While Tu B'Shevat has blossomed (pardon the pun) into a holiday celebrating ecology, agriculture, and environment and has taken on mystical significance with various "seders" of Tu B'Shevat celebrated, the source of the holiday is quite prosaic. The first Mishna in Rosh HaShana records a dispute between Bais Shamai and Beis Hillel whether the "rosh hashana l'ilanos", the new year for trees, falls on the first or the fifteenth of Shevat. Fifteen is demarcted by the two hebrew letters "tes", which has the value of 9, and "vav", which has the value of six, together spelling Tu B'Shevat. The halachic consequence of the dispute revolves around the technical laws of ma'asors - tithes, which require defining a cutoff point between one year and the next, for which we use the approximate date that the new trees begin to blossom (chanatah). If one reads the Mishna carefully, a grammatical oddity stands out. One does not take ma'aser from the actual tree, but from the fruits that grow on the tree. In fact, the very next Mishna in Rosh HaShana speaks about G-d judging the world for "peiros ha'ilan", how much fruit the trees will produce. Shouldn't Tu B'Shevat be more properly called Rosh HaShena l'Peiors, the new year for fruit, not Rosh HaShana l'Ilanos, the new year for trees? Anyone who has gone apple picking on a September or October day can remember the bright sun beating on the orchard and the sweet apple aroma. If you wander in the same orchards in the early spring months, you will likely still feel the winter frost blowing through the barren trees. Yet the farmer knows that it is during those crucial early months that pollination of his crops must occur if the ripe apples of the fall are to blossom. The ugly bark of the tree carries just below its surface the nutrients needed for the blossoms to grow and ripen to the magnificent red apples of the fall. The Torah (Devarim 20:19) tells us that "man is like the tree of the field". We tend to judge people's character by the superficial evidence that attracts us - their appearance, dress, smile, looks. We are looking at the apple tree in the fall, with the red shiny fruit grabbing all our attention. Yet, that fruit will not return next year or the year after unless the tree itself is healthy and well cared for. Rosh HaShana L'Ilanos tells us that the fruit may catch our eye, but long lasting growth and fulfillment is in the quality of the tree itself.

 

From Hidden Hester to the Giluy of Megillah by Rabbi Chaim Brown (original to kallahmagazine.com)

"Esther min haTorah minyain?" - Where is there a hint in the Torah to Esther? 
"V'Anochi haster astir panay bayom hahu" - "I shall hide my face from them on that day" (Devarim 31:18)

On one level, this enigmatic statement of Chazal (Chulin 139) is simply a remez, a hint derived from a play on words, calling our attention to the similarity between Esther's name and the word "hester", hidden.  The theme of "hiding" permeates the holiday of Purim and the entire Megillah: Esther hides her identity from Achashveirosh and his court; Hashem hides within the story and is not mentioned once in the entire Megillah; we hide our identity on Purim behind masks.  Yet, hidden within this Chazal is perhaps a deeper message.  The MaHaRaL asks: why of all the heroes and heroines of Tanach does the gemara focus exclusively on finiding a hint within the Torah for Esther, Mordechai, and Haman?  Why is there never a question of finding a remez to David haMelech, Nevuchatnetzar, or any other Navi or rasha in the Torah?  And what does it mean to find these personalities hidden in the Torah - does that make the events of Purim more significant, or does that add weight to the stature of Esther, Mordechai, or Haman? 

R' Nachman m'Breslev (Likutei Moharan m"k #56) explains that when describing Hashem's hidden face in galus, the Torah uses a double expression - "haster astir".  When something is hidden, it can be sought out and missed.  But if one is unaware that something is hidden, one will never look to discover it.  The double language of the Torah tells us that in galus, not only is Hashem hidden, but we are even unaware that he is hiding from us. 

The Ba'al Shem Tov (see Degel Machne Ephraim, Parshas Ki Tavo) explained the idea of hester with a mashal.  A king with magical powers wished to seclude himself from his followers.  The king had always lived among his people, but now they had come to take his presence too much for granted. Since the king was a master of illusion, the king actually remained where he always was, but created a magical appearance of moats, guards, gates, fences, and all types of barriers to keep people away.  Faced with the illusion of insurmountable obstacles, most people did not even try to reach the king.  A few others pressed through the first barrier, the second barrier, but eventually gave up.  It was a small minority who kept their faith in the king strong, who knew that he loved his people and that the barriers and distance were only an illusion.  By holding to that belief and shutting their eyes to the illusion that surrounded them, these few were able to walk right through the obstacles and meet the king as they always had. 

Everything in the world, from the holiest mitzva objects down to the lowest item that can be used for avodah zarah, only exists because Hashem wills it to be so.  Yet, Hashem is hidden - we think things exist for our sake to enjoy and to use, and we don't often think about the fact that it is not our will, but Hashem's will, and his purposes, that give each and every moment and object its very existence.  The King hides behind the illusion of a world running on its own course, with few seeking out his presence.

R' Nachman explains that when we are looking for someone, we call out their name.  The Ramban writes (hakdamah to peirush al haTorah) that the Torah is Hashem's name; just as a name represents a person's will (the word shem, name, has the same numerical value as ratzon, will), the Torah represents Hashem's will.  We have the power to pierce the illusion by calling out the king's name, by remembering and reminding ourselves that without the Torah, without the constant ratzon Hashem sustaining the world, it would cease to exist.

Purim was a time of tremendous hester panim.  We were in galus, and the illusion of being left alone to the political forces of the Persian kingdom was very strong.  Yet, this illusion was a mask to the reality of the King never having left us and just waiting for us to call to Him.  It is precisely with respect to Purim that the Gemara asks for the remez to Esther and Mordechai in the Torah because by remembering that everything in the world receives it chiyus only because of Torah and only through ratzon Hashem, the guise of illusion and hester panim is dispelled.  "Esther min haTorah" is not just a hint, but is the very cause of the nes itself. 

The Midrash tells us that even when all holidays are bateil, the holiday of Purim will be with us.  R' Tzadok HaKohein explains that at times of great danger and shmad it is difficult if not impossible to observe the mitzvos of Yom Tov, and certainly the same applies to the mitzvos of Purim.  Yet, precisely in those times of hester panim, the power of the essence of the day of Purim remains.  Precisely in the darkest moments, Purim reminds us that our true chiyus is only from Torah and Hashem is with us always, even when the illusion around us tells us it is not so. 

By using the koach haTorah to dispel the hester panim of our galus, we too can be zoche to orah v'simcha, sason v'yikar.

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e of hefker meet the needs of the moment; actions in a life of responsibility take on historical significance as they effect future efforts and results. 

 

From the spring 2006 issue on Atzmos Yosef, Yam Suf, and Yetzias Mitavrayim:  2 Perspectives

What’s Bred in the Bone

 

“What’s bred in the bone will come out in the flesh”.  In the case of two of our great shvatim, this expression touches on a point of literal truth.  The first example is more obvious, as it is explicit in the pesukim of the Torah.  The life of Yosef ends with his administering an oath to his brothers, “v’ha’alisem es atzmosei mizeh itchem”, you will take my bones from Egypt with you.  And, true to that promise, the Torah tells us that none other than Moshe Rabeinu personally took charge of carrying those bones from Egypt.  The second example is more subtle, reflected in a Gemara in Sota (10b).  Chazal tell us that for the 40 years that Bnei Yisrael traveled in the desert “atzmosav shel Yehudah hayeu m’galglin b’aron,” the bones of Yehudah were rolling in their coffin.  Yehudah had promised his father to return Binyamin, and the consequence of failure was set as no less than the loss of his share in Olam Haba, the World to come.  Even though he returned Binyamin, the utterance of such a condition blocked Yehudah from resting in the olam haemes.  The gemara concludes that Moshe here, too, personally took charge and davened that Yehudah be admitted and given his rightful place in the yeshiva shel ma’alah, the Heavenly congregation.  Is it just coincidence that Yosef and Yehudah have a shared history of remaining bones, or does this concurrence indicate that their fates are intertwined in a way that is somehow “bred in the bone”?

 

In the story of Yosef, his brothers, and the resolution of their conflict, there are two episodes that seem to interrupt the narrative as a whole and divert our attention from the main storyline.  The first interlude occurs in between the sale of Yosef and the events that occur to him in Mitzrayim, where our attention is diverted (Braishis 38) to the story of Yehudah and the deaths of his sons, his relationship with Tamar, and the eventual birth of Peretz and Zarach.  The second interlude occurs in between the end of Yosef’s jail term and his ascent before Pharoah, where the Torah diverts our attention (Braishis 40) to focus on the Sar HaMashkim and the Sar haOfim, the winemaker and the baker, two officers of Pharoah, one of whom returns to his former post, and one of whom is beheaded.  These seem to be the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of the Yosef story!  While it might be argued that we need to know of the Sar HaMashkim because he is the one who eventually reveals Yosef’s power of dream interpretation to Pharoah, nonetheless, the details of his dream, its outcome, and certainly the dream and fate of the Sar haOfim would see redundant to the narrative as a whole. 

 

Nothing in the Torah is redundant or out of place, so if our attention is redirected by the Torah, we must ask how the what idea is indicated by the apparent shift in focus.  Everything that occurs to Yosef in Mitzrayim is but a prelude to the fruition of his dreams and the resolution of the conflict with his brothers, and the episode of the Sar HaMashkim and Sar haOfim is no exception to this rule.  In the dream of the Sar HaMashkim, he describes in minute detail the growing and ripening of the grapes, the pressing of the grape into wine, the preparation of the wine in Pharoah’s cup, and the eventual serving of the wine to his master, Pharoah.  The Sar haMashkim is a process-oriented detail person; he is not just concerned with the final outcome or product, but is concerned with how to get there and every step of production.  In fact, the Sar haMashkim was imprisoned not for a fault in his preparation but for the circumstances of a fly happening to land in Pharoah’s cup of wine.  On the other hand, the Sar HaOfim’s dream starts with his carrying baskets of loaves on his head to serve Pharoah.  We are not told anything about how the dough was prepared, who did the baking, or how the bread got there.  The Sar haOfim is an outcome-oriented person, a person who is not concerned about the means to the end, about the steps to get to the desired goal; he is just focused on the end product.  When we look at how he got into prison, it reflects the same attitude – the Sar haOfim let a rock be baked into his bread, something a person who was meticulous about the process of baking, the process of sifting the flour, would not have allowed to happen. 

 

The  Ishbitzer in Mei HaShiloach teaches that the dreams of the Sar haMashkim and the Sar haOfim reflected the personalities of Yosef and Yehudah.  Consider how Yosef is treated by his brothers.  The options they considered were:  to kill him outright,  to do nothing, to throw him into a pit, or as Yehudah took the lead in suggesting, to sell him into slavery.  Yehudah followed the rational process of weighing the merits of Yosef’s case, and based on the facts at hand, the supposed danger Yosef posed, he arrived at what seemed a just conclusion.  It was not in the process that Yehudah was mistaken, for ain l’dayan elah mah she’einav ro’os, any judge can only look at the facts before him, but nonetheless, the outcome was wrong.  Much as the Sar haMashkim is a victim of circumstance outside his control, Yehudah was victim to events for which his rational decision making could not account.  Yosef is the baker, expressing his lofty dreams of greatness to his father and brothers with no thought of the preparation it would take to see those dreams to fruition, with no thought as to how those dreams would be received.  The process was of no concern, but in Yosef’s case, the hashgacha decrees the outcome would eventually result in the correct ending.  Yosef needed to see a vision of his own defects and those of his brother in order to find the strength to grow out of the results-only mindset.  Witness the dramatic delay and delay and preparation until just the right moment before Yosef reveals himself to his brothers – the process suddenly dominates Yosef’s entire thinking o insure no mistake is made.

 

We now have a better perspective on the interlude of Yehudah and Tamar.  Yehudah thought he dealt fairly with his daughter-in-law Tamar in telling her to wait for his youngest son to mature, and he considered himself a fair judge in sentencing her to death for the supposed crime of znus.  Yehudah was consistent in his process of arriving at the conclusion indicated by the facts.  Yet this time, at the critical juncture of pronouncing Tamar’s fate, Yehudah’s process-attitude was brought to a halt.  In one dramatic declaration “tzadkah mimeni”, she is more righteous than I, Yehudah was forced to admit that for all his attention to the details of the process, the outcome was faulty.  By coming to the realization that process alone does not guarantee a just and correct outcome, the groundwork was laid for Yehudah to reconsider his judgment of Yosef – could he have been mistaken there as well, despite carefully considering all the facts before him?  

 

The contrast and development of Yosef and Yehudah is borne out in their relationships with the women they encounter.  Yehudah appears to be tempted by a woman of questionable reputation, and compounds his problem by leaving evidence of his guilt behind.   Yeudah seems to exercise questionable judgment, but in actuality the Midrash (85:9) tells us that Yehudah’s actions were coerced by an angel in order to bring about Hashem’s plans.  No matter what Yehudah would have or could have done, his encounter with Tamar was inevitable, and would produce the offspring that lead to the lineage of David HaMelech.  The Ishbitzer writes based on Zohar that this is why the Levi’im sing the songs of David HaMelech’s Tehillim over the nisuch hayayin, the wine offering brought with korbanos.  Just as the Sar HaMashkim could not stop the fly from spoiling the king’s wine cup despite all his preparation, Yehudah could not avoid fathering Tamar’s children.  Yehudah’s own life is governed not only by his own efforts and preparations, but by outcomes that lay beyond his control. 

 

While Yehudah is learning that his intelligence and preparation alone do not always lead to the expected outcome, Yosef is learning the importance of attention to the process.  Chazal tell us that Eishes Potifar saw her destiny to be with Yosef in Olam Haba, and (as Rashi tells us) she revealed this vision to Yosef.  Once again, great and tempting dreams of even spiritual success stood before Yosef, but this time, Yosef’s withstands temptation.  The process of succumbing to Eishes Potiphar was wrong, despite the promise and vision of lofty gains to be had.  The dreams of Eishes Potifar were realized in the end, but not through he.  Rather it was Potifar’s adopted daughter, Osnas, who became Yosef’s wife.  The Sar HaOfim ignored sifting the flour at his own peril; Yosef has learned that how you reach your goals is often as important as the ends themselves, and if not attended to, can lead to downfall. 

