Parshat Ki Teitze: Coming Closer to God

Of course all mitzvot are a means of becoming closer to God.  Yet some are more understandable than others in helping us achieve that goal.  This week's parsha, Ki Teitze (literally, "when you shall go forth"), contains numerous commandments that fall into the "ethical" sphere that we can easily understand and, through fulfilling them, become more God-like ourselves.  There are others that are not as easy to understand the reasoning, but nonetheless it is possible to realize that all the commandments - God's mitzvot - are means of connecting us, finite beings, to God, the infinite.

Yet when the Piacenza Rebbe, writing from the Warsaw Ghetto and a concentration camp, wrote about our connection to our Creator, he did not chose to explain any of the numerous mitzvot.  Rather he began with the first passuk (verse) in the Torah portion:

When you will go forth to war against your enemies, and they will be delivered into your hand, and you will capture (shavita) its captivity (shavyo). (Deuteronomy 21:10)

You.  God appears to be speaking to us, the Jewish people.  But, says the Piacenza Rebbe, the verbs in Hebrew are in the singular tense and therefore can also be read as directed to each individual. You, as an individual, are being spoken to.  As it is said:

The Lord hath sworn and will not relent, 'you are a priest forever because you are a king of righteousness.' (Tehilim 110:4)

We, the Jewish people, are a nation of priests.  You, as an individual, are a priest, a king of righteousness.  That title was engraved upon us at Sinai and will not be removed.  But how do we actualize our potential?  How do we answer God, who speaks directly to us?

According to the Rebbe of Piacenza there are two ways: avodah shel lev (worship of the heart) and avodah shel seichel (worship of the mind).  Avodah shel seichel occurs through our study of Jewish texts - Torah, Talmud, Tanakh, Halacha - and becoming part of the ongoing Jewish tradition of learning the way and the word of God.  Torah study is not a static activity, but one in which we engage the texts in front of us and become a part of the dialogue on the page, the will of God.  Avodah shel lev, however, is accomplished through our tefilot, our prayers.  When we pray, we direct our prayers directly to You, our God.  Baruch Ata Hashem, Blessed are You, God.  We form a relationship with God not by creating any barriers between us and Him - not priest or prophet, nor third person dialogue.  We form a direct relationship through direct communication, not referring to "Him" or "Her" or "It" as an abstract, untouchable and unknowable other.

By saying You, we make ourselves connect as one with God by bringing more of Him into us, says the Piacenza Rebbe.  This point, however, seems paradoxical to me.  By using the second person "You" we are making God a distinct entity outside of ourselves.  How is it that this act makes us, at the same time, become "one" with God by letting Him in?  I think the answer (at least partly) is this: other people are a reflection of us.  When we are happy and smiling, it is contagious and others we are around also tend to smile.  If we are unhappy that mood also will rub off on others and we will be able to feed on that to continue our unhappiness.  So too with God, what we put into our prayer to Him is returned to us and becomes a part of us.  I pray to You, God, with my heart and my mind, and my heart and mind are in turn filled with God (or at least a greater awareness of God). 

With this in mind, the Piacenza Rebbe relayed a different meaning of the first verse of this week's parsha: rather than reading "captives", we should read "return" (from the root of teshuva).  Return to God.  We must engage with Him in the dialogue that He started at the beginning of creation and continued at Mount Sinai, through the prophets, through the commentaries we have today, and through our tefilot. 

Shabbat Shalom from Jerusalem!

Parshat Balak: Zelophechad’s Daughters, Moshe Relinquishes his Leadership, and KOACH’s Closing

It was quite fitting that this week in shul, I was given the fourth aliyah, which continues and finishes the laws of inheritance that arise in the merit of Zelophechad’s daughters.  It is fitting because this story, more than any other, reminds me of KOACH (and Conservative Judaism) and, sadly, this was KOACH’s last Shabbos.  I was heavily involved in KOACH and the Conservative movement during my junior and senior years at Miami University, and the organization and rabbis in the organization were instrumental to my growth as a Jew.  And although I no longer identify as Conservative, I found myself surprisingly sad last week when I heard that the KOACH program had been defunded.  I put a lot into and got a lot out of it in college, and many rabbis and friends I know have been and still are being affected by it.  I suppose that gut reaction just goes to show how important KOACH really was to me.

