Category: Excerpts

Excerpted from The Light That Unites by Rabbi Aaron Goldscheider

Why We Light at Night

We are accustomed to the secular notion that a new day begins with sunrise.

However, in Jewish law and practice, the new day begins at night.

Why? Why does Shabbat begin at nightfall? Why do we begin the Passover Seder at night? Why do we begin to celebrate each new day of Chanukah with the candle lighting as the sun sets?

Our source for this practice appears in the beginning of the Torah: “And there was evening and there was morning, one day” (Genesis 1:5). This verse in the Torah says that nightfall precedes the morning, hence the new day begins at night. The twenty-four-hour period that commences with the sun setting is the Jewish definition of one full day.

What is the deeper reason that the Jewish day consists first of night, followed by day?

This unique Jewish definition of a day reflects our hopeful and optimistic approach. The night is only temporary. Darkness precedes light. Darkness is only a stage that leads us to sunrise and the brightness of day. This stands in contrast to the way the rest of the world defines a day.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks teaches that the Greeks, who believed in many gods rather than one loving God, gave the world the concept of tragedy. They posited: we strive, we struggle…at times we might achieve greatness, but life has no ultimate purpose. The universe neither knows nor cares that we are here. In Greek dramas, man is typically brought to ruin, and his life ends in sorrow.

Ancient Israel, on the other hand, gave the world the idea of hope. We are here because God created us in love, and through love we discover the meaning and purpose of life.

Tragic cultures eventually disintegrate and die. Lacking any sense of ultimate meaning, they lose the moral beliefs and the resulting norms and rituals on which continuity depends. They sacrifice true happiness for fleeting enjoyment, refusing to defer pleasure for the sake of critical tasks in the here and now. They thereby forfeit the future for the present.

Inevitably, they lose the passion and energy that brought them greatness in the first place. This was the story of ancient Greece.

By way of contrast, the Jewish sentiment of hope and renewal is captured in a beautiful vignette in the Talmud (Berachot 1:1). Two sages –  Rabbi Chiya and Rabbi Shimon – were walking side by side. They were walking in the valley of Arbel, in northern Israel. Together they saw the dawn, whose light began to slowly burst forth. Rabbi Chiya turned to his dear friend and observed: “So will be the redemption of Israel. First it comes little by little and then becomes greater and greater…until it bursts forth with great brightness.”

The moments before the dawn are typically the darkest time of the night. As the dawn begins to break, there are moments when the darkness and the light seem to mingle with one another. Soon the light breaks through.

It often requires a long process for the light to shine brightly – a process that can feel unending. But the Jewish people remain ever hopeful. We know that the sun must inevitably rise. A new day,  carrying the promise of renewal and the potential for joy and goodness, will come.

At nightfall when darkness surrounds us, Jews gather around the menorah. The candles bringing light to the darkness are symbols of a deep and abiding faith in the potential for a better day to come and the hope for the final redemption.

A parable: There was once a king who was growing older in years. He wished to choose one of his three sons to take over his kingdom. He came up with the following idea.

There was a small shack in the middle of a field. “Whoever can fill the shack to capacity,” the king exclaimed, “will take over my throne.”

The oldest child went first. He filled it with rocks and stones of all shapes and sizes. When there was no room left, he filled the cracks and crevices with small pebbles.

It was then the second son’s turn. He carried bags of feathers, dumping the feathers into the shack. Before long the shack was filled with feathers from top to bottom.

Finally, the youngest son had his opportunity. In the evening the third son walked into the shack. Surprisingly, he was empty- handed. He reached into his pocket and took out a match and a candle. He lit the candle and the room was filled to capacity with light. The king smiled. “You, my child, will take over my throne.”

The truly wise son understood how to fill a vacuum; where there is emptiness, we are to fill that space with light.

Excerpted from Rabbi Menachem Genack’s Birkat Yitzchak Chidushim U-ve’urim al HaTorah

 

פרשת וישב

ערכם האמיתי והשפעתם הנצחית של מעשי האדם

במדרש (ויקרא רבה פר’ לד) איתא: “אילו היה יודע ראובן שהקב”ה כותב אחריו וישמע ראובן ויצילהו מידם בכתפיו היה טוענו ומוליכו אצל אביו. אילו היה אהרון יודע שהקב”ה כותב עליו וגם הנה הוא יוצא לקראתך וגו’ בתופים ובמחולות היה יוצא לקראתו. אילו היה בועז יודע שכותב עליו ויצבט לה קלי, עגלות פטומות היה מביא ומאכילה. לשעבר היה אדם עושה מצוה הנביאים כותבין אותה ועכשיו שאין נביאים מי כותב אותה, אליהו ומשיח והקב”ה חותם הה”ד אז נדברו יראי ה’ וגו'”. והדברים צריכים ביאור, האם אכן נגיעה של כבוד, במה שהיה נכתב עליהם בתורה, היתה משנה את סגנון מעשיהם ופעולתם של ראובן ואהרון.

ולאמיתם של הדברים הפירוש הוא, שראובן שאמר שלא להרוג את יוסף, וביקש מאחיו להשליכו אל הבור בכונה לחזור אחר כך ולהוציאו מן הבור כדי להחזירו אל אביו, פעל בתור אח במסגרת האחווה המשפחתית כדי להציל את אחיו, וגם מחמת כבוד ואהבת אב בכדי שלא לצער את אביו, ועם כונתו הטובה כל פעולותיו היו עדיין במסגרת פרטית ומשפחתית, ולא היה יודע עד כמה היקף השפעתם של מעשיו. אולם אם ראובן היה יודע שהקב”ה כותב עליו “ויצילהו מידם”, דהיינו שאין כאן רק סיפור פרטי, המוגבל במקומו וזמנו, אלא שמדובר על כל העתיד והיעוד של כנסת ישראל, היה טוען את יוסף על כתפו להחזירו אל אביו.