 

Chazal teach (Nidah 31) that the bones of a child are formed by the father – perhaps Yehudah and Yosef both drew their inspiration from the bones of their father.  Ya’akov from the earliest days of his life is referred to as an “ish tam”, which the MaHaRaL (Nesivos Olam, Nesiv Temimus) explains to mean a righteousness that is inherent in the person’s character.  Ya’akov is given a second name Yisrael in recognition of his struggle with the angel of Eisav, which led to the confirmation of Yitzchak’s brachos.  The bones of Yosef are the bones of the character of Ya’akov, the bones that confer a dream and destiny of greatness from birth.  The bones of Yehudah which had no rest are the bones of Yisrael, the bones which struggle to make sense of the world and which are guided willy-nilly to fulfill the Divine plan.

 

These two aspects of Ya’akov / Yisrael find their expression in Rachel and Leah as well.  

Ya’akov takes great pains to avert Lavan’s trickery. To make certain of the match, Ya’akov even gave Rachel signs to ascertain that he was given the right bride.  Yet preparation alone does not guarantee outcome.  Metaphorically speaking, the wine cup is spoiled by the fly, as Ya’akov realizes that he has in fact married Leah in place of her sister. At the same time, destiny alone does not control all - the Torah describes Leah’s eyes as softened from years of crying over her fate to marry Eisav.  In the end, the tears that accompanied her heartfelt prayers bore fruit, and through divine hashgacha, she averted her dreaded fate and became Ya’akov’s first wife. Much as the baker discovers that poor sifting can ruin the best loaves, Leah discovers that events can take a far different course than remote visions would seem to harbinger. 

 

 

Ultimately, it was the combination of the planning of Yehudah with the dreams of Yosef that brought the plan of hashgacha to fruition, leading Ya’akov to descend peacefully into Mitzrayim.  Likewise, it was the combined forces of Yehudah and Yosef which led to the culmination of the geulah at the splitting of Yam Suf.   Chazal tell us that it was Nachshon, the leader of Yehudah, who leaped into the raging waters of the Sea, causing the water to split (Sota 36).  Yet, Chazal also teach that “vayanas hayam”, the Sea “fled” into parts in the merit of Yosef running away from the temptation of Eishes Potifar, “vayanas hachutza”.   Finding a shidduch is compared by Chazal to the miracle of splitting of Yam Suf.  It involves planning for the big plunge into married life, but it also involves belief that our bashert is destined and not everything is in our hands. 

 

Every relationship is built of “flesh and bone” – immutable and hard ideals that are inseparable from one’s character, and softer aspects of personality that become molded as life unfolds.  The bones of Yehudah and Yosef represented the core elements of their personalities that stayed with klal Yisrael.  We find that when Chavah was created, Adam said, “Zos ha’pa’am etzem m’atzamay u’basar m’bisari” – “This is bones from my bones and flesh of my flesh”.   Sharing the same bedrock of aspirations and ideals along with the flexibility to cope with crisis when the best laid plans do not work out as expected is the recipe for a successful shidduch.  Together, a couple will then be able to say, “Kol atzmosi tomarna Hashem mi kamocha”.       

    Four Questions for the Seventh Day of Pesach                                              

                                                      by   Abraham M. Jeger, Ph.D.

 “Hayom ro’oh vayonos” (Tehilim 114:3),  --  the sea saw, and it fled. This phrase refers to the miracle  of kriyas Yam Suf, the splitting of the Red Sea, which took place on the seventh day of the first Pesach during which Klal Yisroel left the servitude of Egypt. The Medrash on Tehilim (Shochar Tov, 114:3) addresses the issue of what the sea “saw” that triggered it to split.  One of its well-known responses is “Ro’oh  arono shel Yosef yored L’Yam”   -- it saw the casket of Yosef   entering the sea. The Medrash continues, “Omar HaKodosh Baruch Hu, Yanus Mipnei Hanos” -- it should flee because of the one who fled – namely, Yosef, who fled from the overtures of Potiphar’s wife, as it is stated (Bereshis 39:12), “Vayonas vayetze hachutza”—he fled and went outside.  A similar statement linking the splitting of the sea to Yosef’s casket appears in the Medrash Tanchuma, Sefer Bereshis (Parshas Yayeshev, 9).

 This is taken to mean that in the merit of Yosef, Am Yisroel earned the privilege to have the sea part for them, and thereby yield their final salvation from the approaching Egyptians. However, it remains unclear as to precisely how Yosef’s merits served as a catalyst for the sea to split.  Furthermore, the expression that the sea split in response to the sight of Yosef’s casket requires explanation; it should have stated that it saw his “image” or “face” or “soul” or his “merits.” In fact, another Medrashic discourse  (Bereshis Rabbah, 84:5) simply states, “Hayom lo nikra ela b’zechuso shel Yosef” – that the Red Sea split in the merit of Yosef.

 I would suggest that the reference to the “casket” of Yosef in connection to the splitting of the sea is particularly significant.  We know that the casket contained the remains of his bones, as it is stated in the beginning of Parshas Beshalach (Shmos 13:19), “Vayikach Moshe es atzmos Yosef imo” – that Moshe took the bones of Yosef with him when he left Egypt, as Yosef had commanded. Interestingly enough, a textual variation of the Medrash on Tehilim appears in Medrash Rabbah (Bereshis 87:8) which states,  “B’zchus atzmosov shel Yosef nikra hayom leYisroel” --  in the merit of Yosef’s bones the sea split for the Jews, as it is stated (Tehilim 114:3) “Hayom ro’oh vayonos” -- the sea saw, and it parted. Thus, the word “atzmosov” --  his bones – must reflect the essence of Yosef, and consequently will shed light on the underlying basis for the willingness of the sea to split for klal Yisroel.  

 The sea ultimately split upon seeing “atzmos Yosef,” namely, Yosef’s bones, for they represent achdus – unity.  It is the essential unity of klal Yisrael that countered the challenge of prosecution triggered by their factionalization, as will be elaborated on below.  How do the bones of Yosef stand for achdus?  The first reference we find to Yosef’s bones is made by Yosef himself, when just prior to his death (Bereshis 50:25), Yosef commanded his brothers (who outlived him) that upon their redemption from Egypt and ascent to Eretz Yisroel,  “Ve’haalisem es atzmosy mizeh” – and you shall take my bones with you from here (i.e., Egypt) to Eretz Yisroel.  The same phrase appears in Parshas Beshalach (Shmos, 13:19), “Vayikach Moshe es atzmos Yosef imo” – Moshe took the bones of Yosef with him – “ki hashbea hishbia es bnei Yisroel le’emor” – for he had adjured the Children of Israel, saying – “ pakod yifkod Elokim eschem, ve’haalisem es atzmosy mizeh itchem” --  that Hashem will remember you, and you shall take my bones with you from here with you. Rashi on this verse cites an analysis of the Sages (in Mechiltah) that  the word “itchem” (with you) is superfluous. This  implies that Yosef commanded his brothers to take his bones along with theirs – meaning, the bones of the brothers, which indeed their descendants had obeyed. Thus, while “itchem” literally means “with you” – it can homiletically mean “with yours.” 

Rav Moshe Wolfson, Sh’lita ( the long-standing Mashgiach of Yeshiva Torah Vodaath) in his Sefer Emunas Itecha (Bereshis, Parshas Vayechi) posed four key questions regarding Yosef’s commandment to his brothers:

 

I. First, why did he command his brothers rather than his own sons, which is the normative procedure pertaining to last wills?

II. Why did he also insist on the transmission of his brothers’ bones for burial in Eretz Yisroel?  If this was their wish, it would be incumbent on them directly to command their own children to implement their will.

III. Furthermore, when Yaakov asked Yosef not to bury him in Egypt, and transport him to Eretz Yisroel, Yosef responded by saying “Anochi e’eseh ki’devorecha” (Bereshis 47:30) – I shall do as you say.  The Medrash (cited in Daas Zekenim Mi’baalei Ha’tosfos on the verse) interprets Yosef’s response to his father to mean that, “Just as you are commanding me, likewise I will command my brothers, prior to my death, to transport me from here” (which he had indeed done, as noted above). The question arises regarding the propriety of such a response. At a time when Yaakov is beckoning Yosef regarding his insistence on being buried in Eretz Yisroel, Yosef turns the conversation to his own futuristic needs – without an apparent direct acquiescence to Yaakov’s request.

IV. Why did Yosef refer to his remains as bones?  He should have said, “and you shall transport me” – referring to the totality of his remains. Surely his flesh remained intact as he was labeled  “Yosef ha’tzadik” (the pious), and was no worse than the sage Rabbi Elezar son of Rabbi Shimon, who said of himself that his flesh shall remain for eternity (Talmud Bavli, Tractate Bava Metziah, 84b). (Parenthetically, Rav Tzadok haKohen, in his Sefer Pri Tzadik (Bereshis, Vayechi 16) raises this question as well, and adds that if Yosef was not confident about the  preservation of his flesh, how was he certain about the survival of his bones? )

 Rav Wolfson answers all four questions based on a famous Talmudic dictum (Niddah 31a) that there are three partners in the development of humans: Hashem, who infuses the soul; the father, who contributes the bones; and, the mother who is the source of flesh. Thus, Yosef, in his utmost respect for his father’s wishes and  concern for their  optimal fulfillment, responded  by referring to his personal insistence that his own “bones” – which are a remnant of Yaakov’s essence – be ultimately  buried in Eretz Yisroel.  His focus was, therefore, exclusively on  the bones vs. the flesh. It explains why Yosef was concerned about his brothers’ bones also being buried in Eretz Yisroel –since they represent the remnants of Yaakov. He did not want to leave it to their discretion to command their own children – since Yosef was the one directly commanded by Yaakov, his dedication to fulfill his father’s wish prevailed upon him. He directed this charge to his brothers because of their greater obligation to respect their father, relative to Yosef’s children who are also required to respect their grandfather. The requirement for respecting a father supercedes respect for a grandfather (Rashi, Bereshis 46:1).   

  It follows from this analysis that Yosef’s concern with “bones”  - - his own and those of his brothers – in the interest of respecting Yaakov and perpetuating his commandment to the maximum, represents the ultimate in achdus – unity. That is why our sages specifically made reference to Yosef’s bones, or his casket which contained his bones, as embodying the essence of Yosef, and which served as an impetus for the sea to split. This was the symbol of unity, and the necessary antidote to the factionalization which characterized klal Yisroel by the Red Sea.   

 Let us examine what transpired at the point of klal Yisroel’s encampment by the Red Sea. There is a famous Medrash (cited in Yalkut Shimoni, Shmos 234) that Satan argued that Hashem should not perform miracles for the Jews, for they were idol worshipers, just as the Egyptians were. Upon hearing this the Angel of the Sea sought to drown the Jews and to prevent the sea from splitting. This is hinted at in the Verse (Shmos 14:29), “V’hamayim lohem chomah” – that the water transformed into a wall. The word “chomah” is written without the letter vov, which therefore also spells “cheimah” –meaning anger. Rav Meir Simchah of D’vinsk ( 5605-5686),  in his Sefer Meshech Hochmah (Shmos, 14:29) raised the question as to why this prosecution statement was not voiced by Satan earlier, while the Jews were still in Egypt, during which the Egyptians were smitten with the ten plagues and the Jews escaped all harm. His response centers on the difference between transgressions of the yochid, the individual, and the tzibbur, the community.

 There are two broad categories of commandments with differential classes of punishments – depending on whether they are transgressed individually or collectively. Sins between man and Hashem – such as idolatry, forbidden sexual unions, desecration of Shabbos  --   when  performed intentionally by an individual -- require various capital punishments as  atonement. On the

other hand, sins of an interpersonal nature – such as machlokes (strife), lashon haro (slandering), and  theft – when performed by an individual – do not even require malkos  (court-ordered 39 lashes). For example, in the case of theft, one can return the item and seek personal forgiveness from his fellow man. 

 In the case of collective transgressions, however, the reverse is true. That is, large-scale interpersonal transgressions on the communal level elicit capital punishments, while those between man and Hashem may be forgiven. The rationale is that when manifesting communal unity, there exists a divine protective power for the “tzibur” (collective). With large-scale interpersonal transgressions, the unity of the collective is violated – resulting in each person being judged as a “yochid” (individual) for his sins in the man-Hashem domain, and is subject to their commensurate individual punishments.

 

Rav Meir Simchah supports his thesis based on evidence from the following four sources:

 

1.Our sages in the Talmud Yerushlami (Tractate Pe’ah 1:1) point out that in the generation of King David, although they were collectively pious in the domain of man-Hashem commandments, their soldiers were more likely to die in wars. This is attributed to the prevalence of “dilturin” – slanderers and informants. In others words, they were “factionalized” and manifested interpersonal strife. This was in contrast to the generation of King Achav, which was prevalent with idol worshipers, but was consistently victorious in wars, without suffering deaths. Their merit was that they were characterized by unity. In the absence of unity, Am Yisroel loses the protective power of the divine presence that is afforded to the collective.

2. Another manifestation of this principle is evident in the Talmud Bavli (Tractate Yumah, 9b). Our sages contrast the differing triggers for the destruction of the two Temples. During the first Temple era, idolatry and illicit relations were the dominant sins – in contrast to the second Temple era where sinas chinom (baseless hatred) was prevalent. Thus, the first diaspora only lasted 70 years and the Temple was rebuilt. In contrast, we are still suffering for approximately 2000 years following destruction of the second Temple. Thus, the consequences of communal interpersonal transgressions are more severe than communal violations of man-Hashem commandments.

3. The destruction of humanity through the Great Flood in the generation of Noach is likewise compatible with this perspective. Rav Yochanan points out in Talmud Bavli (Tractate Sanhedrin 108a), that while this generation transgressed all commandments (including idolatry and illicit relations) their sentence for annihilation was only sealed due to large-scale theft. This is explicit in the verse (Genesis 6:13), “Hashem said to Noach, the end of all flesh has come before Me, for the land is abundant with theft, and I am about to destroy them.” (See Rashi, who refers to multiple sources for this analysis, on this verse.)  

4. Finally, this principle was also operative with the generation of the desert, which left Egypt. For the sin of the golden calf (idolatry), klal Yisroel was forgiven by Hashem (Shmos 32:14). However, the sin of the spies, which was characterized by slander toward Eretz Yisroel, resulted in factionalization. Since it encompassed a large-scale interpersonal transgression, the decree was meted out for all 600,000 men (between ages 20-60)  that  they must die over a 40-year period in the desert (Bamidbar 14:35).