I remember learning in depth some of the laws of inheritance at the Conservative Yeshiva and how they stemmed from this week’s parsha about Zelophechad’s daughters who wanted to carry on their father’s name and inherit a portion of the land of Israel.  They brought their request before Moshe, who in turn passed their request on to God, who replies: “The daughters of Zelophechad speak properly.  You shall surely give them possession of inheritance among the brothers of their father” (Numbers 27:7).

But laws of inheritance aside, I remember the story of Zelophechad’s daughters being used as an example to inspire us, as Conservative Jews at KOACH to stand up for what we feel is good and right, even if not the norm (I can’t remember if this was taught by a rabbi their or was brought up by a fellow student, but it stuck with me either way).  It certainly was not the “norm” for daughters to receive their father’s inheritance, but Hashem deemed the daughters of Zelophechad’s request to be good: “The daughters of Zelophechad speak properly.”

I and many others who were involved in KOACH as participants and leaders, often felt that we too were working towards a Jewish community that was more “right”, more complete, more holy, than what is currently available on campus…and in the broader Jewish world.  Towards what many called a “pluralistic halachic community.”  A community of acceptance, observance, and Torah learning.

But as I read over the text of my aliyah (along with rabbinic commentaries) again this afternoon, I was struck by what comes immediately after the story with Zelophechad’s daughters.  The torch of Jewish leadership is passed from Moshe to Joshua before the Israelites enter the land of Israel – a land which Moshe himself, our leader for 40 years, will not be allowed to enter.  According to Rashi, these two passages were placed side-by-side because Moshe may have thought that, just as the daughters’ request was received favorably by God, that God might also grant his request to be allowed to enter the land of Israel.  Instead, God reiterated his previous response hat Moshe would not lead the Jews into Israel: “You shall see [the Land] and shall be gathered unto your people, you, too, as Aaron your brother was gathered in; because you rebelled against My word in the Wilderness of Zin, in the assembly’s strife, to sanctify Me at the water before their eyes” (Numbers 27:13-14).  Moshe, like Zelophechad’s daughters, directed his heartfelt plea for what he felt was right, even earned and deserved, to God.  But his response was not as he hoped; God said “no”.

Like Zelophechad’s daughters and Moshe, we must give voice to what our inner self tells us to be right – but our voice must be directed to the right place.  Zelophechad’s daughters voiced their concerns to the leader of the Jewish people, Moshe, and then God Himself.  His answer to them confirmed that, yes, their inner thoughts were appropriate and they were allowed an inheritance.  But we must realize that the answer will not always be “yes”.  Sometimes – like with Moshe being allowed to enter Israel – the answer is “no”.  And when the answer is “no” we must accept that as equally as when the answer is “yes”.  Moshe, when he is told he will not be entering Israel, responds with a prayer for the Jewish people: “May Hashem, God of the spirits of all flesh appoint a man over the assembly, who shall go out before them and come in before them, who shall take them out and bring them in; and let the assembly of Hashem not be like sheep that have no shepherd” (Numbers 27:16-17).  Despite his desire for the answer to be otherwise, Moshe accepts God’s answer that he will not be allowed to enter Israel, and continues to be the leader of the Jewish people, looking out for their best interests even when he experiences personal disappointment.  

Interestingly enough, I think that may be one of the reasons (among many) I drifted away from Conservative Judaism.  Sometimes it just seemed that many halachic leaders of the movement were just not able to accept a “no” answer.  Their voice wasn’t always directed to the right place and their answers didn’t always come from the right place.  Nonetheless, I would not be the Jew I am today without the wonderful experiences I had and the wonderful people I have met and become friends with through KOACH, the Conservative Yeshiva, and the broader Conservative Movement.  The loss of KOACH will certainly be felt on campuses across the country. 

Shavuot: The Jewish Experience

I recently listened to a lecture by Rabbi Akiva Tatz on the importance of finding your roll in life. During the lecture, Rabbi Tatz explained that there is a basis of humanity that we must all learn in order to be decent people: respect for others, the right to certain freedoms, etc.  Upon that broad base, one “step up” is the unique foundation of Judaism, the ideas and ideals that the Jewish people must live up to.  And after becoming a part of humanity and becoming a part of our unique Jewishness, we must express our unique individuality given the tools life has given us.  As I listened to Rabbi Tatz set up this platform, I began to wonder: Why is it that, in my Jewish learning, there has been a big focus on ‘Jewish uniqueness’ and ‘the important of being an individual’ but the foundation upon which these things rest, humanity, is not as oft discussed?