וכן הוא הענין באהרון, ששמח אמנם בגדולתו של אחיו הקטן משה בתור אח אהוב ובאופן משפחתי ופרטי, אבל אם היה יודע אהרון שהמדובר עתה הוא בבחירת משה כאב לכל הנביאים והעמדתו לנותן התורה, היה מתייחס לזה באופן אחר לגמרי – “בתופים ובמחולות היה יוצא לקראתו”!

ובדומה יש לבאר את ענין בועז, אם היה מבין שכאן המדובר לא רק בענין משפחתי, כגואל לאלמנה קרובה, אלא שמכאן תבנה כל גאולת ישראל, שמלך המשיח יצא מרות, ומדובר בענין הנוגע ליעוד כלל עם ישראל, היה ללא ספק עושה את הדבר בלב שמח יותר.

ובזה מאירים לנו דברי סיום המדרש: “ועכשיו שאין נביאים מי כותב אותה”, דהיינו: גם עתה יש ענינים שאנחנו מחשיבים אותם אך לענינים פרטיים המוגבלים רק לאותו מקום זמן ומשפחה, ולכן אנו מתייחסים לדברים אלו ברמה של ענין היחיד והפרט. והאמת היא, שדברים אלו נוגעים לעתיד ויש להם לפעמים השפעה היסטורית, אף אחר תקופת הנביאים, שהם נוגעים לגאולת ישראל, ולכן אליהו ומשיח שהם הגואלים לעתיד כותבים והקב”ה חותם.

Excerpted from The Light That Unites by Rabbi Aaron Goldscheider

Fire or Light? The Great Chanukah Debate

The great Talmudic sage Shammai was of the opinion that one lights the menorah with eight candles on the first night and subtracts one on each succeeding night.

His beloved opponent Hillel taught otherwise: that we light one candle the first night and add one additional candle on each of the following nights.

If Hillel’s opinion feels right to us, it is perhaps because, after all, this is the custom the Jewish people have adopted since Talmudic times, when the lighting of the menorah was first instituted.

How do we understand their debate? Was it just a difference in style, or is there something deeper behind the differing approaches of these two giants?

The great Jerusalem sage Rabbi Shlomo Yosef Zevin (1888–1978) offered the following beautiful clarifying insight. He said that the debate revolves around an important distinction: whether Chanukah is a time to celebrate our ability to defeat evil, or whether it is about our ability to demonstrate how even a little bit of light can chase away a great deal of darkness.

Stated otherwise, do we view the Chanukah candles as fire or as light?

Shammai indicates that our celebration is one of fire. It demonstrates our capacity to powerfully burn and consume the foe until there is nothing left. We begin with eight candles and symbolically show the tenacious power of our fire to wipe out our aggressors and subdue evil.

Hillel, on the other hand, teaches that we light one additional candle each night, demonstrating the power of the light to grow and expand. In the words of the Talmud (Shabbat 21b), mosif v’holech, “add and move forward.” We choose to live with kindness, wisdom, and spreading the light of the Torah.

Adding a new Chanukah candle every night tells us that we must endeavor to increase our light and spread it throughout the world. Thus we begin with one light on the first night and add holiness each day, elevating the spiritual level each time.

We have chosen the path of Hillel. We prefer to choose light and to ever increase it; our way is the way of pleasantness that promotes healing and wholeness to the world.

Excerpted from Rabbi Menachem Genack’s Birkat Yitzchak Chidushim U-ve’urim al HaTorah

 

פרשת וישלח

המאבק עם עשו ושרו – כח וגבורה

ויותר יעקב לבדו ויאבק איש עמו עד עלות השחר (לב, כה)

וכתב רש”י שפירשו חז”ל שהוא שרו של עשו.

והנה צריך עיון בזה, שהרי יעקב נתיירא מעשו מאד, וכשנפגש עם עשו היה נכנע לו מאד והשתחווה לו ארצה שבע פעמים ופייסו במתנות, אבל כשהיה מתאבק עם שרו של עשו היה לוחם בחזקה עד שהמלאך של עשו ראה כי לא יכול לו. הרי הראה יעקב בזה כח וגבורה עצומה, עד שהמלאך הוצרך להודות על הברכה ולשנות את שמו לישראל – “כי שרית עם אלהים ועם אנשים ותוכל” (לב, כט). וצ”ב פשר השינוי בין היחס לעשו לשרו של עשו.

ונראה בביאור הדברים, שכשיעקב לחם עם שרו של עשו, היתה מלחמתו על יסודי ועיקרי אמונתו ועל קיום דרכו של אברהם, ובזה אין מקום לפשרות ואין מקום לויתורים, ולכן לחם יעקב בגבורה וכל תוקף. אבל בפגישתו עם עשו, יעקב הראה לנו איך עלינו לחיות בין הגוים, שעלינו לנהוג בחכמה, ולפעמים אף להתייחס לעשו בדרך הכנעה ונתינת דורון. ואמנם עד ביאת גואל צדק, עשו הוא הרבים ובעל הכח, ולכן אנחנו צריכים להתמודד עם כוחו של עשו. אבל על עניני האמונה ומסורתנו מאברהם, אין מקום לויתורים, ובזה אנחנו צריכים להראות גבורה עצומה.

והנה שמעתי ממו”ר מרן הגרי”ד זצ”ל שישנם שני ביטויים – ‘כח’ ו’גבורה’, שנראה בהשקפה ראשונה שמובנם אחד, אבל באמת שונים הם זה מזה. ‘כח’ – פירושו עוצמה, ולמשל מדינה שיש לה צבא חזק נחשבת כמדינה בעלת כח, אבל ‘גבורה’ אינה מידה פיזית אלא מידה נפשית להחזיק מעמד אפילו כנגד אויב חזק ממנו, ולכן לפי רבות הכח באדם, כך פוחת צורכו להראות מידת הגבורה. ואלו שמסרו נפשם על קידוש השם היו אמנם חסרי כח פיזי, אבל היו גבורי כח עושי דברו.

והנה ישנן שתי ברכות שאנחנו מברכים בכל יום: “הנותן ליעף כח”, ו”אוזר ישראל בגבורה”. “הנותן ליעף כח”, היינו שהקב”ה נותן לנו את העוז הפיזי לפעול בכל יום, אבל ענינה של ברכת “אוזר ישראל בגבורה” הוא על מדה רוחנית, על אומץ לבב ועזות נפש.

