pomegranate..." -- so clearly evokes the language and imagery we normally associate with the land of Israel, a place of milk and honey. Perhaps the failure, or at least part of the disconnect that Moshe was having with the Jewish people was that they were expecting the desert to already be like the land of Israel. I don't mean this literally, but one layer of meaning may circle around this notion. Moshe managed miracles but, perhaps, not expectations. If this is the case, the punishment could in part be ironic as well. Okay, Moshe and Aharon, says God, if you all think this is already the Land of Israel, no need for the two of you to go any farther and actually shlep the rest of the way!
Now, though, let's see what the rest of the same verse says about God's reason for this punishment; if not explaining the choice of punishment per se, it sheds light on God's anger or disappointment.
Moshe and Aharon are punished "...ya'an lo heh'amentem bi l'hakdisheini l'einei b'nei Yisrael."
Most translations** understand this to mean "because you (plural, both Moshe and Aharon) did not trust in me, to make me holy before the eyes of the children of Israel." (20:12)
The suggestion implicit then is that there was some lack of emunah (beief/faith/trust) on Moshe's part, presumably in thinking that he needed to hit the rock when he had been told that speaking would suffice (perhaps a contemporary analogy might be someone repeatedly clicking a mouse or computer icon instead of patiently waiting for the promised resut to occur).
There is another explanation, in many ways, more beautiful as well as being more true to the original Hebrew text. Moshe and Aharaon had strong belief in Hashem and, says Rav Sa'adia Ga'on, their faith was not at issue.
The words "lo heh'amantem" are Hiphil, causative form, and mean "you did not cause the Jewish people to believe in me," your short cut made the miracle less impactful, and left the people less inspired.
That is why the sin was so severe, and the leaders did not lead, because to lead is to inspire; they had an obligation to bring the Jewish people closer to God, and they blew the opportunity.
I love this thought for several reasons, but I also love the way it reflects what secondtablet.com is all about.
There are two tablets.
We need to focus on our relationship with both man and God.
We should we be careful to ensure that neither tablet/set of responsibilities comes at the expense of the other.
But here's the kicker and the fun and fascinating overlap: sometimes our most sacred obligation to our friends is to inspire them and bring them closer to God's words and God's work.
When we share this gift, we share ourselves. By letting people know what we believe and why, and exposing the beauty of God and the Jewish tradition, we make the world a better place.
Our rabbis assure us that "Words that come from the heart, enter the heart."
So open your heart, and mouth. Tell someone about a mitzvah you find meaningful, a nice thought you heard, a story you treasure.
Their hearts will open in turn. Through your words, even a heart of stone, like the actual stone in this week's portion, will shoot forth water, leaving those you care about alive and vigorous. In doing so, we can create, you can create, a world of overflowing blessings.
End Notes:
**See, for example, Soncino's Hertz Chumash which translates "Because ye believed not in me, to sanctify...."; Samson Raphael Hirsch who understands, ""Beacause ye had no confidence in Me to sanctify...."; and Aryeh Kaplan's The Living Torah: "You did not have enough faith in Me to sanctify...." Kaplan includes a footnote citing Saadia (as well as Ralbag): "You did not work to make [the Israelites] have faith...."
It's time for Moshe to act and in verse 8, Hashem tells Moshe precisely what to do. The rest of the story is pretty well known. Hashem told Moshe to gather the people and his brother Aharon, to "take/pick up the staff" (20:8) but to solve the problem by "speak[ing] to the rock" (20:8), assuring Moshe that the rock would then "give its water." (20:8)
Instead of speaking to the rock, Moshe spoke to the people, and spoke harshly, calling them "rebels" (morim, 20:10). He then "lifted his hand and struck the rock with his staff" (20:11) and while "much water came out" (20:11) the mission was far from a success.
God responds immediately. Both Moshe and Aharon will be punished dramatically: neither will be allowed to lead the Jewish people into the land of Israel -- lo taviu et hakahal hazeh el ha'aretz asher natati lahem, in the Hebrew text.
How do we understand this? Is it a pure punishment, expressing God's anger? Is it a more practical expression of the fact that something about the current leadership simply isn't working? It's also interesting because the tail end of the Jews' complaint in verse 5 -- "And why did you bring us up from Egypt to bring us to this bad place? It's not a place of seed and fig and vine and pomegranate..." -- so clearly evokes the language and imagery we normally associate with the land of Israel, a place of milk and honey. Perhaps the failure, or at least part of the disconnect that Moshe was having with the Jewish people was that they were expecting the desert to already be like the land of Israel. I don't mean this literally, but one layer of meaning may circle around this notion. Moshe managed miracles but, perhaps, not expectations. If this is the case, the punishment could in part be ironic as well. Okay, Moshe and Aharon, says God, if you all think this is already the Land of Israel, no need for the two of you to go any farther and actually shlep the rest of the way!