I think one answer may be that we as Jews do not carry the torch of humanity alone.  We are one small nation among many other, more populous nations.  Yet despite this insignificance in size, the Jewish race has played a much larger role in the development of humanity both in the present and the past than perhaps any other nation.  Monotheism, treating others with respect and as equals, caring for the needy, technological and medicinal developments are just a few areas that our impact as Jews on the world has exceeded our size.  Another reason may be that societal norms are often at odds with Jewish values.  The more pronounced these differences, the more natural is the reaction to withdraw from participating in society, and to instead place greater focus on one’s smaller circle of like-minded individuals and one’s individual purpose. 

I don’t necessarily have a “problem” with the focus on Jewish uniqueness and one’s individuality, per se.  Both are things to be proud of!  Rather, I sometimes find that the lack of focus on humanity can indirectly lead to unintended consequences, such as lack of respect for others (non-Jews) and lack of ability – or desire – to relate to others human-to-human.  This is certainly not a prevalent problem, and Judaism certainly does not preach this practice, but it does seem to take hold among some. 

However, I do not intend (at this time) to write a dissertation on Judaism’s teaching methods and unintended consequences.  So….

If there is one holiday where Jewish uniqueness and individuality are especially prominent (although they are certainly prevalent in almost every aspect of life) that is the holiday of Shavuot, otherwise called Matan Torah, the holiday on which God spoke to the Jewish people and gave us with the gift of the Torah.  “Indeed, all the earth is Mine, but you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation,” God tells us (Exodus 19:6) on this day. 

Yet despite the significance of Shavuot in establishing the Jewish people’s progression throughout history as “the People of the Book,” it is the least well-known holiday among the majority of Jews (namely, non-Orthodox Jews).  The other four major holidays – Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and Passover – are more often celebrated by the vast majority of Jews than Shavuot.  And, interestingly, these holidays all seem to have a greater effect on the gentiles than Shavuot.  Maimonides states in the Mishnah Torah (Teshuva 3:3) that all people, not just Jews, are judged on Rosh Hashanah and their judgment is sealed on Yom Kippur.  On Sukkot, seventy sacrifices are brought on behalf of the seventy nations of the world (Rashi, and Zechariah 14:16).  And on Passover, while the focus is certainly on the Jewish people’s freedom from slavery, the involvement of other nations (namely, Egypt) is essential to the Passover story, and the Haggadah uses our experience as slaves to teach us: “You shall not oppress a stranger (i.e. non-Jew), for you know the feelings of the stranger (outsider), having yourself been strangers in Egypt.  When strangers (non-Jews) reside with you in your land you shall not wrong them….” 

Shavuot is uniquely focused on the Jewish people.  Sadly, perhaps this is partially why it is the least celebrated Jewish holiday.  There is an emphasis in many non-Orthodox denominations and congregations to push towards universalism: the global need for Tikkun Olam (repairing the world, most often used in the environmental sense by liberal Jews), the integration of Jewish values with societal values, the acceptance of interfaith marriages and families, the abolishment (rationalized or outright) of halachot (Jewish laws) that may keep us distinct from non-Jews such as kashrut and fully observing Shabbat, to name just a few.  Rabbi Tatz believes that Shavuot was lost to many Jews because of its central theme: From Pesach, the story of our freedom, we count fifty days (sefirat ha’omer) to Shavuot, the celebration of the Torah, the book of Mitzvoth, our obligations.  The modern Jew would rather forget the responsibility that being a Jew entails.

And while I agree that the responsibility of being Jewish is a great burden, I find no doubt that the blessing to be a Jew is much greater.

On Shavuot, the Jewish people stood at Mt. Sinai and accepted the Torah in a miraculous event, hearing the Ten Commandments directly from God: “And all the people saw the thunder and lightning, the voice of the shofar, and the mountain smoking; and when the people saw it, they trembled and stood at a distance” (Exodus 20:15).  After hearing the 10 Commandments, they were awe-struck and fearful of hearing God’s voice.  They called upon Moses: “Speak to us; and we will obey, but let not God speak to us [any more] lest we die! (20:16).”  The Sinai experience was one the Jewish people, despite their preparations, were unprepared for – a synthesis of the senses, an overtaking of the body by the soul, a transcendence of the barrier between the earth and the heavens.  The Jewish people did not hear, but saw thunder.  They drew close to God, but remained far from the Mount on which His voice emanated. 