יעקב אמנם חסר כח כלפי עשו עד כי יבוא שילה, אבל לחיות כיהודי נאמן יש צורך בגבורה. מידה זאת היא ירושתנו מיעקב אבינו משעת הלחמו עם שרו של עשו, ולכן באותה שעה קנה לו שם ‘ישראל’.

Excerpted from Rabbi Menachem Genack’s Birkat Yitzchak Chidushim U-ve’urim al HaTorah

פרשת ויצא

ויפגע במקום – ענינה של מידת מקום

“תניא יעקב תקן תפלת ערבית שנא’ ויפגע במקום וילן שם כי בא השמש, אין פגיעה אלא תפלה שנא’ (ירמיהו ז) ואתה אל תתפלל וגו’ ואל תפגע בי” (ברכות כז, ב) וכן הוא ברש”י.

ועיין בב”ר: “ויפגע במקום, למה מכנין שמו של הקב”ה וקורין אותו מקום? מפני שהוא מקומו של עולם ואין העולם מקומו”, עכ”ל. ולפ”ז הכונה ב”ויפגע במקום” – שפגע בשכינה דהוא לשון תפילה, עמידה לפני השכינה.

הנה בביאור הכינוי “מקום” לקב”ה שמעתי ממו”ר מרן הגרי”ד הלוי סולובייצ’יק זצ”ל, שביאר מה שאמרו חז”ל (חגיגה יג, ב) למה יחזקאל האריך בנבואת מעשה המרכבה וישעיה קיצר – “אינו דומה בן עיר הרואה את המלך לבן כפר הרואה את המלך”, דאין הכונה לחלק במדרגת הנבואה שישעיה היה נביא גדול מיחזקאל, אלא שחיו בשני תקופות שונות, נבואת ישעיה היתה כשהמקדש היה על מכונו והעבודה היתה קיימת, משא”כ יחזקאל שנתנבא אחר החורבן והיה בגולה על נהר כבר ובשעה של הסתר פנים.

והנה נוסח הקדושה שבתפילה מורכב מפסוק מנבואת ישעיה ופסוק מנבואת יחזקאל. ישעיהו שחי בשעה שהמקדש היה עדיין קיים, והיתה עדיין תקופה של הארת פנים, ניבא: “קדוש קדוש קדוש מלא כל הארץ כבודו”, שכבוד ה’ היה מלוא כל הארץ, שהקב”ה היה קרוב עדיין. אבל יחזקאל שחי בתקופה של גלות וחורבן, ניבא: “ברוך כבוד ה’ ממקומו”, דהיינו כבוד ה’ אינו נראה עוד לעין כל ואינו מלוא הארץ, אלא שחזר למקומו. ולכן ישעיה שחי בשעה שכבוד ה’ היה מלוא כל הארץ קיצר כשתיאר את מעשה המרכבה, אבל יחזקאל שחי בתקופה שכבוד ה’ היה מצומצם במקומו, האריך כשתיאר את מעשה המרכבה.

וגם אנו משתמשים בכינוי ‘מקום’ כשמכנים את ה’ בשעת הסתר פנים שחזר למקומו ואינו נראה. ולכן כשמנחמים אבל משתמשים במונח של ‘מקום’ – “המקום ינחם אתכם”, כיון שה’ מתגלה במצב הזה במידה של ‘מקום’.

והנה יעקב תיקן תפילת ערבית שהיא תפילת הערב, שהלילה מראה על שעה שאין בה הארת פנים אלא היא עת סכנה וחושך וצרות. כי חיי יעקב היו קשים, וכלשון יעקב אבינו עצמו: “מעט ורעים היו שני ימי חיי” (בראשית מז, ט), ובברחו מבית אביו מפני עשו וקודם שנפל בידיו של לבן, התפלל יעקב תפילת ערבית המראה על בטחון בה’ אף בשעת צרה, כדכתיב: “להגיד בבקר חסדך ואמונתך בלילות” (תהלים צג, ב), כי בלילה צריך את המידה של אמונה. ולכן כתיב “ויפגע במקום”, שיעקב פגע – התפלל ודבק בקב”ה במידה של ‘מקום’ בשעת צרה ואפלה.

Excerpted from Rabbi Shmuel Goldin’s Unlocking the Torah Text-Bereishit, co-published by OU Press and Gefen Publishers

Yaakov’s Vow

Context

On the morning after his dream of a ladder stretching heavenward, Yaakov renames the location of the dream Beit E-l.

He then makes the following vow: “If God will be with me and will guard me on this path upon which I go; and [if he] will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear; and [if] I will return in peace to the home of my father and the Lord will be my God – then this stone which I have set up as a pillar will be a House of God and all that you give to me I will repeatedly tithe to you.”

Questions

How are we to understand Yaakov’s vow? The patriarch seems to be making his worship of God conditional upon material gain!

Pivotal to our understanding is the interpretation of the phrase “and the Lord will be my God.” Could Yaakov possibly be saying that “the Lord will be his God” only if certain conditions are met?

Compounding the problem is the fact that the very conditions which Yaakov now seems to be questioning were already promised to him by God in his dream: “And behold I will be with you; and I will guard you wherever you will go; and I will return you to this soil….”

Why does Yaakov seem to be unsure of those promises now?

Approaches
A
A variety of approaches to Yaakov’s vow are offered by the classical commentaries. One authority quoted in the Midrash simply cannot accept Yaakov’s vow as a response to his dream. Yaakov would not question the very assurances that he had already received from God. This scholar, therefore, makes the radical suggestion that the order of events within the biblical text must be reversed. The patriarch’s vow actually preceded the dream, and God’s promises were a direct response to Yaakov’s concerns. (Note: The rule that events in the Torah are not necessarily recorded in chronological order is used by the rabbis sparingly, often to address otherwise unsolvable issues.)

B
Numerous other commentaries maintain that Yaakov’s words are not to be understood as a conditional vow at all but, instead, as a promise or a heartfelt prayer.