Now, though, let's see what the rest of the same verse says about God's reason for this punishment; if not explaining the choice of punishment per se, it sheds light on God's anger or disappointment.
Moshe and Aharon are punished "...ya'an lo heh'amentem bi l'hakdisheini l'einei b'nei Yisrael."
Most translations** understand this to mean "because you (plural, both Moshe and Aharon) did not trust in me, to make me holy before the eyes of the children of Israel." (20:12)
The suggestion implicit then is that there was some lack of emunah (beief/faith/trust) on Moshe's part, presumably in thinking that he needed to hit the rock when he had been told that speaking would suffice (perhaps a contemporary analogy might be someone repeatedly clicking a mouse or computer icon instead of patiently waiting for the promised resut to occur).
There is another explanation, in many ways, more beautiful as well as being more true to the original Hebrew text. Moshe and Aharaon had strong belief in Hashem and, says Rav Sa'adia Ga'on, their faith was not at issue.
The words "lo heh'amantem" are Hiphil, causative form, and mean "you did not cause the Jewish people to believe in me," your short cut made the miracle less impactful, and left the people less inspired.
That is why the sin was so severe, and the leaders did not lead, because to lead is to inspire; they had an obligation to bring the Jewish people closer to God, and they blew the opportunity.
I love this thought for several reasons, but I also love the way it reflects what secondtablet.com is all about.
There are two tablets.
We need to focus on our relationship with both man and God.
We should we be careful to ensure that neither tablet/set of responsibilities comes at the expense of the other.
But here's the kicker and the fun and fascinating overlap: sometimes our most sacred obligation to our friends is to inspire them and bring them closer to God's words and God's work.
When we share this gift, we share ourselves. By letting people know what we believe and why, and exposing the beauty of God and the Jewish tradition, we make the world a better place.
Our rabbis assure us that "Words that come from the heart, enter the heart."
So open your heart, and mouth. Tell someone about a mitzvah you find meaningful, a nice thought you heard, a story you treasure.
Their hearts will open in turn. Through your words, even a heart of stone, like the actual stone in this week's portion, will shoot forth water, leaving those you care about alive and vigorous. In doing so, we can create, you can create, a world of overflowing blessings.
End Notes:
**See, for example, Soncino's Hertz Chumash which translates "Because ye believed not in me, to sanctify...."; Samson Raphael Hirsch who understands, ""Beacause ye had no confidence in Me to sanctify...."; and Aryeh Kaplan's The Living Torah: "You did not have enough faith in Me to sanctify...." Kaplan includes a footnote citing Saadia (as well as Ralbag): "You did not work to make [the Israelites] have faith...."
Sunday, June 3, 2007
The Book of Bamidbar (numbers)
During the time the Jews were wandering in the midbar (desert), everyone could eat all they want and so no one was poor or in need.
The Midrash wonders:
How did the Jewish people fulfill the mitzvah of tzeddakah (charity)
at this time?
The midrash answers: being kind to each other was their tzedakkah.
This thought is so much more than a clever and pratical resolution to
an ancient halakhic issue.
It reminds us that we can be poor even with all the creature comforts
that we sometimes think guarantee happiness; at the same time, it
reminds and speaks to all of us in our role as "givers": there are
many ways to help friends and family that go beyond money, and
sometimes these are what are most needed.
For some, the greatest tzedakkah you can give is not cash, but
concern, mixed with emotional understanding and encouragement.
Put another way, sometimes people don't need a "hand out"; they need
our hands out, extended in love, friendship and respect.
Or rabbis describe three pillars that support the world:
* Torah (studying the Five Books of Moses as well as, more broadly alluding to the study of other religious works)
* Avodah (today this refers to serving God in prayer; in ancient times, this was typically associated with sacrifices)
* Gemilut chasadim (loving kindess)
Why do we say gemilut chasadimin the plural --as opposed to gemilat chesed?
The answer is simple yet profound: the word is plural because
it benefits both the recipient and the giver when we are kind and good
to each other.
When we give, we also receive, and -- perhaps we can suggest -- this
is even more true when what we give is a part of ourselves.
The Midrash wonders:
How did the Jewish people fulfill the mitzvah of tzeddakah (charity)
at this time?
The midrash answers: being kind to each other was their tzedakkah.
This thought is so much more than a clever and pratical resolution to
an ancient halakhic issue.
It reminds us that we can be poor even with all the creature comforts
that we sometimes think guarantee happiness; at the same time, it
reminds and speaks to all of us in our role as "givers": there are
many ways to help friends and family that go beyond money, and
sometimes these are what are most needed.