In the haftarah, Ezekiel encountered a similar experience of divine revelation: “I looked, and behold, a stormy wind came out of the north – a huge cloud and flashing fire, surrounded by radiance; and in the center of it, in the center of the fire, a gleam as of amber” (Ezekiel 1:4).  Ezekiel, like the Jews at Sinai, is reluctant to receive his prophetic vision and become God’s prophet, as it says: “He [God] said to me [Ezekiel], Mortal, eat what is offered you; eat this scroll [God’s words], and go speak to the House of Israel.  So I opened my mouth, and He gave me this scroll to eat, as He said to me, “Mortal, feed your stomach and fill your belly with this scroll that I give you” (3:1-2). 

In discussing the Jews receiving the Torah at Sinai, the Gemara seems to state that the Jewish people, like Ezekiel, were “force-fed” the Torah:

“God suspended the mountain over [the Jewish people] like a barrel and said, “if you will accept the Torah, it will be good, and if not, here will be your burial place” (Shabbos 88a). 

Rabbi Yitzchak Cohen points out the seeming contradiction between this statement and the Torah verse where the Jewish people wholeheartedly accept the Torah willingly, saying “Na’aseh v’nishma – we will do and we will hear,” upon which the same Gemara comments:

“Rabbi Elazar said: when the Jewish people said “we will do” before “we will hear,” a voice from heaven came forth and said “who revealed to my children this secret that the administering angels use, as it says (in Tehilim 103:20)  bless God, his angels, mighty in strength, that do His will to hear the voice of His word.” 

To resolve the apparent contradiction between the verse claiming the Jews willingly accepted the Torah and the verse implying quite the opposite, many commentaries (Midrashim, Rashi, and the Maharal among them) state that the Jewish people did accept the Written Torah and certain mitzvoth, but not the complete Oral Torah.  In Rabbi Yehuda Amital's words, according to the Maharal, “the people’s observance of the Torah cannot be based simply on voluntarism and good will.  It needs to be based on coercion, on commitment, on worship of God; one must keep mitzvoth because one is obligated to do so, and not simply because one desires it.”  Therefore the Jews needed pressure to accept the whole Torah, in addition to their initial loving acceptance of the Written Torah. 

Interestingly, Rabbi Amital also touches on a factor causing Shavuot’s minimal status among today’s Jews: “Many people, especially in recent years, approach the Torah based solely on a spirit of voluntarism.  They want to fulfill those parts of the Torah that ‘speak to them,’ and operate without this feeling of commitment.  This is what the Gemara’s statement that God suspended the mountain over them comes to teach us: Torah can only be fulfilled properly through a sense of absolute commitment to the word of God, and not by doing just what one wants to do.” 

The coerced, and committed, Ezekiel concludes his consumption of the scroll by remarking: I ate it, and it tasted as sweet as honey to me.  So too, the Rabbis reference the Torah as sweet like milk and honey.  The willing acceptance of the Torah – na’aseh v’nishma – is a beautiful idea.  But it is fleeting – it allows for one to change their mind; it doesn’t demand full commitment.  The full obligation may be forced, such as it was to Ezekiel and the Jewish people at Sinai, but once we have swallowed it (“feed your stomach and fill your belly”), the fulfillment of our obligation tastes sweeter than the voluntary acceptance of only parts of the Torah. 

The Talmud teaches that the soul of every Jew, those born and those yet to be born, was present at Mt. Sinai to receive the Torah.  I think that one meaning of this Talmudic statement may be to impress upon us that we, not just our ancestors, accepted the Torah.  We, not just our ancestors, have obligated ourselves to follow the Torah.   And we, not just our ancestors, can taste its sweetness in our lives. 

Yes, as Rabbi Salomon Gruenwald puts it, “I don’t know exactly what the Talmud means by telling us that we were all at Sinai.  My mind cannot grasp that literally.  Nonetheless, I sincerely believe it to be true.”  I believe the spiritual experience of Sinai has produced a lasting Torah that has been carried on from generation to generation.  Pirkei Avot 6:2 says that “each and every day a divine voice calls out from Mount Horeb (i.e. Sinai).”  Our response to this voice is manifest through the halachot within the Torah, the performance of which “bridge the Torah from the written word to the living deed.”  This is the core of our Jewish uniqueness. 