“If I am simply given the opportunity,” the patriarch is saying, “this is what I promise to do.”

Rashi, for example, directly correlates each of Yaakov’s requests to God’s corresponding promise in the dream. The patriarch is outlining how he will respond if the details of the dream are fulfilled.

Yaakov’s statement “and the Lord will be my God,” continues Rashi, relates to an earlier divine promise given to Yaakov’s grandfather, Avraham: “to be a God to you and to your children after you.” By recalling that pledge, says Rashi, quoting the Sifrei, Yaakov prays that God’s name will rest upon him and upon his children, so that he will give rise to no unfit progeny.”

The Rashbam interprets the phrase “and the Lord will be my God” as a prayer that God assist the patriarch in all of his future dealings, while the Sforno maintains that the patriarch’s entire vow should be seen as a request on Yaakov’s part that God remove all impediments to spiritual growth from his path. The Sforno goes on to say that Yaakov agrees to be held to a higher standard if his request is fulfilled: “‘and the Lord will be my God’ – then the Lord will relate to me as a judge and determine  whether or not I fulfill my obligations.”

C
A totally different, fascinating approach is suggested by the Ramban. Unlike the scholars previously quoted, the Ramban interprets the phrase “and the Lord will be my God” not as part of Yaakov’s requests but as a realization.

As a result of God’s promise to return him to the Land of Israel, the patriarch now understands that a complete relationship with God can only be experienced within that land. He therefore says: “‘And I will return in peace to the home of my father; and the Lord will be my God.’ – Only once I return to this land will the Lord fully be my God.”

Yaakov is not placing conditions upon his belief in God. He is simply stating that he understands the truth: A Jew can only be complete with his God within the Land of Israel.

The Ramban bases his interpretation of the vow upon the rabbinic dictum “all who live outside the land of Israel are is if they have no God.”

The Ramban’s explanation of Yaakov’s vow is consistent with a global, revolutionary approach taken by this scholar concerning the relationship between Jewish observance and the Land of Israel. The Ramban maintains that all mitzvot which we fulfill outside of the Land of Israel are fundamentally incomplete. So singular is our connection to God when we are within the Land of Israel, that Shabbat, kashrut, tefillin, the holidays, and all other obligations of our tradition can only be observed in their fullness within that land.

In a perfect example of practicing what you preach, the Ramban’s philosophical commitment to the Land of Israel was concretely mirrored in his own life decisions. At the age of seventy-three, the Ramban embarked on the difficult and dangerous journey to the Land of Israel, thereby fulfilling his lifelong dream of settling in the Holy Land. Once in Israel, the Ramban worked diligently to restore the Jewish community in Jerusalem. He is considered by many to be the father of modern Jewish settlement in that holy city.

D
Perhaps the Ramban’s approach can be taken one step further by interpreting Yaakov’s words “and I will return in peace to the home of my father” not as one of the patriarch’s requests but as the first of his promises.

Yaakov’s first and primary commitment was a commitment to return to the Land of Israel.

This pledge was much more complex than it sounds.

E
To understand, we must return to the scene of Yaakov’s dream. Put yourself, for a moment, in Yaakov’s place during the moments before his vision.

Bedding down in the darkness of the night, you are terribly fearful – fearful of the unknown, of your aloneness and of the threat posed by your brother…

You harbor, however, an even deeper fear. You live at a time when gods are considered territorial. If you leave your land, you leave your God behind.

And now you stand poised, for the first time, to run from the land that your family has not left for over a generation, the land to which your grandfather had been commanded to journey. What will become of your relationship with your God?

In response to your fears, God grants you a majestic vision of a ladder stretching heavenward upon which angels are ascending and descending. True, the angels who have watched over you until now are leaving; but other angels, other emissaries of your God, are descending to accompany you on your journey.

God appears to you in your dream with promises: that the land upon which you lie will be given to you and to your children; that your children will be as numerous as the dust of the earth and will spread to the west, to the east, to the north and to the south; that the nations of the world will be blessed through you and your descendents.

But then God says something truly astonishing: “And behold I will be with you and I will guard you wherever you may go.”

Suddenly you truly realize that your God is different – that there is only one God, Who is not tied to any land, Who is omnipresent.

You are no longer afraid…for you now know that by leaving the land you will not leave your God behind. He will be with you always.

F
This realization, however, potentially makes you think: If God will be with me wherever I go; if I can be successful anywhere; then, perhaps, I need no longer be tied to a specific land or place.

Further, if my task is to spread God’s word, won’t that be best accomplished by living in the world? Perhaps my family has developed past the need for a homeland.

But then God continues in your dream: “And I will return you to this soil; for I will not leave you until I have done all that I have promised to you.”

And you realize the fullness of your challenge. For while God will be with you wherever you may go; His constant presence does not release you from the obligation to return to your own land. There, and only there, will your relationship with God be complete; there and only there can you truly fulfill your destiny.

Your relationship with your Creator will be defined by a constant tension. You will live under his protection wherever you may be but you will fully relate to him only within your land. You may succeed in exile but your destiny waits for you in your homeland.

G
Yaakov, therefore, awakens the next morning and pledges: “Dear God: If You truly will be with me wherever I go; if I am successful in my endeavors in exile; then, I promise You I will not misunderstand. I will not assume that my success in exile means that I can remain there.

“I promise: ‘And I will return in peace to the home of my father.’ Given the opportunity, I will come back.”

Points to Ponder

The tension delineated at the dawn of our history, in Yaakov’s dream and in his subsequent vow, has marked our nation’s experience across the face of history.

For centuries, during a long and turbulent exile, we have retained a deep belief in God’s constant presence. Given the opportunity, we have succeeded greatly in land after land, contributing well beyond our numbers to the society around us.

And yet, we have always harbored the dream of a return to our homeland, of a return to Zion.

During the modern era, however, this age-old balance came under new scrutiny and challenge. The late 1800s and early 1900s saw within the world Jewish community growing dreams of real acceptance, coupled with visions of a new universal culture. Many Jews began to view the concept of a return to Zion as parochial and outdated. We had become, they felt, a global people and had, therefore, outgrown the need for a homeland. Zionism, with its practical vision of a return to Israel, was seen as an archaic throwback, to be actively opposed.