 

Our ancestors in Egypt may have fallen prey to idol worship and ignored the commandment of circumcision (with the exception of the tribe of Levi) – both of which carry a death penalty.  Nevertheless, due to their communal unity, they can achieve forgiveness for these transgressions. Thus, the Divine prosecutor could not press a case against them. However, at the foot of the Red Sea, our Sages tell us (Mechiltah, Shmos 14:13) that klal Yisroel split into four factions: one sought to return to Egypt, a second proposed to fight the Egyptians, a third endorsed a “scream” strategy, while another advocated for jumping into the sea. Once they lost their unity, the prosecution argued that they are to be judged not as a collective, but as individuals.  As individuals, they would merit the death penalty for idolatry.  In order to be saved from the threat of prosecution, they had to become unified to merit the judgment of the klal rather than of the yochid.

 

This notion of Yosef as an embodiment of unity is further supported from a statement in the Talmud Bavli (Tractate Shabbos 139a), “Miyom she’piresh Yosef me’echav lo ta’am taam yayin” – from the day that Yosef separated from his brothers he did not taste a drop of wine. The Ben Ish Chai (Rav Chaim Yosef of Baghdad, 5594- 5669), in his Sefer Ben Yehoyodah, offered several reasons for Yosef’s avoidance of wine.  He suggests that Yosef was constantly engaged in prayer, as he was beseeching Hashem not to harm his brothers for their sin of selling him into servitude. Since one who is inebriated is not permitted to pray, and since his prayer was constant – “min hayom ve’halayla” (from day and night) he practiced total abstinence from wine.

 

Thus, Yosef’s prayers were not focused on his own predicament – but rather on the welfare of his brothers.  This represents an extraordinary manifestation of unity on the part of Yosef. Coincidentally (though not likely), in the previous daf Yomi cycle , this page in  Tractate Shabbos (139a) was studied on the seventh day of Pesach (5758) – the day that the sea split in response to encountering Yosef’s bones, the ultimate metaphor for unity among klal Yisroel!   

Dr. Jeger (ajeger@aol.com) is a NYS licensed psychologist, who serves as Professor in the Department of Psychiatry & Behavioral Medicine and Associate Dean of Clinical Education at the New York College of Osteopathic Medicine. This article is based on a  shiur presented to the weekly Parsha Chaburah through Congregation Bais Avraham of Lawrence.    

 

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From Extraordinary to Ordinary: Post-Pesach Recovery by Rabbi Chaim Brown  Read it here

                             

 

       Sefira, the number 12, and Lag BaOmer by Rabbi Chaim Brown

12,000 pairs of students die during a brief two month period, students of the greatest sage of Torah who studied for two pairs of 12 years, and all that is left is a single great scholar who paired with his son hides in a cave for 12 years.  We all recognize the story of Rabbi Akiva and the loss of his students which we mark during the Omer period, the story of his greatest student, R’ Shimon bar Yochai, who was forced to flee Roman persecution and hide in a case for twelve years and whose death we mark on Lag B’Omer, but what of the number twelve?  Why is this such a central focus of the events of this period? 

The Bnei Yisaschar (Chodesh Tishrei Ma’amar #7 as well as other places) explains that the 13 middot of Rabbi Yishmael used to darshen the Torah correspond to the 13 middot harachamim which we invoke when we recite selichos. Yet, these thirteen are not a single unit, but actually are divided into a group of twelve middot of chessed and one middah of din.   The single middah of din, which is described by the name “K-l”, corresponds to the middah of kal v’chomer.  The Talmud in fact uses the simple term “din” as a reference to kal v’chomer, e.g. the mishna in Bava Kamma uses the expression “dayo l’ba min HaDin”.  Halachically, there is a fundamental difference that exists between kal v’chomer and all the other middot used to explain the Torah.  Only kal v’chomer can be derived purely on the basis of sevara, logical inference, while all the other middot require a tradition handed down from one’s teacher.  The greatest chessed in the world is Hashem giving of himself to us.  The middot of rachamim cause Hashem to reveal more of his presence in the world, and correspondingly, the middot we use to explain the Torah reveal how much more of Hashem’s presence is with us that we see through a superficial reading of the Torah.  Yet, even at a time of din when Hashem’s presence is hidden, we must trust that he is with us and seek him out; even when there is no mesorah and tradition to explain a text of Torah, we are free to use kal v’chomer to seek and find that meaning ourselves.  ‘Piha pascha b’chochma’, explains the Bnei Yisaschar, refers to the middah of kal v’chomer which requires human intellect to reveal; ‘v’Toras chessed al leshona’ refers to the laws explicitly stated in the Torah which fall under the rubric of chessed. 

 The dichotomy between twelve and thirteen perhaps reflects on the relationship between the personalities of Rabbi Akiva and his student Rabbi Shomon bar Yochai.  The gemara in Menachos tells us that Moshe Rabeinu was given a glimpse of Rabbi Akiva teaching Torah and he was confounded by the depths of the shiur.  Moshe was despondent until he heard Rabbi Akiva asked the source for a halacha, to which he replied, “halacha l’Moshe m’Sinai”, it is a law which was revealed to Moshe on Sinai.  Rabbi Akiva was the father of all Torah sheBa’al Peh, but like the twelve middot of chessed and twelve middot of derush, ultimately his teaching was a revelation of what was already contained within the depths and profundity of the written Torah which was revealed by Moshe.   

When Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai emerged from his cave after twelve years of study everything he set his eyes on was consumed by flame.  Rashb”I could not tolerate a mundane world divorced from the revelation of G-d’s holiness.  Where was G-d’s presence felt in the bustling marketplace, in the day to day activities of most people’s lives – where was the chessed of Hashem apparent?  Rashb”I was missing the extra year, the thirteenth middah, the kal v’chomer.  G-d’s presence is found not just where he reveals it, but is found where we choose to discover it through our own efforts and intelligence.  Din is but a mask which awaits the revelation of kal v’chomer.  After one more year, the thirteenth year, in the cave, Rashb”I emerges and sees that man running home from the marketplace is not just a last minute shopper on some trivial errand, but is preparing for Shabbos.  Man’s efforts may appear mundane, but they are a necessary preparation to reveal G-d’s presence in the world. 

The Shev Shamytza in his introduction quotes from the Yerushalmi that Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said that had he been at Sinai he would have asked G-d for two mouths – one mouth to speak mundane matters, and a second mouth to dedicate only to Torah.  Surely, asks the Shev Shamytza, it is not prohibited to engage in necessary mundane speech – why was a second mouth needed?!  He answers that Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai saw that the relationship between one’s mouth and Torah sheBa’al Peh is the same as the relationship between written Torah and its scroll.  Not only are the words of Torah holy, but the container for their transmission is sanctified as well.  While the words of written Torah sanctify the parchment the text is written on, the words of Torah sheBa’al Peh sanctify the mouth of man which utters them.  It is not just the twelve middot of chessed which are Hashem’s revealed presence which are holy, but the mouth of mundane, physical man is holy as well, for it can reveal and discover the presence of Hashem even where not previously apparent. 

In a sense, this teaching of Rashb”I is an extension of his Rebbe, Rabbi Akiva’s teaching that “Es Hashem Elokecha tirah” , the command to fear Hashem, also includes a mitzvah to respect talmidei chachamim who are not just transmitters of law, but who embody the holiness of Hashem’s presence by virtue of that role.  Perhaps this idea sheds light on the tragic death of Rabbi Akiva’s students who, the Talmud records, failed in some way to properly honor each other.  I doubt that these students did not recognize their role in transmitting the teaching their Rebbe revealed, yet perhaps each one did not recognize that the nuance and subtlety of their different personalities which added to color that transmission was like the kal v’chomer, a further revelvation, rather than a mundane obstacle to be overcome.   

The power of man to create and reveal greater levels of kedusha is captured in the halachic dispute regarding when to start the entire process of sefira.  The Talmud records a debate between the Sages and the Tzedukim over how to interpret the words “M’macharas haShabbos”, the day after Shabbos, when we begin counting.  The Tzedukim held that the count must begin only on Sunday, but Chazal taught that Shabbos here refers to the night after the first day of Pesach, irrespective of which day of the week it falls on.  Aside from the hermeneutical issue, there was an unstated philosophical disagreement underlying the dispute.  Shabbos is inherently a day which is kadosh based on Hashem declaring and revealing it to be so from the first week of creation – it is a day of chessed.  Yom Tov, on the other hand, depends of Bais Din’s declaration of the month on a specific date – it requires an act of din, an act of declaration and discovery by man.  Shabbos is the Shechina imposing itself onto the world; Yom Tov is the day where we draw the Shechina into the world.  The Chachamim understood that kedusha is not only that which descends from above, but kedusha can also come about by man rising up to draw it down into our lives through the power of Torah sheBa’al Peh.

 To emulate Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Shimon bar Yoachi involves more than a trip to Meron and lighting a bonfire.  It involves recognizing the inherent sanctity of all aspects of our life, of not relegating holiness to the cave and the mundane to the marketplace, but of realizing Torah as an all encompassing vision. 

        

Na'aSeh Venishma: The Essence of Kabbalas HaTorah

by A. Moshe Jeger, PhD

Yom Hashishi (Bereishis 1:31), the sixth day, is the day when creation was fulfilled. Chazal explain that the sixth day refers to the date in Sivan when the Torah was given, namely, Shavuous. The day of Kabbalas HaTorah was the day that the union of Hashem with B’nai Yisrael was consecrated under the chuppah of Sinai. At Har Sinai, the Torah was accepted by B’nai Yisrael with the unequivocal statement: "Na’aseh VeNishma," "we will do, and we will hear." With this phrase, the nation of Israel was compared to the angels, who stand ready to act, before even hearing the command. Likewise, our forefathers made the commitment to perform Hashem’s will and adhere to His commandments prior to receiving any knowledge about the details inherent in the demands to be placed upon them. This was perceived to be such an anomaly that the Talmud (Tractate Shabbos; 88a) relates a dialogue between the sage Rava and a Tzedukki who labeled the Jews as an impulsive people. His argument was that the Jews should have first listened to what Hashem had to offer, and then consider whether they wished to accept it or not.

In his Sefer Bais Haleivi (D’rashos section), Rav Yosef Ber Soloveitchik (1820-1892) expounds on this challenge from a halachic perspective. He cites the Rambam (Maimonides) in Hilchos Mechirah (Laws of Sales; 11:7) who states the following: "ha’mechayev atzmo b’davar sh’eino katzuv, ein ha’chiyuv chal olov k’lal." This means that if a person obligates himself to purchase something which is not demarcated, something imprecise, then the deal is off. Similarly, if one commits himself, in a general manner, to do anything that another person will request of him, the obligation is null and void. As one has no way of knowing what the other person will demand, the commitment is considered too imprecise to be binding.

If so -- asks the Bais Haleivi -- how could our forefathers in the desert have committed themselves to accepting the Torah, before obtaining full knowledge of all its detailed commandments? He answers as follows: Even the Rambam, who presented the above p’sak (legal edict), agrees that one can sell himself into slavery, and thereby obligate himself to do whatever his master will demand -- despite the fact that at the outset he lacked the knowledge of specific tasks which may later be requested of him. How is this different from the previous case? The rationale is that when one offers himself as a slave, the transaction is qualitatively different than committing oneself to an isolated obligation. The person is basically "makneh es gufo" -- he offers his entire body to his master. It then follows automatically that certain specific behavioral obligations must be performed.

Likewise, when our forefathers uttered the words "Na’aseh Ve’Nishma," they surrendered their entire beings to Hashem. The consequence of Yisrael’s subjugation was a self-imposed obligation to adhere to any Commandments that Hashem would require of them. It was a total "kinyon haguf," "acquisition of one’s body," -- parallel to the sale of a slave. As the posuk in Yeshaya, (41:8) states, "Yisroel avdi atoh" -- "Nation of Israel, you are my servant." We are considered "complete" servants to Hashem -- representing a total subjugation of our beings to His service. This is what distinguishes us from the nations, as the Mechiltah (Shmos 19:4) derives from the verse found near the giving of the Torah, "veheyisem li segulah mikol hoamim" -- "that you will be my most beloved of nations." The Mechiltah interprets this to mean "shetiyu kenuyim li ve’oskim b’Torah" -- namely, that you will constitute my possession, and study the Torah. It is indeed very appropriate that the Nation of Israel exclaimed "Na’aseh VeNishmah" -- essentially offering their entire being for service to Hashem!

Consequently, the commitment of the Nation of Israel to observe 613 Mitzvos (commandments) is not only quantitatively different, but qualitatively differently than that of a Ben Noach whose obligation is limited to 7 Mitzvos. The Ben-Noach’s obligation is merely a limited set of demarcated commandments that does not constitute a total subservience to Hashem. The seven Mitvos constitute an external obligation – a chiyuv – but not a kinyan haguf.

Another consequence of "Na’aseh VeNishmah" is a status of kedusha that defines the essence of Yisrael as holy. Through their pronouncement B’nai Yisrael attained an impenetrable kedushas haguf, holiness of body. The nation of Israel can never lose its status in the domain of kedushas haguf. This is exemplified by the dictum in Tractate Sanhedrin (44a) which states that, "Yisroel, af al pi sh’chotah, Yisroel hu" --a Jew who sinned is still a Jew. It does not matter how grave a sin, nor if his intention is to isolate himself from the nation of Israel , his withdrawal cannot take effect. Even for the a Jew who falls from the path, the connection of kedushas haguf -- the primary sanctity can never be severed, and the way of return remains open.

Like a marriage, the relationship between Hashem and Yisrael transcends the specific obligations inherent in the marriage contract; the union is not dissolved as a result of breaching a particular obligation. The kedusha of Yisrael remains eternal, for our bond to Hashem is one of an indisolvable marriage. Shavuous is our wedding anniversary, the day we remember the kedushin of Hashem with B’nai Yisrael at Kabbalas HaTorah. This is the time to renew our commitment to our relationship with Hashem as we reflect on how we can offer our own personal expression of na’aseh venishma in our everyday life.

Dr. Jeger (ajeger@aol.com) is a NYS licensed psychologist, who serves as Professorin the Department of Psychiatry & Behavioral Medicine, and Associate Dean of Clinical Education at the New York College of Osteopathic Medicine. An earlier version of this D’var Torah was developed in honor of his son’s bar mitzvah and was published by www.Torah.org in 1999. This version is modified and printed with the permission of the author and Torah.org. Copyright by Dr. A.M Jeger and Project Genesis, Torah.org.

