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Parsha Perspectives: Lasting Letter (Shlach)

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“The Lord spoke to Moses saying, “Send out for yourself men who will scout the Land of Canaan, which I am giving to the children of Israel. You shall send one man each for his father’s tribe; each one shall be a chieftain in their midst.” So, Moses sent them from the desert of Paran by the word of the Lord. All of them were men of distinction; they were the heads of the children of Israel … These are the names of the men Moses sent to scout the Land, and Moses called Hoshea the son of Nun, Joshua (Bamidbar 13:1-3, 16).”

We have all had ideas that in the moment appeared to be good and solid and in retrospect were flawed and impetuous. Our ancestors were just a few steps away from the actualization of the promise Hashem had made to Avraham. The Land we had dreamed of and pined for was within arm’s reach. Moshe appointed tribal representatives to go in and scout the land. The goal, to bring back necessary reconnaissance information and inspire the people to enter, engage, and conquer the land. Before dispatching the scouts, Moshe pulled Hoshea aside and gave him a special blessing in which he changed Hoshea’s name to Yehoshua. The commentaries are intrigued by the meaning and timing of this name change, but I want to focus your attention on a moving passage in the Yerushalmi (Sanhedrin Chapter 2):

Rav Huna said in the name of Rav Acha: The (letter) YUD that God took from the matriarch Sarah’s name (Sarah was originally Sarai) came and prostrated itself in front of God and said, ‘Master of the Universe, You have uprooted me from the name of this great and pious women, what will be with me? God explains, ‘Do not fear, in the past you were the last letter in (Sarah’s) name, now you will be the first.’

The Rabbis explain that the letter “YUD” which was added to Hoshea to make it Yehoshua was the YUD removed from Sarai’s name when she became Sarah. What is the connection between Sarah and Yehoshua? There are many approaches, but there is something else I would like to focus on. What intrigued me most was the distressed YUD. The YUD is the smallest letter in the Hebrew alphabet. Perhaps, the YUD represents the YID (Jew in Yiddish). There are times in life when we feel so small, times in life when we feel insignificant and then when we finally manage to achieve some level of connection, it is often taken from us as a result of circumstances beyond our control.

There are so many within our community who feel marginalized and small. There are those battling mental illness whose scars are not visible on the outside. Yet, day after day, these individuals and their families face overwhelming challenges that at times seem insurmountable. There are those who have difficulties with life relationships. Men and women who have so much love to give but can’t seem to find the right way to express their feelings or don’t have a partner who is receptive. There are those who struggle financially and feel trapped in their mountain of debt and obligation. And of course, there is the community of cholim (those who are physically ill) whose life and the lives of their family members focus on treatments, appointments, trials, and clinical studies, desperate to find the cure that can restore health and normalcy. There are many beautiful and holy YUDs who are struggling and are trying to find their way. And often, these YUDs open their hearts before God and say, “Ribbono Shel Olam (Master of the Universe), I feel so lost; I feel so listless. I thought I had a place in this world, and now I am not sure.” To which God responds, “My dear YUD, I promise there is greatness and beauty waiting for you. You feel like you are at the end of your rope, I promise you that your circumstances represent new opportunities for growth and self-actualization.”

The YUD may be the smallest letter, but it has incredible power and potential. You see, YUD is the one letter which also represents the name of God. The smallest letter, yet the most powerful one. Sometimes, it is the smallest Yid (Jew) who can disseminate the greatest amount of light.

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Parsha Perspectives: Standing Together (Behaaloscha)

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The Torah recounts an interesting event. As Moshe reviews the laws of Pesach and the details of the Paschal lamb offering, a group approaches worried they will miss out on this beautiful opportunity because of their impure state. “We are ritually unclean [because of contact] with a dead person; [but] why should we be excluded so as not to bring the offering of the Lord in its appointed time, with all the children of Israel? (Bamidbar 9:6-7). Moshe doesn’t immediately know the answer to this dilemma and instructs the people to wait until he obtains an answer from God. “Moses said to them, stand here (imdu), and I will hear what the Lord instructs concerning you (Bamidbar 9:8).” Immediately, God instructs Moshe regarding the laws of Pesach Sheyni (the second Passover), a special make-up date for those who were either too far from Jerusalem or were ritually impure and therefore unable to offer the Korban Pesach on Pesach itself.

Why the need for the word, “Imdu, stand here?” Why not tell the people “chaku, wait”, or just simply tell the people, you will get back to them as soon as God gives you proper instructions?