At z’man matan Torateinu, the time of the giving of our Torah, the Jewish people accepted upon themselves and we accepted upon ourselves these halachot.  Our neshama, soul, experienced an incredible closeness to God, while our bodies fearfully crept further from Mount Sinai.  We lovingly accepted the Written Torah, but with a sense of fear and awe we were also coerced into accepting the entire Oral Torah.  The merging of all these aspects in our current lives – love, awe, and fear of Torah; a spiritual closeness to but understandable distance from God – is the core of our Jewish uniqueness.  And the way we unite them all into our own lives, is each of our individual struggle.

Chag Sameach!

Parshat Behar-Bechukosai: The Blessings and Curses

After a multitude of commandments are given in the previous few parshiyot and Behar, which is the first of two portions read this week, we come to parshat Bechukosai.  Bechukosai seemingly caps off the commandments by God telling the Jewish people of the concept of reward and punishment associated with the mitzvoth He has just given, specifically related to the privilege to reside in the land of Israel.  He begins with reward, stating: “If you follow My laws and faithfully observe My commandments…I will grant peace in the land…and I will be your God, and you shall by My people” (Vayikra 29:1-13).  And then He continues with the tocheicha (admonishments): “If you do not obey Me and do not observe all these commandments; if you reject My laws and spurn My rules, so that you do not observe all My commandments and you break My covenant, I in turn will do this to you: I will wreak misery upon you – consumption and fever…I will break your pride…I will go on smiting you sevenfold…I will spurn you…And you I will scatter among the nations” (Vayikra 26:14-42). 

The admonishments far outweigh the curses, encompassing twice as many verses.  God tells us (between each admonishment above) that he will give us chances; he will not instantly spurn us, but will first bring misery upon us as a warning.  If we do not repent, he will further oppress us; and the more obstinate we become the more he will punish us until our land is desolate.  As we read of this foreboding warning, it is eerily reminiscent of Pharaoh who was given ten chances (arguably only five) to release the Jews from captivity and each time he refused, he was smitten with a harsher plague until finally, reluctantly, he let us go (only to change his mind again).  So too, only after “I [God] have been hostile to them [the Jewish people] and have removed them into the land of their enemies, then at last shall their obdurate heart humble itself, and they shall atone for their iniquity” (Vayikra 26:41).  I am not sure the reason for this connection, but I do find it interesting….  Now, moving on to a commentary on the same verses:

The Ibn Ezra comments that these blesses and curses are placed at this point in the Torah to enforce the fact that when we inhabit the land in the Book of Numbers (Bamidbar), which we begin to read next week, we must still remember the Covenant we entered into with God.  That Covenant is the reason why we are able to inhabit the land flowing with milk and honey; when we forsake the Covenant “the land shall become desolate and your cities a ruin” (26:33).  The Covenant is the basis of our lives as Jews, and our lives are only as strong as our commitment to it.  And this Covenant is both strengthened and displayed through the performance of the mitzvoth.  Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch states that “none, not even the smallest of your activities – your deed, your word, even your thought – is without effect; they bring blessing or curse immediately, for every duty fulfilled gives you a greater capacity to fulfill new duties, each sin committed makes you more familiar with sin, less capable of doing good and more capable of committing further sin” (Horeb, Chapter 22).  Judaism believes (as do many modern psychologists) that our actions can shape our beliefs; repetitive performance of mitzvoth can strengthen our connection to and belief in them, just as a continuously forced smile or a mumbled compliment can transform us into a kinder person.  And these same actions are the ones that display our commitment to Judaism. 

Rabbi Heschel (who I find agrees with Rabbi Hirsch) believes: “Man is not for the sake of good deeds (mitzvoth); the good deeds are for the sake of man.  The goal (of deeds) is not that a ceremony be performed; the goal is that man be transformed; to worship the Holy in order to be holy” (God in Search of Man: A Philosophy of Judaism).  Yet despite Heschel’s assertion, Maimonides (who also seems to agree with Heschel) remarks: “You should believe that just as God wishes man to be erect in stature, broad chested, and to have fingers, so too He wishes him to move or be at rest of his own accord and to perform actions voluntarily.  He does not force him to perform them nor prevent him from performing them” (Commentary on the Mishna, Eight Chapters, pg. 1168).  And this is the reason for God’s warning against straying from the commandments.  We are given the choice to perform them, and they have indeed been given to us for our sake…but we must nonetheless struggle to realize this and struggle even further to live up to their lofty standards.  It is not always easy or apparent to us how they are a benefit to us but, as Hirsch alludes to, performance of the mitzvot are instructive in helping us understand them. 