The Marriage of Geulah to Tefillah

by Rabbi Chaim Brown

R’ Nosson writes in Likutei Moharan (II:102):

One time I came to him and he related to me that a certain Rav . . . had spoken on the topic of Boaz and Rus, that Boaz and Rus are the secret of ‘smichas geulah l’tefila’. Boaz represents the quality of "goel’ [redeemder], as it is written, "For I am a redeemer [of the field]." Rus represents the quality of tefillah [prayer], as our Rabbis taught, ‘Why was her name called Rus? – Because from her descended David, who exalted G-d with songs and praise.’ It was clear from his words that he revealed through this a very lofty teaching, but I did not merit to hear it."

R’ Nosson’s reference to what he terms "lofty Torah" about Rus and Boaz is perhaps no less enigmatic than Megillas Rus itself. While the first day of Shavuos is marked by the heights of mattan Torah, which we re-experience by remaining awake all night learning, davening vasikin, hearing the beautiful poem of Akdamus, and the keriyas haTorah of aseres hadibbros, the second day of Shavuos is almost an afterthought into which is stuck the story of a poor convert helping to redeem her mother-in-law’s ancestral plot of land. R’ Nosson highlights Rus as the personification of the power of tefillah through her being the grandmother of David HaMelech, author of Sefer Tehillim, yet this only begs the question of how this theme of tefillah is part of a chag devoted to kabbalas haTorah and study of Torah?

The key to unlocking the puzzle of Rus lies in unraveling the puzzle of tefillah itself. One would think that surely the few moments a day we have to stand directly before Hashem should be filled with the most sublime thoughts and lofty requests. Yet, it almost seems that much of our tefllah could be boiled down into two words: "I need!" Tefillah of this sort is almost daring in its insinuation that without our prayers Hashem either does not know our needs or has not already fulfilled our every need necessary for our personal mission. R’ Kalonomus Kalmish Shapira, the Piecezna Rebbe hy"d, in Aish Kodesh, explains that there is indeed a more lofty meaning to tefillah. The essence of this higher level of tefillah is not concern for our own needs, but concern for the presence of the Shechina being felt in the world and in our lives. Because we see poverty, sickness, suffering, we are blind to Hashem’s presence. Through our tefillos we beseech Hashem to remove these obstacles, not for our personal sake, but simply so we can better appreciate his greatness. With this, the Aish Kodesh explains the prayers of Bnei Yisrael in Mitzrayim: "VaYay’anchu Bnei Yisrael min ha’avodah vayizaku, va’ta’al shavasam el haElokim min ha’avodah" – Bnei Yisrael grew forlorn from their labor and cried out, and their prayers ascended to Hashem (Shmos 2:23). Bnei Yisrael were so oppressed that the focus of their tefillos inevitably was to beg for immediate salvation from slavery, "VaYizaku", yet even within that cry, they also begged for the opportunity to once again be able to offer true tefillah only for the Shechina itself, "Vata’al shavasam el haElokim", for Elokus to be felt and realized in the world.

Based on the interpretation of the Aish Kodesh, we have greater insight not just into that particular moment of tefillah, but into the entire goal of yetziyas Mitzrayim. Yetziyas Mitzrayim was not only an act of physical redemption, but a redemption of the act of prayer. The davening in Mitzrayim was tefillah tata’ah, the lower level of davening only for personal need, but upon being freed from the bondage of slavery, we were free to enagage in tefilla ila’ah, the higher level of prayer to Hashem to remove hester panim and fill the world with His presence. This goal of the geulah was set out before Moshe in his initial encounter with Hashem, where he was promised, "B’hotziacha es ha’am m’Mitzrayim ta’avdun es haElokim al ha’har hazeh," – When you take Bnei Yisrael out of Egypt, you shall return to worship on this mountain.

The transformation of tefillah from a purely personal act of need fulfillment to an act of drawing Hashem into the world took place over the days of sefira between Pesach and Shavuos. The large letter "nun" (whose numerical value is 50) in the word "ta’avduN es haElokim al haHar", worship Hashem on Har Sinai, hints to the 50 days of counting between Pesach and Shavuos. We caught a glimpse of the Shechina in its glory in our redemption from Egypt, but it quickly departed and left us seeking and striving to recapture that moment. This is the longing of Shir haShirim which we read on Pesach, the search, "avaksha es she’avavah nafshi" for Hashem, our beloved. Tefillah is the mechanism that can once again bring us back to that moment of Shechina revealed. The days of sefirah are days of learning to daven, of learning that kedusha is not just imposed from above, but can also be drawn into the world by our longing from below.

The source of the halacha which teaches when we begin the count of sefira itself attests to this function of tefillah. The Talmud records a debate between the Sages and the Tzedukim over how to interpret the words "M’macharas haShabbos", the day after Shabbos, when we begin counting sefira. The Tzedukim held that the count must begin only on Sunday, but Chazal taught that Shabbos here refers to the first day of Pesach. We being to count immediately on the second day of Pesach irrespective of which day of the week it falls on. Aside from the hermeneutical issue, there was an unstated philosophical disagreement underlying the dispute. Shabbos is a day that is inherently kadosh, for Hashem established its holiness from the first week of creation. Yom Tov, on the other hand, depends of Bais Din’s declaration of the month on a specific date. Shabbos is the Shechina imposing itself onto the world; Yom Tov is the day where we draw the Shechina into the world. Shabbos is the day of Torah – although the Sages dispute whether mattan Torah occurred on the sixth or seventh of Sivan, everyone agrees it occurred on Shabbos; Yom Tov is a day of mikraei kodesh, which the Ramban writes refers to a public gathering for tefillah. The Tzedukim felt that kedusha can only come from above, when Hashem magnanimously decides to reveal himself, as He does only on Shabbos. However, the Chachamim understood that kedusha is not only that which descends from above, but kedusha can also come about by man rising up to draw it down into our lives.

This dynamic between prayer for personal need and selfless prayer is embodied in the personality of Rus. Read superficially, we might misjudge Rus as seeking out Boaz in order to regain social position for Naomi, in order to have the family fields redeemed, or in order to escape the life of poverty that met Naomi upon her return. Yet, Chazal tell us that Rus’s name hints to David haMelech being "ravah l’Hashem b’shiros b’tishbachos", praising Hashem through the songs of Tehillim. Obviously Rus could not have been named because of the qualities of a descendent who was not yet born – rather, Chazal mean to teach us that Rus herself embodied those qualities which saw expression later in David haMelech, who said of himself, Ani tefillah." I am the embodiment of prayer. Much as true tefillah is a selfless act, Rus represents that very quality of selflessness: she is willing to abandon her home and future in order to cling to Naomi and become part of Klal Yisrael, even though Naomi warns her of the harsh life that lies ahead. Precisely because she is willing to abandon all for the sake of Hashem does she later merit to encounter Boaz, who becomes the family’s redeemer.

R’ Nachman teaches (Likutei Moharan I:65:4) that Rus represents the nefesh which finds expression in words of tefillah, in the longing for Hashem to reveal himself and remove our perception that the world is filled with pain, want, and suffering. "Einayich basadeh asher yiktzorun," even as you sow and plant the field, focus your eyes on the harvest; even as your soul feels the pains of this world, focus your longing on the spiritual harvest which is the true goal of prayer. Yet, R’ Nachman continues, the thirst of the nefesh cannot continue unabated – it must find relief from its longing. Hashem does answer the longing of the nefesh by revealing Himself to us – this is the encounter of learning Torah. Boaz’s name can be read as bo oz, within him is the strength of Torah, for it is Boaz who embodies the answer of Torah to the longing of tefillah.. The gemara tells us that the culmination of the Megillah was Boaz being mechadesh in halacha: he gathered ten people to teach the halacha that any female from Moav is permitted to marry into Klal Yisrael. The selfless dedication of Rus is matched only by the selfless response of Boaz, who agrees to take her as his wife in addition to being the redeemer of the property of Naomi.

This is perhaps some of the meaning of semichas geulah l’tefillah – prayer which is redeemed from any selfish focus and concentrates only on receiving the ratzon Hashem, which is revealed in direct response to the soul’s selfless longing. Rus represents the Jewish heart which cries out for Hashem to reveal Himself. Boaz represents the mind that absorbs the teaching of Torah, the result of that revelation. This perhaps is also the deeper meaning of the Sefas Emes’s teaching that the offering of the two loaves of the shtei halechem on Shavuos represent the offering of Torah and tefillah. And, perhaps, this is the connection between the first and second days of Shavuos. If when Shavuos is over we return to our regular schedule and put the experience of mattan Torah out of our thoughts, we have celebrated the first day of Yom Tov but not the second. But if when Shavuos is over our hearts and souls long to relive that experience, and it fills our tefillos, then we have celebrated the Megillah of Rus and the second day of Yom Tov as well. Through our tefillos, may we zoche again to greater insight into his Torah and to ultimate geulah through the removal of hester panim that will allow us to see Hashem’s presence in all creation.

 

 

For more sophisticated Torah thoughts by Rabbi Chaim Brown, see  http://divreichaim.blogspot.com/

 The Moon and the Monarchy

by Ariella Brown

The first mitzvah given to Jewish people as a nation was “Hachodesh hazeh lachem.”  B’nai Yisrael were given the task of bringing the new month into being, so to speak, upon the appearance of the new moon.  While the nations of the world are identified with steady sun, the Jewish people are aligned with the constantly changing moon.  That may be surprising, for isn’t the steadfast sun more worthy of such prominence than the constantly shifting moon?   Yet it is the very fact that the moon appears to change that makes it an apt emblem for the Jewish people.  As the moon wanes at the end of month until its light is nearly completely hidden, we affirm tht it will be reborn and grow to its full brilliance again just as we affirm that we will return to our glory as a nation.  This power of affirmation, based on our faith in Hashem,  is a quality that is especially manifest in  Jewish women.

 While men are given the opportunity to do kiddush haChodesh, Jewish women are given the day of Rosh Chodesh as a holiday.   Shulchan Aruch 417 on the laws of Rosh Chodesh says that women are accustomed not to do work on that day and that is a “good custom.”  The Mishana Brurah explains the reason:  When Bnai Yisrael were intent on making the golden calf, the women refused to contribute their jewelry   Consequently, women were rewarded with Rosh Chodesh as a Yom Tov.  The reward is not arbitrary.  The golden calf came about because Bnai Yisrael panicked when Moshe did not return to them when expected.  The men came up with a plan for a substitute figure to have a concrete presence to take his place.  In contrast, the women did not despair of Moshe’s return. The women were not taken in by the appearance of abandonment.  They were confident that Moshe will return, so they refused to contribute to the collection.  Just as the nashim tzidkaniyos sustained their faith in Hashem’s ultimate salvation during their enslavement in Egypt and took action to ensure the perpetuation of Yisrael, in this instance they were able to perceive that there is a light, though it appears obscured by darkness. Therefore, it is fitting that the women who affirmed their faith were given the Rosh Chodesh as a holiday.  The moon wanes until it all but disappears and then begins a new cycle.  That turning point, the transition from vanishing light to escalating radiance marks Rosh Chodesh a day that women should observe as commemoration of the potency of their assurance in Hashem’s promise.

At Kiddush levana we say “David Melech Yisrael chai vekayam,” “David, King of Israel lives and remains existent.”  As the moon is reborn, so to speak, for the new moon actually is called the nolad, we affirm our faith that the kingdom of Israel will also return, and the Davidic dynasty will reign once again.  We make this declaration not as the moon is in its glory of fullness but when it has all but disappeared as it shifts from the final waning phase to the initial waxing phase.  We cannot yet see the light, but we know it is there and will grow into greater glory once again.  The light of the Davidic kingdom has come out of darkness from heroic women who were able to see the gleam of hope beyond the darkness of the despair that faced them.

            The story of Ruth tells the story of the family that follows a trajectory downward until the turnaround yields new hope and the seed of the Jewish monarchy.  The spark of hope was sustained and enlarged by the faith of a woman who could see beyond the darkness of the present to the brightness of the future.   Naomi becomes “shiray shirayim,” as R” Chania says (Ruth Rabbah)  bereft of husband, sons, and all of her worldly goods.  While she approaches the stage of hopelessness, she rises out of it.  She raises her sights beyond the bleak prospect to recognize the opening of opportunity that was extended to her.  She apprehends the glimmer of light behind the darkness and so can pronounce that Hashem had not in fact abandoned her family. 

The megillah begins with Elimelech’s family’s defection from Eretz Yisrael.  While they start out with a plan of staying only temporarily, they end up settling into the fields of Moav.  Thus even after Elimelech dies, the family remains there. In Imma Shel Malchus, Yehoshua Bachrach explains that the punishment began within the sin, and “aveira gorreres aveira,” one sin leads to another.   Machlon and Kilyon were ashamed to return to their homeland, so they distanced themselves even further by marrying women from Moav.  Machlon and Kilyon fell into despair, and, as result, dug themselves even deeper into their sin.  It is from these depths that Naomi, who survives her family, has to extricate herself.          When Naomi resolves to return to her homeland, she sounds as if she has lost all hope.  Thus she tells the women who knew her before not to call her Naomi (which means pleasant) but Mara, (which means bitter) for Hashem has exacted bitter retribution from her.  She, who had enjoyed a high level of wealth, status, and a family, had lost everything (1:20-21).   She and Ruth are so destitute that their only source of sustenance is the bit of barley that Ruth manages to glean as the share allotted to the poor. 

But Naomi does not remain in a state of despondency; she not only puts her faith in Hashem’s chesed, she takes action.  She lights up with hope when Ruth tells her whose field she is gleaning in.  Upon recognizing the name of Boaz as a relative, Naomi could well have ordered her daughter-in-law to find a different field.  It would be a normal human reaction to avoid him because it is more embarrassing to receive the charity of someone who knew of her fall from her exalted position than to receive from someone to whom she would be anonymous.  Instead, she exclaims, “Baruch hu laHashem asher lo azav chasdo es hachayim ve’es hamesim”  She is able to comprehend the blessing in the situation that shows that Hashem has not abandoned his lovingkindness to both the living and the dead (2:20).  This comprehension is no small feat, for her hope seems to have no real basis.  At this point, Boaz has done nothing other than show a measure of recognition to Ruth and an assurance that she would not be harassed if she continues gleaning in his fields. Yet Naomi is confident that the fact that Ruth ended up in Boaz’s field indicates that Hashem has delivered them.  Not only will their basic needs be met, but they will not be able to keep the family name alive.