For some, the greatest tzedakkah you can give is not cash, but
concern, mixed with emotional understanding and encouragement.
Put another way, sometimes people don't need a "hand out"; they need
our hands out, extended in love, friendship and respect.
Or rabbis describe three pillars that support the world:
* Torah (studying the Five Books of Moses as well as, more broadly alluding to the study of other religious works)
* Avodah (today this refers to serving God in prayer; in ancient times, this was typically associated with sacrifices)
* Gemilut chasadim (loving kindess)
Why do we say gemilut chasadimin the plural --as opposed to gemilat chesed?
The answer is simple yet profound: the word is plural because
it benefits both the recipient and the giver when we are kind and good
to each other.
When we give, we also receive, and -- perhaps we can suggest -- this
is even more true when what we give is a part of ourselves.
Why am I...
Why me? Why now? Why this blog?
While I can't definitively prove that this entity is needed now more than ever, I have my suspicions.
And no one needs to spend money, or effort, on this endeavor unless they find something here that smacks of reason, or more accurately, love.
We live in a time of extremes, and whether it is truly different than all that came before, or just feels that way, is almost moot. What I feel, what I see, and what I hear from other concerned friends, is that our age and most people find themselves sandwiched between text based fundamentalists --who believe unquestionably, and in the name of God, sacrifice common sense and fellow man -- and those who, not surprisingly, are so repulsed by the actions of God's supposed representatives that they sacrifice the proverbial baby with the tainted bathwater of belief.
As a Jew, as a person, as someone attracted to religion and people, and repulsed by the presumed choice required to be made between the two, I peck and hunt for truth, and letters on my keyboard, and share what some will find so basic as to not need saying. But there are things that need to be said. I want to remind those who know, and educate those who don't, that Jewish tradition insists that we treat each other with love and respect. That there are two tablets, and one of them is all about man and woman's relationship with each other. That Rabbi Akiva summarized the entire jewish corpus as boiling down to loving your neighbor like yourself. That according to Rabbi Kook, former Chief Rabbi of Israel, the 2nd Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed because of baseless hatred between people --and as a corrolary, Rabbi Kook insisted, can only be rebuilt by an equal measure of "baseless love."
And so I have a very simple idea, one that I hope is simple as only truth can be. Each week, we have a built in opportunity to study Jewish law and lore, divided, by way of the Bible, in to 52 sections and weekly portions. Each week, I will aim to share thoughts from that section, with the caveat that each analysis, word, feeling, or moral lesson contributes something to how we treat each other, and should treat each other. I will focus on the neglected half, the less popular step-sister, the ethical not the purely religious.
But make no mistake: I don't advocate any backroom trades. There is no either/or in my world, or blog. Treat God well, Treat people well. Be a blessing. And you will be blessed.
While I can't definitively prove that this entity is needed now more than ever, I have my suspicions.
And no one needs to spend money, or effort, on this endeavor unless they find something here that smacks of reason, or more accurately, love.
We live in a time of extremes, and whether it is truly different than all that came before, or just feels that way, is almost moot. What I feel, what I see, and what I hear from other concerned friends, is that our age and most people find themselves sandwiched between text based fundamentalists --who believe unquestionably, and in the name of God, sacrifice common sense and fellow man -- and those who, not surprisingly, are so repulsed by the actions of God's supposed representatives that they sacrifice the proverbial baby with the tainted bathwater of belief.
As a Jew, as a person, as someone attracted to religion and people, and repulsed by the presumed choice required to be made between the two, I peck and hunt for truth, and letters on my keyboard, and share what some will find so basic as to not need saying. But there are things that need to be said. I want to remind those who know, and educate those who don't, that Jewish tradition insists that we treat each other with love and respect. That there are two tablets, and one of them is all about man and woman's relationship with each other. That Rabbi Akiva summarized the entire jewish corpus as boiling down to loving your neighbor like yourself. That according to Rabbi Kook, former Chief Rabbi of Israel, the 2nd Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed because of baseless hatred between people --and as a corrolary, Rabbi Kook insisted, can only be rebuilt by an equal measure of "baseless love."
And so I have a very simple idea, one that I hope is simple as only truth can be. Each week, we have a built in opportunity to study Jewish law and lore, divided, by way of the Bible, in to 52 sections and weekly portions. Each week, I will aim to share thoughts from that section, with the caveat that each analysis, word, feeling, or moral lesson contributes something to how we treat each other, and should treat each other. I will focus on the neglected half, the less popular step-sister, the ethical not the purely religious.
But make no mistake: I don't advocate any backroom trades. There is no either/or in my world, or blog. Treat God well, Treat people well. Be a blessing. And you will be blessed.
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