Thus, in 1885, the Pittsburgh Platform of the Reform Jewish movement stated that in light of the modern era of “universal culture of heart and intellect”: “We consider ourselves no longer a nation, but a religious community, and therefore expect neither a return to Palestine, nor a sacrificial worship under the sons of Aaron, nor the restoration of any of the laws concerning the Jewish state…”

By 1937, however, things had dramatically changed. Buffeted by the reality of world events, the same Reform movement affirmed in its Columbus Platform “the obligation of all Jewry to aid in [Palestine’s] upbuilding as a Jewish homeland by endeavoring to make it not only a haven of refuge for the oppressed but also a center of Jewish culture and spiritual life.”

The Holocaust, of course, gave further lie to the vision of a harmonious universal culture; and Zionist ideology can be found today alive and well across the religious spectrum, within the Orthodox, Conservative and Reform communities.

Ideology, however, is not enough. As noted before (see Lech Lecha 1, Points to Ponder), we live at a time when a personal return to Zion is within our grasp.

Yaakov’s vow challenges us.

What will be our response?

Excerpted from Rabbi Menachem Genack’s Birkat Yitzchak Chidushim U-ve’urim al HaTorah

פרשת תולדות

הדמיון בין נתינת הברכות ליעקב ועשו לשני שעירי יוה”כ

“קח לי שני גדיי עזים טובים: טובים לך וטובים לבניך טובים לך שעל ידן אתה נוטל הברכות וטובים לבניך שעל ידן מתכפר להם ביום הכפורים אחד לה’ ואחד לעזאזל” (מדרש רבה).

המעיין בפרשת נתינת הברכות ליעקב ועשו, יראה שיש בה דמיון למהלך של שני השעירים ביוה”כ אחד לה’ ואחד לעזאזל. שהרי יעקב ועשו היו תאומים וקבלו אותו חינוך אלא שאחד נעשה איש ציד והאחר איש תם יושב אהלים, וכן הוא בענין שני השעירים שאכן דומים זה לזה במראה וקומה ולקיחתם כאחד אלא שע”י הגורל נקבע שאחד נעשה לה’ והשני לעזאזל.

והנה הגר”ח זצ”ל ביאר שחלוק עשו מישמעאל, בכך שישמעאל מלידתו הופקע מלהיות זרע אברהם, דכתיב: “כי ביצחק יקרא לך זרע”, אבל עשו יכול היה להיות זרע אברהם דכתיב “כי ביצחק” ולא כל יצחק, וזה היה יכול להיות או יעקב או עשו, אבל לא שניהם. וכאן בשעת נתינת הברכות היתה שעת הגורל לקבוע מי יהיה היורש של אברהם אבינו. [ועיין בחידושי הרי”ז עה”ת פר’ תולדות.]

ועיין ברמב”ן (ויקרא טו, ח) שהביא מבראשית רבה: “ונשא השעיר עליו, זה עשו שנאמר הן עשו אחי איש שעיר, את כל עונותם, עונות תם שנאמר ויעקב איש תם”, וזה מפורש ג”כ בפרקי דרבי אליעזר הגדול, ונמצינו למדים על הדמיון בין יעקב ועשו לשני השעירים ביוה”כ.

Excerpted from Rabbi Dr. Norman J. Lamm’s Derashot Ledorot: A Commentary for the Ages – Genesis, co-published by OU Press, Maggid Books, and YU Press; edited by Stuart W. Halpern

Religion by Relegation

In an almost casual, offhand way, our sidra tells us of a series of incidents in the life of Isaac that are apparently of no special significance, but in which our rabbis have seen the greatest importance.

Isaac lived in the land of Canaan, which suffered from scarcity of water most of the year, and he therefore decided to dig a well. We are told of three wells that he and his entourage dug. The first two involved him in difficulties with the people of Gerar, a Philistine nation. The first of these Isaac called Esek, because it was the cause of much strife and contention. He was no more successful with the second well; after his servants dug it, he incurred the hatred of the people about him. He therefore called the second well by the name Sitna, meaning enmity. It was only when the third well was dug that happiness prevailed once again; and so he called the third well Reĥovot, meaning: room, freedom, scope, peace, or joy.

Of what importance can these apparently prosaic matters be to later generations, who search in the Torah for matters of timeless significance and are not particularly interested in economic clashes and riparian rivalry in ancient Canaan? Nachmanides, following the principle of the rabbis that “ma’aseh avot siman levanim,” that the deeds of the fathers anticipate the history of the children, has taught us that the three wells of Isaac recapitulate the stories of the three great Sanctuaries of the people of Israel. The first well is a symbol of the First Temple, which was destroyed because of Esek – because of the battles and wars waged on the Jewish people by the surrounding nations. The second well, that called Sitna, represents the Second Temple, for this Temple was brought to ruins by the hatred and enmity that prevailed among the children of Israel during that period. However, the third well, Reĥovot, is the symbol of the Sanctuary that has not yet been built – that of the great future. It represents the Beit haMikdash which will one day be rebuilt in Jerusalem, and which will last forever in a spirit of Reĥovot – freedom, peace, and plenty.

However, the question remains: why indeed was Isaac successful with the third well, while failing with the first two? In what way was the third well, symbol of the Third Temple, superior to the others?

Permit me to provide an answer which has been suggested to me by my uncle, Rabbi Joseph M. Baumol, which not only answers this question but also provides us with a powerful moral for our own lives. If we analyze carefully the three verses which tell of how these three wells were dug, we will discover one significant difference between the first two and the third. The first two were dug by Isaac’s servants, his hired help. Of the first well we read: “Vayaĥperu avdei Yitzĥak,” “And the servants of Isaac dug the well.” With regard to the second well, we read: “Vayaĥperu be’er aĥeret,” “They dug another well.” In both cases, Isaac relegated his duties and activities to others. Only with regard to the third well do we find the element of personal participation: “Vayaĥpor be’er aĥeret,” “And he dug another well” (Genesis 26:19, 21, 22). As long as Isaac was going to leave the performance of his duties to others, and not do them himself, there was bound to result Esek and Sitna, hatred and argumentation. It is only when Isaac, despite the many people ready to serve him, was willing to dig the well by himself, that he was able to achieve Reĥovot – the peace and plenty and freedom that he so very much desired. The Third Temple, that which will last unto all eternity, will come about only when every Jew will take it upon himself to perform the “Vayaĥpor be’er aĥeret,” the willingness to work by himself, to commit his own energies, talents, concern, and participation to the sacred tasks which we have been assigned.