  While the light of the moon appears to have gone out completely, Naomi is certain that its light will grow bright again as the moon is reborn.  But she knows that it is not enough to cannot passively hope and trust that things will resolve themselves. Naomi recognizes that she must take action to effect the geula that she seeks.  She sends Ruth to Boaz, who declares that he will both redeem the field of Elimelech’s family and take Ruth as his wife.  As a result of Naomi’s action, not only is her family’s portion preserved, but a fundamental halacha of “Moavi velo Moavit,” is brought to light.  No less a figure than the Gadol Hador took Ruth as his wife, to publicly validate her lawful standing as a Jewess.  Naomi’s faith and actions are rewarded when Ruth has a son who is more than a grandson to her but like her very own child.  This child was called Oved, the father of Yishay, the father of David.

            Megillas Ruth was written by Shmuel haNavi to affirm David Hamelech’s rightful kingship.  Thus the narrative ends with a genealogy that traces the generations from Ruth’s son to David. However, the line the David was descended from has deeper roots than that.  The megillah itself recounts the blessing the people offer to Boaz that his household will be like the house of Peretz, the son of Tamar and Yehudah (4:12).  Tamar had attained her aspiration to carry a child from the royal line of Yehudah.  When she was widowed from his two oldest sons and was not given the chance to marry the third, she did not despair.  Instead she took matters into her own hands and won Yehudah himself as her husband after exposing herself to great personal risk.  Ultimately, she was extolled as a woman who put herself on the line leshem Shamayim in much the same manner as Ruth does.

            Generations earlier, there was a woman who refused to concede defeat and determined to affirm her faith in the future.   After the destruction of Sdom, Lot was left with his two daughters in a cave.  They believed that the destruction they had survived had wiped out all other people.  Instead of despairing, the eldest daughter determined that  it was up to them to repopulate the earth.  So she instigated a plan whereby hers son Moav and her sister’s son Ammon were born.  Even though they were operating under a mistaken impression and took a questionable path, Hashem rewarded them for their commendable intentions.  Consequently, the Davidic line descends directly from Lot’s daughter, through Ruth the Moavit, David’s great-grandmother.   

From the fall 2006 issue:

The “Succah” as the Ultimate “Bayis Ne’Eman”

                                                          By.      Moshe  Jeger, Ph.D. 

 

There are two occasions singled out for simcha.  One is the wedding when it is a great mitzvah to bring simcha to the chasson and kallah.  The other is the holiday of Succos, the time of simchas Bais Hashoeva, and the holiday referred to by the verses,  “Vesamachta bechagecha,. . . vehayita ach sameach,” You should rejoice in your holiday . . .  and be only joyful (Devarim 16: 14-15).  Furthermore, in our prayers, succos is designated as "zeman simchaseinu" -- our time  of rejoicing -- thereby reinforcing the essence of the holiday. These two celebrations have another common feature, the centrality of the bayis, the hut that we dwell in during Succos and the chuppah that represents the bayis to be established by the newly married couple.   A common beracha  (blessing) offered to the  choson and kallah, usually at the closing of  a “sheva berachos” dinner speech,  is that they should  merit building a  “bayis ne’eman be’yisroel” – a trusted, everlasting home within the nation of Israel. What is the meaning  of this blessing, and wherein lies its source? 

 

To answer the question, I  refer to the appearance of a variant of  the phrase “bayis ne’eman” in the Torah. It is in reference to Moshe (Bamidbar, 12:7), when HaShem responds to Miriam and Aaron following their negative statements regarding their brother, “Lo ken avdi Moshe, bekol baysi ne’eman hu” – Not so, my  servant (“eved”) Moshe, in my  entire House he is the trusted one.”  There is an implied connection between the reference to Moshe as an “eved” and “bayis ne’eman” – trustworthiness in HaShem’s House. What is the linkage? I had an original insight of adapting the notion of “eved” utilized in a Talmudic context.

 

Tractate Berachot (34b) relates Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa’s unique power of prayer, which effected cures for the sick.  In one instance, the son of Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai (the spiritual  leader of the generation, and teacher of Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa) fell ill, and Rabbi Yochanan beseeched Rabbi Chanina to pray for his son’s recovery. Upon the immediate recuperation of his son, Rabbi Yochanan  stated that had he prayed all day long, he would not have obtained the results of Rabbi Chanina. This assertion prompted Rabbi Yochanan’s wife to ask if Rabbi Chanina is “spiritually greater” than her husband.  He explained, “lav; elah hu domeh ke’eved lifnei ha’melech, ve’ani domeh ke’sar lifnei ha’melech”   --  No; rather,  he is like a servant before the King, while I am like a minister before the King. Rashi explains that a servant (eved) is on more intimate terms with the King, and has greater access – not requiring permission to enter and exit. In contrast, an officer maintains a more formal relationship, and is only permitted access at appointed times for distinct purposes. 

 

One of the  interpretations  of the Ben Ish Chai (Rav Chaim Yosef of Baghdad, 5594-5669), in his Sefer Ben Yehoyada, in contrasting the differential status of Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Chanina is as follows. Due to his excessive modesty,  R’ Chanina perceived himself as an eved, a slave,  before HaShem, and as a result of his total subservience to HaShem  was more worthy of having his prayers answered than R’ Yochanan, who as the leader of the generation perceived himself as an officer of HaShem.

 

 

The image used Rashi with respect to R’ Chanina is evoked  by the Even Ezra.  In defining the term “avdi Moshe,” on the verse which was cited above (Bamidar 12:7),  he explains the position of “eved” as a “ben bayis, she’yikanes be’lo reshus, ve’im yitztzorech, yedaber tzrochov”—like a houseboy, who can enter without special permission, and express his requests spontaneously. However, a few verses earlier regarding Moshe (Bamidbar 12:3), it is stated that, “Moshe anav mikol ha’adam asher al pnei ha’adamah” – that Moshe is the most humble man in the entire earth. Thus, the status of humility and reference as an “eved” – merging both interpretations of Rashi and the Ben Yehoyada—lead to “be’kol beisi ne’eman” – a trustworthiness, which granted Moshe access to HaShem’s inner chambers. In other words, “bayis ne’eman” reflects the acquired status of an “eved,” exemplifying utter devotion and total subservience to HaShem.

 

This concept of the eved HaShem is compatible with the Talmud (Tractate Chulin, 89a), which contrasts the relative humility implied by various personalities. King David expressed his humility by referring to himself as “toloas” (worm), whereas Avrohom Avinu referred to himself as “ofar vo’efer” (dust and ashes), while Moshe and Aaron described themselves as “venachnu mah” (what are we?; we are nothing!). The Talmud takes the position that Moshe and Aharon’s statement constitutes the most complete expression of self-negation.

 

It is precisely because Moshe was the ultimate paragon of “anivus” (humility) that he merited to be the agent for receiving the Torah (Tractate Shabbos, 89a).  Likewise, the lowest mountain, Har Sinai, rather than the most majestic, was chosen for Mattan Torah (Tractate Sotah,5a). The first Mishnah of Pirkei Avos (1:1), “Moshe kibel Torah miSinai” –  Moshe received the Torah from the mountain of Sinai --  recognizes both prototypes of human and material modesty as  inextricably linked to the transmission of Torah (Sefer Kedushas Levi, Likutim, Avos 1:1)..

 

This total self-negation of their material selves, is an ideal to which a choson and kallah should strive for. If practiced authentically, it brings them closer to the definition of “eved,” with their prayers having greater access  to the inner chamber of HaShem – reaching the ultimate heights of the “kiseh ha’kavod” (throne of glory) and thus their home becomes a “bayis ne’eman.”

 

The theme of the bayis constitutes the principal experience of  Succos, that of leaving one’s permanent dwelling to reside (i.e., eat, sleep) in a  “temporary”  hut (Tractate Succah, 2a). As mentioned above, another theme of the holiday is rejoicing, beyond the usual requirement of manifesting joy on all festivals – as explicitly  stipulated by the Rambam (Laws of Lulav, 8:12).  The question is obvious: how do we reconcile these two themes? How are we to rejoice if we are forced to reside in a flimsy shelter – and leave the comforts of a luxurious house?

 

 A well-known response is cited by Rav  Aaron Zakkai (Sefer Derashot Le’Moadim, Ch. 31)  -- namely, that negation of the material is the essence and at the core of true spiritual joy. The message of  the succah  is to reflect on the transient nature of our physical world, and imbue us with the notion that pursuit of  material pleasures is ultimately incompatible with true joy. Constant pursuit of the physical leads to envy and unfulfilled desires – emotions which are incompatible with spiritual contentment. It follows from the above, that the rationale for Succos is to re-experience the state of our forefathers, who  resided in succos for 40 years in the desert, where they lived a spiritual existence, transcending all material pursuits.

 

 This is also compatible with the rationale for succos based on the analysis of our Sages that the succos in the desert refer to the “ananei ha’kovod”  --  the clouds of glory – which enveloped and protected our forefathers during their  40 –year sojourn. Rav Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, ZTZ’L (Sefer Michtav  Me”Eliyahu, Vol. 2, pgs. 106-110) explains that the clouds were in the merit of Aaron – whose traits were known as “ohev shalom ve’rodef shalom” – a lover and seeker of peace (see Pirkei Avos, 1:12). That is why in our prayers we refer to “succat shalom” – a succah of peace. How are peace and succos related?  Since succos – in the form of the clouds of glory --- were in the merit of Aaron (Tractate Ta’anis, 9A) who embodied the trait of peace – the succah serves as a concrete representation or symbol of peace. He further elaborates that succah  exemplifies the notion of “bitul hayesh” – negation of the material -- due to  its transience. Peace is only achievable if one overcomes the inclination toward material aspirations that result in competitive frenzy.

 

As a temporary dwelling, the succah serves as an antidote to one’s material pursuits by fostering the traits of modesty, humility, and self-negation. Ultimately, it should bring us closer to a state of “eved” – a servant of HaShem, which are pre-requisites to gaining access to,  building of,  and residing in a “bayis ne’eman” – a lasting “spiritual” abode. It is not a coincidence that the succah is referred to in mystical teachings (Zohar III: 103b) as “tzilah de’mehimnusa” – a shadow of faith!  Ultimately, we should all be zoche to return to our proper spiritual abode and see the rebuilding of succas David with the coming of Moshiach.

Dr. Jeger (ajeger@aol.com) is a NYS licensed psychologist, who serves as Professor in the Department of Psychiatry and Behavioral Medicine, and Associate Dean of Clinical Education at the NY College of Osteopathic Medicine. A portion of this article is based on a shiur presented to the weekly Parsha Chabura at Congregation Basis Avraham of Lawrence.   

Challah – Food for the Soulby Rabbi Chaim Brown

It is only after the first thick slice of challah dunked in honey hits the palate that many of us fully sense that another Rosh HaShana is upon us.  Challah is more than just an essential gastronomical element of the Yom Tov, but in fact may rightly be called one of the reasons for the Yom Tov itself.  “B-reishis,” “ In the beginning…”, which marks the start of creation, is interpreted by Chazal as a hint to the mitzvah of separating challah, which the Torah calls “reishis arisoseichem,” the first dough.  The concept of “reishis” --  first -- used with respect to challah is not to be taken in the sense of chronological sequence, like the first one to finish a race, but in the sense of logical hierarchy, a first cause or first order of business necessary before other matters can be attended to.  Before creation could proceed, there had to be a mitzvah of challah.

One of the keys to appreciating the significance of hafrashas challah lies understanding the context in which the command first appears.  After the return of the spies and their discouraging report which discouraged entering Eretz Yisrael, the Jewish people were told their punishment of having to undergo a 40 year sojourn in the desert.  Immediately afterwards, the Torah commands the mitzvah of challah, which could only be performed in Eretz Yisrael.  On one level, this commandment intimates a consolation that, although deferred, the dream of entering Eretz Yisrael remained the ultimate destiny of the Jewish people.  However, there is also a lesson inherent in the mitzvah of challah itself that serves as a response to the spies.

Maharal contrasts the mitzvah of bikkurim, which is also referred to in the Torah as reishis, with the mitvah of hafrashas challah.  The mitzvah of bikkurim entails separating new fruit while the fruit is in its pristine state, untouched by man’s hand, and bringing that fruit to the kohein in the Bais haMikdash.  Bikkurim is an acknowledgement of the kedusha inherent in the natural bounty given by Hashem.  Although the Torah gives us no specific date for the episode of the spies, we are told that this story occurred in the days of bikkurei anavim, the blossoming of the first grapes.  The concept of bikkurim relates to the way of life that the spies wished to preserve, that is the way of life experienced by the Jews in the midbar where mann fell from the sky, water from a miraculous be’er, and protection from the Divine clouds that revealed Hashem’s presence.  These wonders sustained life without the normal means of human effort, but they were to cease upon the B’nai Yisrael’s entrance into their destined homeland.   The Jewish people would be forced from Hashem’s overt protection into the heat of war, forced to deal with the necessity of taming and farming the land, and challenged to build a kingdom surrounded by enemies. 

The spies could appreciate the kedusha of bikkurim, the pristine gifts of Hashem’s benevolence, but they could not comprehend how the barren wilderness of Eretz Yisrael could be transformed as well into a makom kadosh, a holy place.  They lacked the perspective of hafrashas challah, separating challah, which can take place only after wheat has been turned to flour, mixed with water and yeast to make dough, and kneaded by human hands.  Sanctity is not found only in an idyllic cocoon of holiness separated from the world, but is to be found even within the challenges and daily efforts of life that the Torah itself demands we engage in for the betterment of the world and our surroundings.  That is the sanctity epitomized by the mitzvah of hafrashas challah.

The mann that nourished the Jews was imbued with spiritual effect, as Chazal say, “lo nitna Torah elah l’ochlei haman” --the Torah was given only to those who ate mann.  Nevertheless, the food produced in Eretz Yisrael through the labor and toil of the farmer engendered a greater sense of appreciation for Hashem.  R’ Tzadok HaKohein (Tzidkas haTzadik #247 ) points out that the first bracha of birchas hamazon, which Moshe instituted in the desert, addresses Hashem in third-person, while the second bracha, which was instituted by Yehoshua after entering the land, addresses Hashem in  second-person.  Precisely because of its great spirituality, the mann created a sense of distance.  Indeed, the halacha for saying the beracha on bread calls for holding it with all ten figures to remind us of the ten steps from digging to baking that are entailed in preparing bread.  Thus our creative work in preparing this staple of our lives parallels the ten ma’amaros (expressions) that were the steps employed by Hashem in creating the world.