The Baal Shem Tov (Rav Yisroel Baal Shem Tov 1700-1760) was known to have prayed an exceptionally long Shmona Esrei (Amida prayer). For many it was difficult to wait for the Baal Shem Tov to finish, and so, they would leave the Beis Midrash to make Kiddush (on Shabbos and Yom Tov), eat something, and would then return to the Beis Midrash for the Chazzan’s repetition. However, the Baal Shem Tov’s closest disciples would always remain with their beloved Rebbe. It once happened that the students felt faint and decided they would leave the Beis Midrash for just a few minutes, eat and drink a bit, and then return for the conclusion of davening (thinking they had much time until the Baal Shem Tov finished). Much to their surprise, when they returned, they found the Baal Shem Tov sitting and waiting as he had already finished davening. The students were baffled, “Rebbe, every day your Shmona Esrei is long and intense, and today it was much shorter. Is everything alright? Did something occur?” The Baal Shem Tov said, allow me to explain with a mashal (parable). There was a man who saw a beautiful bird perched atop a tall tree. The man wanted more than anything to see the bird up close and see its unique features and characteristics. However, he was short, and the tree was tall. So, he gathered a group of his closest friends, and each man stood on the shoulders of the other until the first man was hoisted to the top of the tree and able to look upon this beautiful and unique creature. The Baal Shem Tov paused, Imagine, if the man on the bottom of this human chain decided he was hungry and went home to eat something. The entire group would come tumbling down to the ground. The Baal Shem Tov continued, when I daven, I am able to reach the highest levels of the celestial sphere because I am surrounded by all of you – I stand on your shoulders. Your presence supports and hoists me up to places I could not reach on my own. My merits only take me so far, but together we are able to stand before God, Himself. And so this morning, when all of you left the Beis Midrash, I lost my footing and tumbled downward.

The Baal Shem Tov continued, “This is the meaning of the verse of this week’s Parsha, Imdu V’Eshmiah Mah Yitzaveh Hashem Lachem, Stand here, and I will hear what God commands you.” Moshe was telling the people, if you stand by me, then I will be able to hear God’s voice. If I can stand on your shoulders, then I will be able to reach great heights – but if you leave, if I am alone, I don’t know if God will converse with me.

We must recognize that we can only be truly great in the company of others. We need each other to actualize as individuals and as a nation. We must build bonds of friendship and unity with one another because this is the key to our personal success. There are things we can achieve alone, but there is so much more we can do together. Alone we can accomplish good things; together, we can soar to the greatest heights.

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Parsha Perspectives: Death & Determination (Naso)

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It is in this week’s Parsha that we are introduced to an important personality – the Nazir. He is a man who takes a vow to abstain from wine, cutting his hair, and coming in contact with the dead. Why would someone take such a vow? To attain a higher level of life sanctity. The Nazir is a person who has lost his way, has become too entrenched in the material world, and is looking to hit the life reset button. His behavior is extreme, but it is designed to allow him to ultimately find the middle path of synergistic partnership between body and soul.

But sometimes the best laid plans go awry.
“If someone in his presence dies unexpectedly or suddenly, and causes the nazirite head to become defiled, he shall shave off [the hair of] his head on the day of his purification; on the seventh day, he shall shave it off. And on the eighth day, he shall bring two turtledoves or two young pigeons to the kohen, at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting. The kohen shall prepare one for a sin offering and one for a burnt offering and atone on his behalf for sinning by coming into contact with the dead, and he shall sanctify his head on that day. He shall consecrate to the Lord the period of his abstinence and bring a lamb in its first year as a guilt offering; the previous days shall be canceled because his naziriteship has been defiled (Bamidbar 6:9-12).”

The Nazir tried his best, but an unavoidable circumstance puts a corpse in his proximity. The days observed fall by the wayside, and the Nazir must restart the fulfillment of his vow. The Beis Yisroel (Rabbi Yisroel Alter of Gur, 1895-1977) explains that the Torah is conveying a deeper message. The Nazir represents a person looking for more out of life. He realizes that he is not living the life he should be living; he is not becoming the person he is capable of being. So, he decides to make dramatic life change. Sometimes, you just have to bring life to a grinding halt in an effort to recalibrate and plot a new course for the future. The Nazir found the strength and adopted a new approach (for a limited amount of time). But then he failed. He finds himself in proximity to a corpse, and everything ends; he must start all over again. He is determined and tries to better himself, and his vow ends in failure. He is tamei, impure and back to square one. But it is here, in these details, that God teaches us how to deal with failure. “V’kidash es rosho ba’yom ha’hu, and he shall sanctify his head on that day;” on the day he finishes his purification process, he gets back up and starts all over again. There is no time for lamenting; there is only time to get up, dust off, and start again. As King Solomon wrote in Proverbs, “For a righteous man can fall seven times and rise, but the wicked shall stumble upon evil (24:16).” Everyone stumbles and falls, the righteous get back up, the wicked stay down.