Rabbi Berkovits says in the introduction to his philosophical/halachic work, Not in Heaven, that “Halacha is the bridge over which the Torah moves from the written word into the living deed.”  The mitzvoth bridge the gap between heaven and earth, trying to connect our physical reality to its higher purpose.  This is one thing God teaches by placing the tocheicha at the point in the Torah: our forefathers Avraham, Yitzchak, and Ya’akov were promised their ancestors would inherit the land of Israel and flourish; despite how often or long the Jewish people may forsake God, He reminds us that He will remember his promise.  He tells us: “I will remember My covenant with Ya’akov; I will remember also My covenant with Yitchak; and also My covenant with Avraham; and I will remember the land” (v. 26:42) and “I will not reject them [the future generations] or spurn them so as to destroy them, annulling my covenant with them: for I the Lord am their God. I will remember in their favor the covenant with the ancients, whom I freed from the land of Egypt in the sight of the nations to be their God; I, the Lord” (v. 26:44-45).   God will remember our covenant when we too remember the covenant to follow in His paths, to tranform our thoughts to deeds, and  to form the halachic bridge that increases our capacity for good.  

Parshat Emor: Self-Denial on Yom Kippur

A quick thought for this week:

This week’s Torah portion contains the Jewish holidays, including Yom Kippur – the day of “affliction” or “self-denial.”  While most holidays include bringing offerings to the Temple and abstaining from work in joyous celebration, the holiest day of the year (called “the Sabbath of all Sabbaths”) is a solemn day.  On this day, a sacrificial offering is brought and yet no one eats of it.  Rabbi Meir Don Plotzki, in his book Kli Chemdah, notes that this is an exception to the rule that all sacrifices must be consumed.  On Yom Kippur, even the Kohanim do not partake; the priests too must afflict themselves through fasting.  Today, in stark contrast between the other holidays where we feast in order to enhance the day and enjoy the company of family and friends, Yom Kippur is not an occasion for gathering and is spent largely in prayer. 

One reason for the self-afflicted fasting is to cleanse ourselves physically (parallel to the spiritual cleansing through prayer).  But perhaps also, in contract to the other holidays, we are taught the importance of restraint in the proper time and situation.  We indulge ourselves on Passover, Shavuot, Sukkot, and Shabbat and, given it is for the honor of the occasion, the indulgence is a positive one.  Indulgence is more intrinsic in people than is restraint.  The desire for more of something good, whether it be food or a discussion or money, is inherent.  Therefore it must merely be directed to the right end.  But knowing when and where to restrain from excess is much harder.  On Yom Kippur the importance, and the benefits, of self-denial is emphasized.  Through self-denial comes that ability to transform ourselves – to rid ourselves of the gunk in our lives, to rid ourselves of improper speech or un-kosher food, to rid ourselves of inappropriate behavior towards others or the hindering one’s own self. 

Parshat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim: “Bury This Hate, Build it With Love”

This week, we read the double parsha of Acharei Mot and Kedoshim.  The two parshiyot together are full of mitzvoth; and while all mitzvoth have a moral aspect and most have a rational explanation as well, a great many of the mitzvoth we read of this week are clearly and directly designed to make us better people and live in a better society.  What stood out to me is a short two verses:

You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart.  Reprove your kinsman but incur no guilt because of him.  You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen.  Love your fellow as yourself: I am the Lord. (Vayikra 19:17-18)

The last part is well-known as the Golden Rule: to love your neighbor as yourself.  But what intrigued me is that there is not a commandment just to love your neighbor, but first is a commandment to avoid hatred.  The progression from one to the other, according to Sefer HaChinnuch, encompasses six distinct commandments:

1. The prohibition against hating one’s fellow
2. The religious duty to rebuke a fellow-Jew for improper behavior
3. The prohibition against shaming another (“incur no guilt…”)
4. The prohibition against taking revenge
5. The prohibition against bearing a grudge
6. The precept of love for one’s kinsman