Whereas the mann was a temporary oasis of food found only in the desert, hafrashas challah is something we relate to as a permanent part of our “normal” routine of toiling for our own bread.  Because it applies even to our mundane lives, demonstrating that by transforming the world we reveal its inherent kedusha, hafrashas challah and the toil for our own bread engenders an even greater closeness and appreciation for Hashem’s immanent presence.  Just as challah applies to the same physical volume of food as the mamn, it has equal if not greater spiritual “volume” and potential to implant the same kedusha in life as the mann.   

The advantage of the result of human effort over the raw natural product is proven by Rabbi Akivah in his debate with the Roman leader, Turnus Rufus.  The Roman asks, “Whose handiwork is greater, man’s or G-d’s?  It obviously must be G-d’s, so why do you do bris milah and attempt to change the body from the way it was created?”  Rabbi Akiva unequivocally responds that man’s work is greater.  He demonstrates his point by bringing the Roman a loaf of bread and asking if he would rather eat that than a bundle of raw wheat.  The Ohr HaChaim is troubled by this Midrash.  There is a tangible superiority of bread to wheat, yet what tangible superiority is there to performing the mitzvah of bris milah?  Perhaps the answer is that R’ Akiva never intended to demonstrate the obvious physical superiority of bread to wheat.  R’ Akiva’s point was that despite the need for man’s effort and involvement to bring it about, we give greater thanks to Hashem for a loaf of bread than for a bundle of raw wheat – there is a spiritual superiority engendered by the actions and involvement of man, not only a physical one.  The Roman only saw Hashem’s presence in the bikkurim state of pristine natural beauty, while R’ Akiva taught that Hashem’s presence is all the more so found in hafrashas challah, in the loaves we participate in creating.

 Hafrashas challah is one of the three mitzvos particular for women that evoke the three miracles that recurred weekly for our matriarch Sarah, which in turn continued for Rivka: candles remained burning from one erev Shabbos to the next, the dough was blessed so it was never consumed, and a cloud enveloped her tent at all times.  There is also a parallel between these miracles and vessels of the Mishkan: the candles correspond to the menorah, the dough to the shulchan and the loaves which stood upon it, and the cloud to the smoke of the altar.  The Mishkan represents the idea of holiness imposed by Hashem revealing his presence – no human could enter the inner chambers of the Bais HaMikdash, because like the fruits of bikkurim, the holiness of this space is divorced from man’s efforts and labor.  The miracles of Sarah’s tent and the mitzvos they correspond to represent kedusha marked by man’s efforts.  Lighting Shabbos candles is done after we complete six days of work and stand ready to mark Shabbos as kadosh;  hafrashas challah from dough marks the kedusha of earthly matter and that which we consume by separating off a piece for the kohein; taharas hamishpacha sanctifies the act of procreation.  The tent of Sarah and Rivka was itself a Mishkan, not created by the command of Hashem imposed upon them, but created by their own engagement in the world in a way that demonstrated Hashem’s presence even in the mundane.

“B-reishis,” the beginning of Creation, is only possible if we have the perspective of the mitzvah of hafrashas challah, called “reishis arisoseichem.”  The toil and effort of humanity on earth ultimately can reveal great spiritual gain which we would never achieve if we stop at the point of offering the pristine first fruits as bikkurim.  The world was not created as a place for man’s soul to be demoted from the pristine holiness of Heaven, but to demonstrate that even in the base physical world which surrounds us there is hidden the immanent presence of G-d.  We alter the natural state of wheat by grinding it into flour then kneading it with water and yeast to form the dough that is baked into the bread that is obviously preferable to raw grain.  Likewise, we toil to improve our own natural states to achieve spiritual elevation.  In taking off the dough for the mitzvah of hafrashas challah, we demonstrate that our actions are not just intent on preparing food for our bodies, but in preparing sustenance for our souls.

 

from the fall 2008 issue The Women in White

by AT Brown

On Yom Kippur, many make a point of wearing white to symbolize the purification from sin to be attained that day and to be dressed like angels as discussed in Shulchan Aruch 610: 4.  While the Be’er Heytev declares that women do not wear white because they do appear like angels, the Mishna Berurah says that women also wear white and clean clothes in honor of the day.  Consequently, not all women go out of their way to wear white on Yom Kippur.  Yet, there was a time when all women who were ready to become wives donned white dresses on Yom Kippur, as well as on Tu B’Av.

 

The last Mishna in Taanit (4:8) is positioned so that we end on a positive note of looking forward to the rebuilding of the Bais Hamikdash:

 

Rabban Shimon the son of Gamliel said: There were no holidays so joyous for the Jewish People as the Fifteenth of Av and Yom HaKippurim, for on those days, daughters of Yerushalayim would go out dressed in borrowed white clothing, so as not to embarrass the one who didn't have. . . And the daughters of Jerusalem would go out and dance in the vineyards. And what would they [the women] say?

"Young man, lift up your eyes and see what you are choosing for yourself. Don't look only at physical beauty - look rather at the family - 'For charm is false, and beauty is vanity. A G-d - fearing woman is the one to be praised...' ("Mishlei"/Proverbs 31:30)

 

After some further quotes Eishes Chayil, the Mishna concludes with Tanna's addition of a quote from Shir HaShirim. whose explications leads up to "this is the building of the Holy Temple that should be rebuilt speedily in our days, Amen."

 

This is also the way the account appears in Midrash Eicha RAbba 33, though the word noy rather than yofi is used for beauty and the cross reference to "hevel hayofi" from Mishlei does not appear.

 

The premise behind the work of Shir HaShirim is that the relationship of Hashem with us can be likened to the closeness achieved by husband and wife.  Its verses are interpreted as allying the concept of matches and marriages with the occasion of Mattan Torah & Binyan Bais Hamikdash. So it was fitting to parallel the closeness of Hashem to His people that is manifest on Yom Kippur and by the positive things that happened on Tu B'Av with actual men and women getting matched up.   Do note that there are no shadchanim involved in these matches. These were days when matches are made directly; the men go out in search of a wife, and the women speak for themselves. The lack of go-between is also a point for the parallel of the relationship between Hashem and Israel. While the other nations have a representative, we deal directly with Him. In addition, the familiar way the women address the men with no coyness or hesitancy reflects a confidence about the establishment of their relationship.

 

 

This Mishna is amplified in both the Yerushalmi and the Bavli with some differences between the two versions. Both the Yerushalmi and the Bavli treatments of this Mishna offer more detail about the borrowing of white dresses --who lent to whom -- and the necessity for purifying the clothes. In addition to sparing one the possibility of embarrassment by lending her a white dress when she may not own one, the fact that everyone was borrowing meant that all had to purify the dresses with a dunk in the mikvah, though is a slight difference on the order of the lending between the two.

 

 

The Yerushalmi’s account renders the original Mishna quote as a statement of not all but two distinctive groups of women, explaining as follows: "The ugly ones would say, do not look toward beauty [noy], and the beautiful ones would say, look toward family." The ugly ones offer only a negative statement of "don't look for beauty," without a positive directive of what virtue can be gained by looking elsewhere. Though the Korban Haedah offers a gloss on the text that the statement would finish with "rather look for a woman who would find favor in your eyes because of her deeds," the text itself does not indicate what virtue the ugly ones have to offer. Instead of the "look toward for family" becoming a redirection for those who may have looked toward beauty initially to look beyond, it is a less boastful way of the beautiful ones to direct attention to the beauty they have to offer. In a way this makes sense, as physical beauty is largely genetic as parents pass on their physical traits to their offspring. Still, it does really wrench apart the  original quote cited by the Yerushalmi  that reads, "do not look toward beauty but rather to family" to break it up into statements of two divergent groups.

 

 

A different number of groups is identified in the Gemara’s account in Taanis 31a.  It reads as follows :

 

The daughter of Israel go out and dance in the vineyards. Anyone who lacked a wife went there. . . . Our rabbis learned: The beautiful ones among them would say: "Raise your eyes to beauty, for a wife is only for beauty." The girls who had yichus [well established, reputable families] would say, "Raise your eyes to family, for a wife is only for children." The ugly ones among them would say, "Take what you take for the sake of Heaven, and adorn us in gold jewelry."

 

The girls here are not quoting verses from Tanach to make their sales pitch. Instead, they are frankly putting their best assets forward. The ones who have beauty flaunt it here and capitalize on it in this marriage market.  The ones with good family are a group distinct from the beautiful ones, so they are not talking about genes that lead to good looks in children but genes and environment that lead to other positive traits for children. The most amazing is that the ugly girls, who ostensibly have the least to offer, declare that they too have a right to marry, and the men should be motivated by the sake of Heaven (I imagine they meant the mitzvah) to marry. Furthermore, they place the onus of attractions on their husbands-to-be with the assurance that the right jewelry and clothes (as Rashi says) would work wonders on their looks.

 

So it would seem that even way back then, there were valuations and possible A lists for shidduchim. And beauty gets first mention. Yet, even the girls who are not only B but possible C list as far as shidduch rankings may go do not see themselves as rejects. The problem lies not in them but in the vision of the prospective husband. Instead of looking for what he could acquire that builds his status from a wife, he should look at what he could do for her. It's a very audacious turnaround.

 

What of the valuation of money in the family, or PhDs [Pappa has dough]. as it is commonly referred to in shidduch valuations of today?  It appears that the attribute of wealth was considered but rejected.  There is variation on this account, which actually identifies 4 groups speaking in the Ein Yaakov. While it preserves the Gemara's account with the 3 groups, it also inserts another after the ones who cite the virtue of family in parentheses: ashiros shebahen omros, tnu eynechem bebaley mammon [the rich ones among them would say, look at masters of wealth]. Of course, the parentheses indicate that you skip that part of the text. So, ultimately, the Bavli’s three groups is the one most often referenced.  It is worth considering, why these three types?

 

In the order of the Gemara, the beautiful ones speak first, followed by those with family, and then the ugly ones. The arguments would seem to work from various perspectives. The beautiful ones argue for what appeals to the man immediately -- the attraction of beauty. The ones with family argue for a man's concern for his future -- in the form of his progeny. The ugly ones argue for a longer term view -- that of doing something not for any immediate benefit or even for the somewhat nobler benefit of children, but to do it lishma, the rewards for which have much greater reach. Another division of 3 is that of tov, arev, and moil [good, sweet, and yielding other benefit] The beautiful ones offer something arev, with an immediate pleasure of attraction. The ones with family offer something moil -- the benefit for children. The ugly ones, though, offer the ultimate tov in an option to do something purely good with no ulterior motive.

 

Another way to see these types is in light of the categories of people identified with the minim used on Sukkoth. They range from the beautiful ethrog to the arava that really has no particular virtue to recommend it. The women who boast of their beauty could parallel those who have attained their own beauty in terms of Torah, avodah, etc. The ones who refer to family have not manifested their own greatness but know they have the potential for greatness because they stem from great stock that they are certain will carry on to their children. Then there are the ones who can boast neither beauty no family. Yet they do not give up on their own right to connection with Hashem. Like the heroine in Shir HaShirim, they know that their surfaces are unattractive but their beauty can come through when they are placed in a proper setting. In a way, their connection is deeper because there is nothing overt that can be identified as the source of the attraction between them and the suitor. There is nothing one can answer to "What does he see in her?" it is not a love that is tluya badavar [dependant on anything]. As there is no particular quality that the love depends on, it can never be lost even if it “alteration finds.” This may be why the lowly arava gets special distinction on Hoshana Rabbah.

 

While there is a symbolic significance to the events of Yom Kippur and Tu B’,Av, they should not be considered to be purely allegorical. The Talmud obviously takes it as a historical reality and goes into great detail about who borrowed white dresses from. There is a very important lesson in the way the women cooperated by lending out their clothes. Think about what young women today spend on clothes in order to draw confidence from the knowledge that being expensively dressed means being well-dressed and creating the right impression.  Here they all shared and gave out their best dresses so that another girl would not feel shamed if she did not have her own.  Instead of clothes fueling personal vanity and competition, the white dresses were a medium of the mitzvah of  veahavta lereacha kamocha, loving one’s friend as oneself.   It is from the basis of ahavath Yisrael that the spousal relationship can flourish.  On that basis the household the new couple establishes can becomes a bayis ne’eman and a place in which the Shchina  dwells as it did in the Mikdash that we should see rebuilt soon.

 

 

from the winter 2008 issue:

You Eat What You Are – The Fruits of Tu b’Shevat

by Rabbi Chaim Brown

 I have never met a person who thinks that April 15^th, the day our income taxes are due, is a day for celebration – the day seems to elicit quite the opposite reaction.  Yet, strangely enough, no one seems to question our celebration of Tu b’Shevat, a day which seems to be no more than a halachic “tax day” for fruits.  The day’s technical significance stems from a farmer’s obligation to separate terumot and ma’asrot from crops, including fruit trees, on an annual basis.  The 15^th of Shevat marks the close of the rainy season and the beginning of the tree blossoming period.  Consequently, it is the date that separates one year’s produce from the next, which is why  Tu B’Shevat is called “rosh hashana l’ilanot,” the new year for trees.  While this day in anticipates the fruition of the promise of a new harvest, it seems rather a remote concept in our part of the world where we are more likely to see snow than green trees at this time of year.  The closest we come to seeing Jewish farming is a Jaffa orange on the supermarket shelf, and unless we have visited Israel, most of us have never performed the mitzvah of separating terumot and ma’asrot.  Why then do we celebrate?  The answer lies in understanding the deeper meaning behind Tu b’Shevat.

We have all hears the expression “you are what you eat,” but from a Torah perspective it would perhaps be equally correct to say “you eat what you are,” or what you hope to be.  Rav Eliyahu Dessler (Michtav m’Eliyahu III: 230) highlights a seeming contradiction that underscores this point.  On the one hand, the Ba’al haMaor in Masechet Shabbat writes that a person who eats hot food on Shabbos embodies the ideal of emunah, as he or she displays faith in the Rabbinic interpretation of the Torah permitting eating hot food despite the prohibition against cooking.   What could be more uplifting than a meal that proves one’s faith in G-d?  On the other hand, Rav Yisrael Salanter,the great mussar giant, said that a person can reduce the sanctity of Shabbos to be no more meaningful than a plate of tzimmis.  So which is it – does food elevate our Shabbos and highlight our power of emunah, or does a lavish Shabbos meal reduce the spiritual delight of Shabbos to a mere physical indulgence? 