Actually, Isaac’s career from the very beginning reveals this tension between relegation and participation. Throughout his life we find signs of his struggling to learn this great principle of personal involvement. Even before he was conceived, the message came to his father Abraham that Sara would bear the child, Isaac. However, the message came not from God Himself, as it were, but through an angel. And so, when Sara heard it she laughed and ridiculed it – incurring Abraham’s annoyance and God’s irritation. Only afterwards do we read, “And the Lord said unto Abraham” – when God Himself addressed Abraham, by Himself and not through an angel, Sara began to believe in reverence and awe, and not doubt in mocking laughter, that she would be blessed with a child.

The great story of the Akeida also reveals this oscillation between relegation and participation. At first, Abraham decides to offer up Isaac himself. At the last moment, his hand is stayed and,  instead, Abraham offers up a ram caught in the thicket nearby. The Torah puts it this way (Genesis 22:13): And behold, “Ayil aĥar ne’eĥaz basvakh,” which we normally translate: “A ram was caught in the thicket behind them.” But this has also been interpreted in an equally valid fashion as: “Another ram was caught in the thicket” – that is, instead of Isaac, another sacrifice was discovered: the ram. Isaac’s life was saved and a “messenger” was offered up in his place, the ram!

His very marriage followed the same pattern. Isaac did not himself go to look for a wife; his father sent the servant Eliezer instead. According to our tradition (Tosafot on Ketubot 7b), Eliezer was legally a “shaliaĥ kiddushin,” an agent to marry a woman for Isaac by proxy. No wonder, as the Netziv has pointed out, throughout their married lives Isaac and Rebecca suffered from a sense of distance and remoteness between them, a lack of open communication and participation with each other. The Netziv sees this symbolized in the event that occurred when Isaac and Rebecca first met. There we read that at the moment she saw him, Rebecca took her veil and covered her face. This veil is a symbol of a domestic curtain, an obstruction that prevented them from communicating freely. If there is no direct personal participation, then there is a possibility of misunderstanding and even enmity.

So it was with the wells. It took two difficult diggings until Isaac learned that you ought not send someone else to do your tasks. He then learned that only if “he dug another well,” by himself and with his own effort, could he achieve Reĥovot, the peace and freedom and space that he needed for his full development.

This idea is especially important in contemporary society. As civilization grows more complex, each person grows less whole and less integrated, for he is less involved in the tasks that require his attention and devotion. With the division of labor, and the progressive concentration of expertise in narrower and narrower fields, we begin to suffer alienation, a sense of distance between ourselves and our fellow-man, a withdrawal from all of life to within ourselves. Especially in our crowded cities, this introversion and withdrawal takes place if only as a means to protect what little precious privacy we have left for ourselves.

And of course, to some extent, we must limit our involvement in society and the lives of others. We need the mechanics of the delegation of duties and tasks in order for society to function. A good administrator is one who does not do everything by himself, but sees to it that others do their parts. We cannot and should not attempt to do  everything by ourselves.

The halakha recognized this idea and incorporated it in the institution of sheliĥut, agency. We are permitted to designate an agent to perform certain tasks, not only in financial law, but even with regard to such mitzvot as the giving of charity or the writing of a sefer Torah. Nevertheless, the principle of sheliĥut is not valid for every occasion. For instance, I cannot make an agent to eat in the sukka for me, nor can I appoint someone to listen to the sound of the shofar for me. If I do, I have failed to fulfill my religious obligations. How do I distinguish between those functions for which I can appoint a messenger, and those which I must perform myself? The famous author of the Ketzot haĤoshen put it this way: I may make an agent to perform any commandment save a
mitzva shebegufo, a mitzva which I am required to perform with my own body, my own self. Thus, charity can be given by anyone – the important consideration is the result, that the poor man be fed or housed. Anyone may write a sefer Torah for me, provided that I commission it and possess it and use it. But when the commandment is that I eat in a sukka or that I hear the shofar – that is a commandment relating to my body, to my person, and no one can take my place.

Thus, certain things cannot be delegated and relegated to others. Today, as we are threatened with the progressive depersonalization of life, we must emphasize as never before the mitzva shebegufo, the significance of the individual, of selfhood, of personal participation and responsibility. We must come to recognize that we are each of us not only a collection of assignable functions, but integrated, whole, unique individuals, who must act by ourselves and as ourselves.

Excerpted from Rabbi Menachem Genack’s Birkat Yitzchak Chidushim U-ve’urim al HaTorah

 

 

פרשת חיי שרה

השראת השכינה – במשכן, בבריאה ובבתי ישראל

ויביאה האהלה (כד, סז)

ברש”י: ויביאה האהלה ונעשית דוגמת שרה אמו, כלומר והרי היא שרה אמו, שכל זמן ששרה קיימת היה נר דלוק מע”ש לערב שבת וברכה מצויה בעיסה וענן קשור על האהל ומשמתה פסקו וכשבאת רבקה חזרו (ב”ר).

והנה שלושה דברים אלו – נר דלוק מע”ש לער”ש, וברכה מצויה בעיסה, וענן קשור על האהל, היו דברים שמצינו באהל מועד. נר דלוק מערב שבת לערב שבת – זהו נר המערבי שבמנורה, וברכה מצויה בעיסה – היה נס שבלחם הפנים על השלחן שהיה טרי כל השבוע, וגם במשכן היה ענן קשור על האהל להראות על השראת השכינה. וכולם היו גם באהלה של שרה, כי באהל שרה שרתה השכינה והיה האוהל כמשכן.