Rather than lumping these together into one over-arching commandment of how to behave towards another, the Torah makes a very important distinguishment between the different levels of how to treat others, and how each element is interrelated.  Avoiding hatred (“the worst and most utterly despicable quality in the eyes of every intelligent human being”) is not enough.  We must remove that quality from us, but we must also take it upon ourselves to rebuke others that do wrong.  We do not live a detached existence, only concerned with our self, but are tightly connected with and impacted by so many others that it is also our responsibility to correct others who behave improperly.  But we must not do so in a negative way, but “with soft language and gentle words, so that the other may not be ashamed” (Sefer HaChinnuch).  We are forbidden to embarrass another; we must not just rebuke another but must rebuke them in the right way (“It is better for a man to throw himself into a fiery furnace rather than shame his fellow-man in public.”).  Furthermore, someone who is rebuked (or who does the rebuking) must not take revenge on the other, either for a physical or a non-physical matter.  As Midrash Shifra asks and answers: How far does the force of vengeance reach?  If one asked another, “Lend me your sickle,” and the other did not lend it to him, then the next day the other asked him, “Lend me your pickaxe,” whereupon he told him, “I will not lend it to you, in the same way you did not lend me your sickle…”About this it is said, “You shall not take revenge.” And not only must we refrain from revenge, but must remove the desire to do so from our hearts.  “Even if we should resolve not to repay him in kind for his deeds [i.e. to take vengeance], the mere remembrance of his sin in the heart [is] forbidden us.”  We must not bear a grudge. 

To aid in accomplishing these lofty commandments, we may try, in all instances, to remember that the people we encounter are not mere dust and ashes but a human being imbued with a divine spark.  I recently watched one of TED’s talks and the speaker spoke of her desire to connect with people on a deeper level than words and body; to feel their presence.  She wanted to experience their presence, to share their story, to feel their spirit (“When I meet you I am no longer a part of your future.  I quickly start becoming a part of your past.  But in that instance I get to share your present.  And you, you get to share mine, and that is the greatest present of all.”).  Everyone we encounter is someone we can be impacted by and there are so many who we come across and only have one chance.  This is what should leave a lasting impact: not what you do, but who you are.  This is a Jewish idea: to see a person’s neshama (soul) before you see anything else about them.    To not judge them because you have never and will never stand in their exact shoes.  To relate to them as a person with emotions and needs, even if different than yours.

When we are able to do all of these things – to make ourselves incapable of hate, to give and accept rebuke in the correct manner, to guard someone else’s shame as your own, to live without need for revenge and without bearing a grudge…then we can come to love our neighbors as ourselves.  And this, says Rabbi Akiva, “is the great principle of the Torah.” 

Or, if you prefer, as Our Lady Peace sings, “Bury this hate, build it with Love.” (The song has nothing to do with this parsha, but they were one of my favorite bands in high school and this verse – out of context – is quite relevantJ)

Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Tazria-Metzora: Lashon Hara and Tzara’at

A quick thought on this week’s parsha.  Much of the parsha deals with tzara’at, the physical manifestation of a spiritual disease.  The sages say (at least some of them, perhaps not all) that this was a disease that only affected righteous individuals; it was not a common disease inflicted by God unto the common man.  It was reserved for people that, due to their job, position in society, background, etc., should have known better than to commit the sin they committed.  One of the most common sins to cause tzara’at was lashon hara, speaking maliciously (even if truthfully) about others or God (literal translation is “evil tongue”).  The main biblical example of this is when Miriam spoke ill of her brother, Moshe.  Although well-intentioned she said something regrettable and was punished with tzara’at. 

One who is afflicted with tzara’at is quarantined outside of the city they live in for a minimum period of seven days.  One reason for this is to take someone out of the environment in which they committed their sin, such as lashon hara.  By taking a righteous person away from people it gives them time to focus on what they did wrong, while at the same time taking away the possibility that they commit the same sin before they have had adequate time to do teshuva, to transform themselves into a better person that would not commit the same sin again.  For most of us, we just get our mouth washed out with soap by our parents when we say bad words growing up.  But the fact that lashon hara is cause for quarantining someone emphasizes how important our speech really is.  When we speak lashon hara, the consequences last much longer than the taste of soap in our mouths.   

We humans, unlike every other animal, have the ability to speak.  Through our speech we can collaborate and impact the world in ways that no other animals can, we can make people smile or make them cry, we can comfort someone or we can embarrass them, we can praise someone’s good deed or we can disparage someone’s misstep.  Our speech is a powerful tool and can be used in so many ways for tremendous good or tremendous evil.  Growing up, our mom’s told us to ignore other kids that slandered us, but the real world rarely allows for people to do so.  We are all affected by what people around us say and we all affect others with our own words.  So with the power of speech we’ve been given, let’s use it for good. 

Shabbat Shalom.