Rav Dessler explains that the answer does not depend on the food, but on the person doing the eating.   What we eat is determined by who we are!   For the person who eats to serve Hashem by sanctifying Shabbos, the cholent or tzimmis is just a container for sparks of spirituality that lie within the food and await that Shabbos meal to be released.  A Shabbos meal is an opportunity for nourishment for the soul.  But for the person who eats to satisfy their appetite alone, these sparks of spirituality remain trapped; it is the external container alone which becomes the focus and definition of the meal.  A meal of a container merely nourishes our container, our physical body, while the spiritual essence of a person remains hungry and wanting.  Whether the meal being consumed nourishes our emunah or starves us spiritually depends entirely on the mindset of the person sitting at the table.

The relationship between our attitude toward food and our spiritual growth is rooted in the very opening of the Torah.  All the trees of Eden could be eaten by Adam and Chavah with the exception of the Eitz haChaim and the Eitz haDa’at, the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge.  The Torah tells us, “V’eitz hachaim b’toch hagan” --  “the Tree of Life was within the garden”.  The pasuk uses the phrase “b’toch hagan” [within the garden] and not “bagan” [in the garden], to hint at an amazing property of these trees.   R’ Tzadok haKohen (Pri Tzadik, Tu B”Shevat) writes that  the Eitz haDa’at and Eitz haChaim were not individual trees set off from the rest of Eden, but rather  the taste of the Eitz haChaim and Eitz haDa’at permeated and was contained within each and every fruit.  How Adam engaged in the act of eating would release one of these potential tastes.   Had Adam eaten to serve Hashem, all food would have possessed the taste of the Eitz haChaim, the sparks of spiritual nourishment -- food would have been defined as a spiritual substance and eating a spiritual act.  Instead Adam ate as a glutton to satisfy his appetite.  The food of humanity became defined as just a means to serve the body’s needs.  This taste of the Eitz haDa’at lingers in the mouth of humanity to this very day.  

Though we commonly refer to Tu b’Shevat as “rosh hashana l’ilano,t” the new year for trees, Rav Tzadok  notes that the Mishna in Rosh Hashana actually refers to Tu b’Shevat  in the singular – “rosh hashana l’ilan,” the new year for the tree.  Rav Tzadok explains that Tu b’Shevat is a day focused on one particular tree --the Eitz haDa’at.  It is the Eitz haDa’at perspective, our motivation as consumers, or eaters,  to partake of the world for the sake of physical indulgence instead of spiritual opportunity, which Tu b’Shevat offers an opportunity to correct.  Tu b’Shevat is not just a “tax day” when a new annual cycle for terumot and ma’asrot begins, but is a day for thinking about our attitude toward materialism.  The renewal of the annual crop cycle is an opportunity to reflect on whether we put the fruits of the world to proper use.  By changing our attitude, who we are, the world around us, what we eat, will change as well to become a more spiritual place.

This change in attitude which Tu b’Shevat heralds requires preparation.  The Talmud (Rosh Hashana 14) tells us that Tu b’Shevat is the day when most of the rainy season has passed and its waters have been absorbed by the trees.  The new blossoms that appear on the trees’ branches do not spontaneously erupt from nothing, but require months of water and unobserved growth.  The same process must occur for our growth.  Expanding on Moshe Rabeinu’s call, “Ya’arof kamatar likch,i” for his words to fall upon the ears of listeners like rain, the Sifri comments that just as the rain falls on each tree and nourishes it according to its needs, e.g. the olive tree absorbs enough rain to produce olives, the fig tree enough to ripen the figs, the vine enough to produce sweet grapes, so too, words of Torah, like rain, nourish and sustain each listener according to his or her individual needs.  Tu B’Shevat is the culmination of absorbing these rains of Torah and allowing those waters to seep into out soul and mind.  

“Eretz Yisrael is watered by Hashem alone; the rest of the world through a messenger… Eretz Yisrael is the recipient of rain, the rest of the world receives its leftovers” (Ta’anis 7a).  The rains of spirituality fall most heavily in Eretz Yisrael alone.  Even in our times when Eretz Yisrael is a strong, prosperous country, it still demands fortitude and sacrifice from those who dwell there, and it certainly is the Torah center of the Jewish world.   The fruits of Eretz Yisrael which we eat on Tu b’Shevat may taste no different than fruits grown in South America or California, but that is only if we focus on their physical taste and pleasure.  Eaten for their spiritual flavor, eaten because they represent a spiritual attitude that we hope to nourish within ourselves, the fruits of Eretz Yisrael, the fruits that we hope emerge from the blossoms of Tu b’Shevat,  are indeed unique. 

 

from the spring 2009 issue

                          Miracle of Miracles:  The Song of the Sea

                                                             By Rabbi Chaim Brown

 Chazal relate that R’ Pinchas ben Yair was en route to perform the mitzvah of pidyon shevu’im, the redemption of captives, when he came to a river that was too broad to cross.  Rather than turn back, R’ Pinchas ben Yair demanded that the river split, and so it did.  A merchant was traveling along this same river carrying wheat for Pesach.  When R’ Pinchas ben Yair saw the merchant he once again demanded that the river split so the wheat to be used for mitzvas matzah could pass across, and so it did.  Accompanying the merchant was an assistant.  Once again, R’ Pinchas ben Yair demanded that the river split to demonstrate the great merit of even those who just accompany others journeying to perform a mitzvah.  How great was R’ Pinchas ben Yair, concludes the Gemara (Chulin 7a), for the sea split only once for the entire Jewish people and Moshe Rabeinu, yet here the river split no less than three times for R’ Pinchas. 

 

The holiday of Pesach culminates in the joyous celebration of the splitting of the sea on the seventh day.  The special parsha of shiras hayam, [The Song of the Sea] with its unique tune and trop is read in remembrance of the miracle and the divinely inspired song that Klal Yisrael sang to Hashem in appreciation of their wondrous deliverance.  Yet, no special day on our calendar marks the day that R’ Pinchas ben Yair crossed the river, and Chazal do not tell us of any song that he sang on the occasion.  If a river could and would split for a single Tanna, is there any wonder that the sea would split to spare the entire Jewish nation from destruction; is there any wonder that the sea would split in response to a command of Moshe Rabeinu?  What is it about the splitting of Yam Suf that is so surprising that it elicited shira and celebration?

 

The experience of shira can only be comprehended with an understanding of the background of the mind set of the Jewish people as they stood on the banks of the Yam with the river before them and the Egyptian army in pursuit.  The Midrash relates that the nation divided into different camps with different attitudes as to how to respond.  One group wanted to fight it out with the Egyptians; a second group thought davening to Hashem for mercy was the best course of action; a third group used this moment of danger as an excuse to question and undermine the mission and leadership of Moshe. 

 

The last group cried, “You took us to this desert to die!” bemoaning their fate and losing all hope.  This group of  complainers is identified as  the eiruv rav, a group of people   who really did not deserve to be redeemed from Egypt had they not been rescued by Moshe himself.  Rather than thank Moshe, they leveled their complaints directly against him for interfering in their “good” life in Egypt and getting them into this precarious situation.

 

It is the redemption of these complainers which sets apart the splitting of Yam Suf from what occurred to R’ Pinchas ben Yair.  While the splitting of a river for a great Tanna like R’ Pinchas ben Yair required changing the rules of physical nature, it was consistent with the spiritual rules of reward and punishment   The redemption of the righteous may necessitate and entail extraordinary changes of nature, but that redemption itself is predictable.  Is not Tanach filled with the promise of reward for those who obey Hashem’s command and punishment for those who disobey?   What it is truly wondrous and incomprehensible, writes the Sefas Emes (1872), is that  the sea split even for this group of rabble-rousers who denied the good which Moshe had done for them and sought to undermine his authority!   The splitting of the Yam Suf  was so extraordinary not just because it was a miracle but because it was experienced even by those who did not deserve such a miracle.

 

 The redemption of Yam Suf is not merely the story of the triumph of the good guys over the bad guys.  It is the story of the triumph of even the not-so-good guys -- the group of people who were unworthy of miracles but still merited redemption simply by virtue of being part of the Jewish nation.  Chazal tell us that at Yam Suf even the lowliest maidservant witnessed a vision of Hashem greater than that which was witnessed by the prophet Yechezkel.  There is no question that Yechezkel haNavi was on a much higher spiritual level and more deserving of prophecy than a maidservant.  Yet, what Yechezkel deserved based on his personal merit cannot compare with what a maidservant saw as result of merely identifying and showing solidarity with the Jewish nation in their collective moment of triumph.

With this insight we can appreciate why the splitting of Yam Suf was the first historical instance of shira.  The historical anomaly of shira is noted by Midrash (Shmos Rabbah 23) which observes that Avraham was rescued from the furnace of Nimrod and did not sing shira; Yitzchak was spared at the akeidah and did not sing shira; Ya’akov was saved from Eisav and did not sing shira; only upon redemption from Yam Suf did the Jewish people sing shira.  Why indeed did Avraham, Yitzchak, or Ya’akov not sing shira in response to the many miracles which Hashem performed for them?  Why was this idea of shira only “discovered” by the Jewish people at Yam Suf?

The answer is that shira can be sung only in response to what is extraordinary.  Avraham, Yitzchak, and Ya’akov were thankful for Hashem sparing them from harm, but in some sense they knew the ultimate outcome in advance.  They trusted in the reward of tzadikim and the punishment of evil and saw that as the norm, not a miraculous deviation.  There was no doubt in their mind that nature would bend to the needs of the righteous, and therefore they did not respond with shira.  However, those who stood on the banks of the sea were not all righteous and not all worthy of redemption, for even the eiruv rav crossed with the Jewish people.  The sea split in order to save  the Jewish people as a totality -- from the most worthy down to the least worthy.  Consequently, even those who individually may have been undeserving were spared as part of the greater whole.  That miracle was truly extraordinary and unprecedented in Jewish history. 

The current year of economic crisis has brought great challenges to the Jewish people as communal institutions struggle for funds, individuals have lost jobs, families struggle to make ends meet.  There are many raging rivers that seem to stand in our way individually and communally.  How do we respond?  There are times that we may feel motivated by emunah to believe that Hashem’s aid is just around the corner, but, realistically speaking, there are times that we feel bereft of hope and filled with questions.  If we face crisis as individuals, then only if we have within us the greatness of the likes of R’ Pinchas ben Yair will the waters split.  But if we face crisis collectively as a community, then our individual shortcomings, our doubts, and our worries will be overcome by the positive energy of those around us.  Rivers will always split for great people like R’ Pinchas ben Yair, but what we learn from Yam Suf is that rivers will also split for the lowliest maidservant who counts herself among the nation which produces R’ Pinchas ben Yairs and is guided by them.   

 

For more sophisticated Torah thoughts by Rabbi Chaim Brown, see  http://divreichaim.blogspot.com/

Off Cen7 llea7 Leading Ladies of the Exodus.)7 7

Bi’zchus nashim tzidkaniyos nigalu avoteynu miMitzrayim.  Chazal [our Sages] teach us that it was in the merit of righteous women that our forefathers were redeemed from Egypt. The women are credited for doing what was needed to ensure  that more Jewish children would be born even when the future of Israel looked bleakest. Their faith  remained constant throughout their ordeals in Egypt. Even when their husbands were too weary and downcast to think of having children, the women found a way to rouse their spirits and bring new life into the world. Consequently, their maros hatzovos [copper mirrors] which brought forth legions of children, were used to form the kiyor [basin used by the Kohanim] in the mishkan, as a testament to their merit. As the Torah attests, all the women of  that generation were heroines worthy of recognition . Yet, among them there are some outstanding women who were identified by name. Those are the leading ladies that are offered as inspiration by the Torah. While there are many female role models offered in Tanach, there are seven, in particular, who are linked to the story of the Jews’ redemption from enslavement in Egypt, from Sarah to Tzipporah. These women were exemplary leaders, providing support that was critical for Israel’s survival and guidance that was central to their success.

 

The classic song of praise for female accomplishment is Aishes Chayil. The song, normally sung on Friday nights, is canonized among the writings of Shlomo Hamelech, as it forms the thirty-first  chapter of Mishley.  However,  ccording to Midrash Shochar Tov(121a) Aishes Chayil was originally composed for  Sarah. While that midrash explains that the whole song relates to Sarah’s life, there is another midrash that connects it to 22 leading ladies from Tanach.   Yet the second verse is linked specifically to Sarah: “Her husband puts his heartfelt confidence in her and lacks no fortune” (Mishley 31:11). The Midrash Hagadol explains: This is Sarah, in whom the heart of Abraham trusted in telling her to say he was her brother.” Abraham trusted in his wife not to endanger him when she was forcibly taken as a wife for the Egyptian king. The Divine intervention that kept her from the touch of defilement served as a precursor of the experience of her descendents in a parallel situation. And the fortune bestowed on her by Pharaoh also held significance for the Bnai Yisrael. According to Pirkei deRabbi Eliezer 26 Pharaoh gave her a deed to the land of Goshen for her marriage contract. And it is for that reason that Yisrael settled in that land. The place and time was no mere coincidence. Sarah was taken to the household of Pharaoh on the night of Pesach. (Midrah Hagadol, Bereishis 12, 17). Another Midrash elaborates on the parallel between Sarah and her descendants: “Just as the Holy One Blessed Be He performed miracles and mighty feats for Yisrael that night, thus the Holy One Blessed Be He performed miracles and mighty feats for Sarah the same night” (Zohar Part 1: 82). Just as the actions of our forefathers foreshadowed what would happen to Yisrael, “Ma’ase avos siman labanim,” Sarah’s experience laid the ground work for her children’s redemption from Egypt.

 
Another woman commemorated in the lines of Aishes Chayil is Serach bat Asher. “She opened her mouth with wisdom, and the teachings of lovingkindess are on her tongue” (31:26) is the verse about her according to Midrash Hagadol. Serach is one of the very women counted among the children of Yaakov both in his lifetime and many hundreds of years later. It was her wise answer to Yoav (Shmuel 2: 20:19) that saved a city. Her extremely long life that culminated in a live entrance to Gan Eden was her reward for breaking the news that Yosef was still alive to Yaakov and for saving the city (Targum Yonasan Beraishis 48,17). She used her longevity well, saving many lives with her wisdom, and so she was among the nine who did not have to suffer death to go to their ultimate reward. Along the way, she also played a key role in the Exodus. According to Shmos Rabba, “Yaakov passed on the secret to Yosef, and Yosef passed it on to his brothers, and Asher the son of Yaakov passed it on to his daughter, Serach. And she was still alive [at the time of the redemption]. And he said to her thus: a redeemer who comes and says, ‘Pakod pakadeti ethchem’ is a true redeemer” (5,13). Moshe was recognized as the true redeemer sent by G-d because he used those words that were passed on to Serach as a sign of authenticity. Serach seems to have a particular gift for words; she had a remarkable ability to find the right words to break news and to avert a threat. And she held the key to the words that would signal the advent of the exodus from the enslavement of Egypt. Serach was distinguished as one of the few females counted by name among the children of Yaakov.