ועיין ברמב”ן בהקדמתו לפי’ ספר שמות שכתב שפרשיות המשכן נכללו בספר שמות, משום שספר שמות הוא ספר הגאולה, וז”ל: “והנה הגלות איננו נשלם עד יום שובם אל מקומם ואל מעלת אבותם, וכשבאו אל הר סיני ועשו המשכן ושב הקב”ה והשרה שכינתו ביניהם, אז שבו אל מעלת אבותם שהיה סוד אלוק עלי אהליהם, והם הם המרכבה (ב”ר סי’ מז אות ח’), ואז נחשבו גאולים, ולכן נשלם הספר הזה [שמות] בהשלימו ענין המשכן ובהיות כבוד ה’ מלא אותו תמיד”, עכ”ל. הרי שהשכינה היתה שרויה באהל האבות וזה מה שכתב רש”י ששלושה דברים אלו הם משום שהשכינה היתה שורה באהלי האבות.

ונראה ממשמעות הקרא ד”ושכנתי בתוכם” שמעלה זו קיימת במקצת בכל בתי ישראל, ולכן השולחן שבכל בית ובית דומה למזבח. ולפי זה יש לבאר כונת חז”ל במאמרם בשבת (פרק במה מדליקין משנה ז’): “על שלש עבירות נשים מתות בשעת לדתן על שאינן זהירות בנדה, בחלה, ובהדלקת הנר”. שלושת הדברים הם כנגד שלושת המעלות שבאהלה של שרה: נדה – כנגד ענן קשור על האהל, כי טהרת המשפחה מראה על השראת השכינה ושם השם השרוי בין איש לאשתו, ובלא זה אש אוכלתן (בגמ’ סוטה יז, א); חלה – כנגד לחם הפנים, וברכה מצויה בעיסה; הדלקת הנר – כנגד הנר הדלוק מע”ש לע”ש. שלושת המצוות האלו קובעות את הבית למקום משכן, ובלעדיהן אין מקום להשראת שכינה, ולכן אלו שאינן זהירות בהן מתות בשעת לידתן.

ונראה שזו גם כן כונת חז”ל במאמרם (משנה אבות פ”א מ”ב): “על שלשה דברים העולם עומד על התורה ועל העבודה ועל גמילות חסדים”. בכל הבריאה יש השראת שכינה והעולם כולו הוא מקום לה. תורה – כנגד נר הדלוק, המנורה מראה על חכמת התורה; עבודה – היינו הענן הקשור על האהל; וגמילות חסדים – היא הברכה המצויה בעיסה. והבן.

והנה בחנוכה מצות הדלקת נרות הוי נר איש וביתו, ועיקר המצוה הוא נר לבית. ולהרמ”א המהדרין מן המהדרין הוא דכל אחד ואחד מדליק לעצמו דהיינו דהוא חובת גברא, אבל עיקר המצוה הוא שיהא נר דלוק לבית.

ואשר נראה, שמה שעיקר המצוה בחנוכה הוא חובת בית, הוא להראות על זה שהשכינה שורה בביתו של כל איש מישראל, שהרי היונים רצו לטמאות לא רק את המקדש החיצוני שבירושלים, אלא גם רצו לטמאות ולחלל את הקדושה הפנימית השורה בביתו של כל יהודי מישראל, וכמבואר ברמב”ם ריש הל’ חנוכה, וז”ל: “בבית שני כשמלכו יון גזרו גזרות על ישראל… ופשטו ידם בממונם ובנותיהם, ונכנסו להיכל ופרצו בו פרצות וטמאו הטהרות”, עכ”ל. ולכן קבעו חכמים שמצות נר חנוכה היא מצות נר איש וביתו, כי הנר מראה על השראת השכינה בבתי ישראל.

Excerpted from Rabbi Shmuel Goldin’s Unlocking the Torah Text – Bereishit, co-published by OU Press and Gefen Publishers

Ger V’Toshav

Context

Parshat Chayei Sara opens with the death of Sara and the purchase of the Cave of Machpeila by Avraham as a burial site.

Questions

The Torah dedicates no less than twenty sentences to the negotiations between Avraham and the Hittites concerning the purchase of the Cave of Machpeila as a burial site for the patriarchal family. This is more text than was dedicated to the entire story of Akeidat Yitzchak.

Recognizing that every word of the Torah is significant, why is this incident recorded in such seemingly unnecessary detail?

Approaches
A
A variety of approaches are suggested by the classical commentaries. The Talmud, in a passage echoed elsewhere in Midrashic literature, sees the entire story of the purchase of the Cave of Machpeila as a testament to Avraham’s loyalty and fortitude. Even Satan has to admit: “I have traveled across the whole world and have found no one as faithful as your servant [Avraham]. You promised him, ‘Arise, walk across the length and breadth of the land for I will give it to you.’ Yet when the time came to bury Sara and he could not find a spot for her burial, he did not question your ways.”

Some authorities actually suggest that this episode is one of the ten tests administered to Avraham throughout his lifetime (see Vayeira 4, Context).

B
Other sources see this narrative as one of a number of texts that record for perpetuity the clear claim of the Jewish nation to specific areas in the land of Israel. The details serve to underscore and cement the legal, contractual nature of our ownership.

How ironic that in our time the city of Hevron and the Cave of Machpeila have once again become the flashpoints for violent dispute between Israel and its neighbors. The Torah’s recordation of Avraham’s purchase of this land remains frighteningly prophetic. We are being told that we will need, across the ages, every possible proof that the land of Israel belongs to the Jewish people.

C
Yet others understand this narrative as underscoring the deep respect that must be shown, according to Jewish law, towards the dead. With meticulous detail, the Torah records Avraham’s extraordinary efforts to ensure a proper burial for Sara.

From that time onward, Avraham’s descendents will continue to care for those who pass from this world with honor and dignity.

The Chatam Sofer goes so far as to learn from this episode the halachic requirement to purchase a burial plot, rather than simply receive it as a gift.