 
However, there was another female included in the count. According to Chazal, Yocheved, who was born between the walls of the city, is the final one counted among the seventy souls who came down with Yaakov.  Yocheved was a woman of great accomplishment. According to Midrash Hagadol, she is commemorated in Aishes Chayil as one who “set her mind on a field, acquires it and plants a vineyard from the fruits of her labors” (31:16). It was because of her that Israel was able to be called the vineyard of the Holy One Blessed Be He. Her name, Yocheved, signifies that her face mirrored the ziv hakavod. That is to say that the divine glory shone in her countenance, much like her the face of son, Moshe, which radiated with divine light after he received the Torah. Yocheved not only planted but cultivated, and the fruit of her labor is nothing less than the Jewish people. She is identified as Shifra, one of the midwives who feared G-d more than an the all-powerful ruler of Egypt and flouted Pharaoh’s decree to prevent the birth of any male children (Sota11b). Because she risked her own life to save the children, she merited to be the mother of Moshe who would redeem her people. Both as the savior of others and in daring to bring her own son into her world when all baby boys were to be thrown into the Nile, she was aided and encouraged by her daughter, Miriam.

 
Miriam, served as a midwife, known as Purah, side by side with her mother, played a pivotal role in her family’s life. Her verse from Aishes Chayil is “She girds her loins with might and fortifies her arms” (31:17). The Midrash Hagadol explains, “Miriam told her father when he divorced her mother, ‘Your decrees are harsher than Pharaoh’s. He decreed on the boys, and you have decreed both on the boys and girls. He is wicked so it is doubtful if his decree will hold or not, but you are a righteous man, so your decree is bound to hold. That is not all, but I have seen [through prophecy] that in the futures there will come from you the savior of Israel.’ Immediately, he remarried his wife. But when she gave birth to Moshe and had to throw him in the Nile, her mother slapped her face and said, ‘Now where is your prophecy?’ Immediately, ‘his sister stationed herself at a distance’ (Shmos 2:4). She stationed herself to see the outcome of her prophecy, for she maintained her faith in her vision.

 
Miriam held firmly to her vision; she would not give up even when all odds were against her. Her parents had done what looked like the sensible thing. They separated to set the example for others to avoid the heartbreak of drowning the baby boys. In contrast, Miriam believed in a positive future and celebrated its fruition by leading the women in the song of Shiras Hayam. In addition to the two names already mentioned, Miriam bore other names that reflect her merit. She was called Ephrat because her people paru veravu [were fruitful and multiplied] as a result of her actions. She was also called Achrachel because the women went out achareyha [after her]. (Shmos Rabba 1, 17). She  affirmed that her people will not only survive but merit redemption, and she took personal responsibility for seeing that vision through. Thus she is counted, along with her two illustrious brothers, among the three “good providers” that sustained Israel (Tanis 9a). She also merited to be the mother of the precursors to David and so was awarded with the household of the monarchy. Miriam utilized her roles of daughter, sister, and midwife in the service of her people. Her unwavering faith made her worthy of other roles, as prophet, leader, and the mother of kings. What Miriam saw when she stationed herself with a view of the Nile to see how her prophecy would come to be was the daughter of Pharaoh approach.

 

The verse from Aishes Chayil that is associated with Batya is “She rises while it is still night and gives provisions for her household and the allotted fare to her maids” (31:15). The Midrash Hagadol elucidates, “she saw with the Holy Spirit that it is destined for her to raise the savior of Israel. So in the evenings and morning she would take her maids to stroll by the Nile. With Moshe, the Holy One Blessed Be He gave what she had requested and she rejoiced a great deal.” Though he actually bore a number of names, the Torah always refers to Moshe as Moshe. As that is the name that his adopted mother gave him, it is the one Hashem chose that he be known by to reward the chessed of Batya (Shmos Rabba 1, 26). Batya saved Moshe’s life and brought him up as her own. She gave a name to her adopted son and was rewarded  with a name to show her own adopted relationship with G-d. “The Holy One Blessed Be He said to Batya the daughter of Pharaoh, ‘Moshe was not your son, yet you called him your son; you’re not my daughter, but I call you my daughter,’” (Vayikra Rabba 1,3) for her name literally means daughter of G-d. Thus she merited to be called the daughter of her adopted Gather, much like Serach, who is always referred to as “bat Asher,” though in fact she was his step-daughter. Like Serach, Batya merited to enter Gan Eden without death throes.

 

There was another woman connected to Moshe’s family who is extolled by Aishes Chayil. That is Elisheva, the daughter of Aminadav and sister of Nachson, the head of the tribe of Yehudah. She married Aharon, and according to one view in the Gemara is identified as Puah, working beside her mother-in-law Yocheved as a midwife. Her verse is “She is clothed with strength and splendor; and laughs at the final day” (31:25). The Midrash Hagadol points out that “she saw four happy events in one day. She became the sister-in-law of a king [Moshe had the status of king], the wife of the Kohain Gadol, the sister of a prince, and the mother of deputies of the priesthood.” Her laughter was an expression of celebration of the culmination of Divine glory on that day. Elisheva was surrounded by greatness through all the branches of her family and recognized that her own connection to the ranks of nobility and holy service was a vital one.

 

Interestingly, the wife of the king herself, Tziporah, is not associated with any of the verses in Aishes Chayil, but her role in the geula from the enslavement of Egypt cannot be ignored. The fact that Moshe married her before being called upon to save his people is significant.  The staff Moshe used is used in bringing about the makkos was noordinary piece of wood. According to Yalkut Shimoni (Shmos 168) the staff was not manmade but formed by G-d Himself. When Adam was expelled from Gan Eden, he took it with him. It was passed on to Noach then to Shem and his children. It then passed to Avraham, who gave it to Yitzchak. Yaakov then took it when he fled to Aram and took it with him to Egypt where he bestowed it on Yosef. Subsequently, it made its way Reuel the Midyanite. When he left Egypt, he took it and planted it in his garden. He challenged the suitors of his daughter, Tziporah, to remove it. Noone was able to remove it until Moshe arrived and pulled it out. By succeeding at this challenge, Moshe proved himself worthy of Tziporah. But she proved herself worthy of him, too. Her father had some misgivings about the match when he discovered Moshe’s outlaw status in Egypt, and so cast his prospective son-in-law into a pit. Tziporah sustained him by bringing him food over a period of ten years. At the end of that time, she suggested to her father that they have a look at the prisoner. He countered that there is no way he could still be alive, yet she said she knows that his G-d is capable of great miracles. When he found Moshe alive, he was astounded at the miracle and took him out. As we know, they did marry and had two sons.

 

Subsequently, there was a second opportunity for Tziporah to rescue her husband. When Moshe was attacked by an angel, she realized what was called for, circumcised her infant son and so saved the life of the man who was to lead Israel out of Egypt. The circumstances of the rescue resonate with the verses of Yechezkel that we quote as we recite the Haggadah: “and I said to you in your blood you shall live.” This is said twice, and Chazal explain it to refer to two types of blood: that of milah [circumcision] and that of the korban Pesach. The former was a prerequisite for the latter. And we see Tziporah performing milah on her infant son, as her husband sets off on his task of leading his people out of bondage and into G-d’s service with the Pesach offering. It was through Tziporah that Moshe obtained the staff of leadership and was saved from danger, allowing him to reveal himself as the true redeemer. Just like the other six women named above, Tziporah played a pivotal role in bringing about the geula.

 

Each of these women played key roles in the drama of Israel’s becoming a free nation. They were truly leading ladies whosucceeded in establishing a foundation, keeping faith, expressing wisdom, upholding hope, sustaining life, offering kindness, and celebrating the triumph of Hashem’s glory in Israel. Whether in the capacity of daughter, sister, wife, or mother, each used her unique strengths and character traits to accomplish greatness. The challenge for women today is to find the heroine within and recognize our own capacity for greatness, to find and utilize the abilities we have been endowed with for the betterment of Klal Yisrael. Each one of us can contribute to the goal of bringing about the redemption that we anticipate to come in our own time.

from the summer 2009 issue         Don’t Wait for Angels

By Rabbi Chaim Brown

The frustration of your car breaking down on the way to work is probably similar to the aggravation Bilam suffered on the way to Balak’s kingdom to curse the Jewish people.  Suddenly, for no apparent reason, his donkey veered from the path. Bilam responded angrily, taking a poke at the poor animal. The donkey started moving, but again it swerved off the path, earning it another smack. Again the donkey started to proceed down the road, but yet again it veered off, this time smashing into a wall and earning a good beating from Bilam. An angel then appeared to Bilam and demanded, "Why have you hit your donkey!?"  The donkey is innocent of wrongdoing, explained the angel, as it veered only because it was frightened at the angel’s presence that only it, and not Bilam, could see. 

The great Chassidic master Rav Levi Yitzchak m’Berdichev asked a simple question on this familiar story. If Bilam did not see the angel, and indeed no one in his travelling party saw the angel, why is he criticized for hitting his mule and for not stopping his journey?  How else should he have reacted when his formerly reliable ride suddenly started crazily veering into walls for no apparent reason?  Imagine yourself behind the steering wheel, when, suddenly, your car lurches to the side and comes to a halt.  You mutter something under your breath, restart the car, and continue.  Should the same thing happens a second and third time, you will probably wonder what is wrong, and your frustration, undoubtedly, will rise each time until it reaches the breaking point.  Neither Bilam nor your average commuter anticipates angels interfering with their journey, so it’s no wonder that these events cause frustration and anger.

The Berdichiver explains that Bilam is not criticized because he  hit his donkey or because he grew frustrated.  Bilam is faulted because despite witnessing the inexplicable, despite clue after clue that this commute was different than every other day’s commute, despite hint after hint that Hashem was displeased at his undertaking this journey, Bilam never once paused to consider what those clues mean or considered changing his behavior.  Unless a person has the stubbornness or ignorance of a mule it should not take the appearance of a threatening angel to make a message clear.  A careful person gives his attention to the little clues and hints, some subtle and some more obvious, that sometimes carry important messages.  Bilam did not see the angel that Hashem sent to block his journey, but he should have gotten the message anyway.

Rav Elchanan Wasserman (Kuntres Divrei Sofrim 2) observes out that at no point in the story is Bilam explicitly told by Hashem that he cannot go with Balak’s messengers.  Why then is he punished for undertaking the job?  R’ Elchanan answers that we must not only obey the commandments of Hashem, meaning what we are explicitly told, but we must also be sensitive and obey the ratzon Hashem, Hashem’s will and desire, even sans an explicit commandment.  Even without being told not to go, Bilam should have known that Hashem had no desire for him to curse the Jewish people and on that basis alone refused to participate.  A clever person can often find a “loophole” that might allow certain questionable behavior, but fidelity to the technical letter of the law without consideration for whether one is truly fulfilling the ratzon Hashem is an incomplete approach to Torah.  R’ Elchanan suggests that this sensitivity to fulfilling Hashem’s will in addition to the explicit letter of the 613 mitzvos is the basis for the authority of Chazal.  The written words of Torah reveal to us the letter of the law, but Rabbinic interpretation reveals to us the spirit and intent of the law which are equally crucial.   

Hashem rewards our extra sensitivity to the unwritten and unspoken messages by responding in kind.  Three times a day we recite the pasuk at the end of Ashrei: “R’tzon yereiyav ya’ase” (Tehillim 145:19) – Hashem does the will of those who fear Him.  At times we cannot find the proper words to articulate our needs properly in tefilah, and at times we ask Hashem for requests that if fulfilled would actually be harmful to us.  Are we upset when Hashem does not respond to our tefilos to help with that business investment that we later discover failed, or when Hashem does not respond to our frantic tefilah to make the flight that nearly crashes?  Fortunately for us, Hashem does not just listen to our utterance but  to “retzon yereiyav,” the inner desire and will of those who fear Him.  If we obey not just the technical letter of the law, but are sensitive to fulfill the ratzon Hashem, Hashem in turn does not wait for us to say the right words to hear our needs, but he responds to the supplication of our hearts and our truest needs even when our mouths are closed or our requests misguided.

What holds true of interactions between man and G-d is also true of interpersonal relationships, especially between husband and wife.  The husband who sees his wife struggling to bring the laundry basket upstairs, or the wife who sees her husband up late at night trying to finish a project for work while the kids scream loudly in the background may justify ignoring the situation because, “S/he never asked me for help,” but such a response is insufficient.   If and when that call for help does come, one’s spouse may suddenly appear as a “threatening angel.”  Most husbands and wives do respond to the requests of their spouse and might be confused by their partner’s criticism in such a situation.  It’s not failing to respond that is the issue; it’s waiting until asked before doing something that is the problem.  Like Bilam, we sometimes miss all the clues and hints that are a call to action and then suddenly face a frustrating situation that could have been avoided.  Don’t wait to be asked – anticipate the needs or your spouse and respond.  Be proactive in your consideration and expressions of empathy and desire to help.  Marriage requires not just listening to what your spouse says, but responding even to the unarticulated needs that can be sensed before spoken.  A discerning heart is as important as a discerning ear. 

Perhaps this is the lesson the Mishna in Avos (5:21) teaches when it tells us that one of the three differences between Avraham and Bilam is that Avraham had an “ayin tova,” a good eye, while Bilam had an “ayin ra’ah,” an evil eye.  Having a good eye means noticing the little things, the small signs and clues that reveal another person’s wishes and desires, and responding before having to be asked and cajoled to do so.  Having an “ayin tova” doesn’t mean being able to see angels; it means seeing the need to act before those angels appear.

Rabbi Brown has written other divrei Torah in Kallah Magazine that are archived on our website.  His thoughts can also be read on divreichaim.blogspot.com. 

 

 other sites for Torah:

(http://webyeshiva.org).WebYeshiva is the world's first fully interactive, live online Yeshiva.

 

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