D
A careful reading of the text, however, reveals another, deeper level to this episode.

Beneath the surface, a defining confrontation actually takes place between Avraham and his neighbors as he negotiates for the purchase of the Cave of Machpeila. This confrontation brings Avraham’s career full circle and may well present him with the greatest challenge of his life.

The key to the episode lies in a strange two-word phrase used by Avraham as he opens the dialogue with the Hittites dwelling in Hevron: Ger v’toshav anochi imachem, “I am a stranger and a citizen together with you.”

The word ger, “stranger,” is derived from the verb lagur, “to dwell,” whereas the term toshav, “citizen,” emerges from the verb lashevet, “to live.”

As we have noted before (see Vayeira 2, Approaches c), these two verbs describe very different relationships with the land: lagur connotes impermanent residence while lashevet speaks of permanent residence.

Avraham’s self-description is, therefore, inherently self-contradictory. Is he a citizen or a stranger? It would seem that he cannot be both.

Rashi immediately notes the problem and offers two possible solutions: On a pashut pshat level, Avraham is saying, “I am a stranger from a different land, who has come to live with you.”

On a Midrashic level, Avraham is saying: “It is up to you. If you treat me well, I will deal with you as if I am but a stranger who has no rights to the land. If not, I will consider myself a citizen, and take this property by law.”

Each of these explanations is predicated on the assumption that the terms ger and toshav are, indeed, mutually exclusive. One simply cannot be a stranger and a citizen at the same time. Any explanation of the phrase containing both words must therefore resolve the internal conflict between the terms.

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A totally different approach to the phrase ger v’toshav, however, can be suggested. Perhaps the inherent conflict between ger and toshav is not meant to be resolved at all. We are confronted, instead, with one of those phrases in the Torah which at first appear contradictory but which, when properly understood, reflect a significant philosophic dialectic (see Bereishit 2, Approaches g).

Avraham’s two-word self-description summarizes, in uncanny fashion, not only his own place in society at this critical moment of his life but the place that his children will occupy in the world community across the ages. What better description of the Jew than “a stranger and a citizen”?

Throughout our history, in country after country, the Jew has maintained a delicate balance in order to survive and succeed. Given the opportunity, we have been “citizens” of every country we have lived in. We have participated in all facets of communal life, contributed well beyond our numbers to culture and technology, played a role in governance and risen to the top echelons of societal life. At the same time, however, we have always been “strangers.” By choice, we have turned to an outside society and declared our difference. We have maintained our own laws and rituals, our own belief system and our own cherished traditions. We have been part of and apart from every civilization in which we have lived. Our ability to maintain the balance defined by the phrase ger v’toshav has determined our very survival in every generation, and how each Jewish community defines the balance for itself determines the very nature of that community.

This balance, so crucial to our nation’s existence, is struck at the dawn of our history.

Towards the end of his life, Avraham turns to the society surrounding him and says: Ger v’toshav anochi imachem, “I am a stranger and a citizen together with you.” Through this declaration Avraham announces: This is who I am. I am, at once, a stranger and a citizen with you. I will participate with you, I will contribute to your culture and to your life; but I will always be separate and apart. This is the balance that I must maintain if I and my descendents are to survive and contribute as a people.

How telling is the response of Avraham’s neighbors in the very next sentences! Nesi Elokim ata b’tocheinu, “You are a prince of the Lord among us.” B’mivchar kvareinu kvor et meitecha, “In the choicest of our graves bury your dead.” The message they convey is the following: Avraham, why all the fuss? No need to struggle with the parameters of your identity. No need to remain separate. You are fully accepted among us without reservation or stipulation.

From that moment the battle is joined. A battle that courses silently beneath the surface of Avraham’s negotiations, first with the Hittites in general and then with Ephron (the owner of the field) in specific.

It is noteworthy that even when Avraham negotiates privately with Ephron, the Torah goes out of its way to tell the reader repeatedly that the negotiations take place in full public view and hearing. These are not simply private negotiations over the ownership of a field but a clash of two cultures.

Over and over again, the Hittites attempt to persuade Avraham to lower his guard, to join their community without conditions. Over and over again, Avraham refuses, insisting upon boundaries and separation, insisting that the grave for Sara be fully purchased and not received as a gift. Even after death the Jew must remain distinct, his unique identity fully preserved.

This is one of those quiet moments of history where everything hangs in the balance. If Avraham fails, God forbid, in his attempt to define his identity, Jewish history ends right here. He is assimilated into the Hittite community, the Jewish nation never forms, and all the contributions that the Jewish people are destined to make to the world are never made.

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The event at Machpeila also brings Avraham’s career full circle. The patriarch’s mission to the world was launched with God’s commandment: Lech lecha  mei’artzecha…, Leave your land, your birthplace and the home of your father and go “to the land that I will show you.” (see Lech Lecha 1).

The rabbis understand this commandment as creating a twofold obligation. On the one hand, Avraham was instructed to separate himself from his background and from all within the world incompatible with his mission. On the other hand, the rabbis say, God commanded Avraham to journey from place to place, in order to actively spread God’s word to a waiting world. The Midrash, in fact, compares the patriarch at the beginning of his career to a small jar of perfume. Left in one place, the perfume cannot be appreciated. If it is carried throughout the room, however, all can benefit from its aroma. So, too, Avraham was commanded by God to travel from his home so that others could benefit from his efforts.

In short, the rabbis see the first commandment given by God to Avraham as a commandment to be part of the world and apart from the world at the same time. This dialectic is reiterated by Avraham decades later, when he faces Hittite society and proclaims: Ger v’toshav anochi imachem, “I am a stranger and a citizen together with you.”

At the dawn of Avraham’s journey, God openly delineates the balance that will define Jewish identity across the ages. When the patriarch negotiates for the Cave of Machpeila, however, God is silent. Alone and on his own, Avraham must discern the challenge that confronts him and respond appropriately. He looks back upon the lessons he has learned throughout his career and, facing a foreign society, carefully negotiates the equation that will preserve both his involvement in that society and his own individuality. Avraham’s triumph at that lonely moment ensures the survival and success of his people.