But there is one more piece. The above-mentioned section ends, “… the previous days shall fall away (be cancelled).” In order to have a meaningful second chance and a new beginning, one must let go of the feelings of pain and failure of the past. In the aftermath of failure, I think to myself, “I wasted so much time and so many resources on this initiative, idea, or mission which never materialized.” A person could feel demoralized in the aftermath of failure, and that prolonged feeling could prevent a person from trying again and believing that things can be different in the future. Sometimes, you just have to let go in order to move on.

The message of the Nazir is a message for us all. We all fail, and we all fall; this is an inevitable reality of the human condition. What is our response to life failure? Get back up and try again. Clean up your wounds, let go of the past, and make another go at it. We may not identify with the restrictions of the Nazir, but his quest for holiness and elevation inspires us all.

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Parsha Perspectives: Making the Honor Roll (Bamidbar)

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The Lord spoke to Moses in the Sinai Desert, in the Tent of Meeting on the first day of the second month, in the second year after the exodus from the land of Egypt, saying. Take the sum of all the congregation of the children of Israel, by families following their fathers’ houses; a head count of every male according to the number of their names (Bamidbar 1:1-2).

The fourth book of the Torah begins in a rather non-dramatic fashion – a count, a simple tallying of the tribes. But why was this necessary? At first glance it would appear this was done in preparation for entry into the Land of Israel. The Jewish people would have to raise an army to fight against the indigenous nations of Canaan. God commands Moshe to count the men from age twenty in order to ascertain the size of the national fighting force. However, Levi is counted separately from the other tribes and is reckoned from the age of one month. This leads Rashi to explain that it was not to gauge the size of the potential army, rather, “Mitoch Chibasan L’fanav Moneh Osam B’Chol Shaah, Because of His (God’s) love for them (Jewish people); He counts them at every moment.” This was not a utilitarian count, it was a love count. God commands Moshe to count to show the people how much He cares about us as a nation and as individuals.

But then something fascinating occurs. “These are the descendants of Moses and Aaron on the day that the Lord spoke to Moses at Mount Sinai. These are the names of the sons of Aaron: Nadab the firstborn Abihu, Elazar, and Ithamar (Bamidbar 3:1-2).” The Torah begins to list the offspring of Aharon and Moshe and yet, only Aharon’s children are mentioned and Moshe’s are not. What is the meaning of this omission?

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888) explains:

“For in all these chapters of numbers, only those are mentioned of the dead who formed the separate branches of the tribes and families, but of the living only those are named who had some official public position as Nesiim (tribal princes) and Kohanim (priests). But our Moses allowed his sons to be quite absorbed in the masses without any special distinction, he did not even have a small position, a tiny title, a small badge for his own children (Bamidbar 3:1).”

There were two different groups of individuals listed in the counting – those who founded the major families and had since died and those who became contributors and assumed active positions of leadership within the Jewish people. Moshe’s sons are not counted by name (they are included in the total tally) because they did not contribute to the Jewish people in a substantive manner; they were absorbed in the masses. Aharon’s sons were given the mantle of the priesthood. They served, they contributed, and they gave.

Our precious Torah is conveying to us a truly profound lesson. Life is about rolling up your sleeves and seeing what you can do to advance your family, your community, your people, and your world. Too often, we sit back and expect others to do for us, to give to us, and to provide for us. Too often, we expect that others will do the heavy lifting while we sit on the side and benefit from the fruits of their labor. This unfortunate mindset is prevalent in many areas of life. Spouses assume that the other will do the necessary work to improve the marriage – I’m ready and willing to have a blissful marriage, but you, my significant other, should do all the work. Parents want their children to be committed and passionate Jews but sometimes fail to be true spiritual role-models. We are quick to point out the flaws in our schools, shuls, communities, leaders, and nation – but are we committed enough to actually work to improve them?

The counting conducted in the beginning of Bamidbar is no ordinary count – it is the “who’s who” of the Jewish people. It is a distinguished list of names of the living and dead. It is the Judaic honor role that pays homage to those who dedicated themselves to advancing the nationhood and destiny of the Jewish people. For whatever the reason, Moshe’s children did not follow in the footsteps of their illustrious father. They did not lead lives of committed contribution; they did not dedicate their abilities and talents to the Jewish nation.

Our goal is to forge a meaningful identity that will continue to inspire even when we are no longer here. We must roll up our sleeves. We have to work, we have to contribute. We cannot be spectators in our personal, communal, and national lives. We must rise to the occasion and make a difference whenever and wherever we can. This Shabbos we will read the names of men who lived thousands of years ago but through whose efforts we live today. Let us become the kind of people whose efforts will shape the world in which we live and whose memories will inspire for generations to come.

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Parsha Perspectives: Personal Worth (Bechukosai)

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“And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, Speak to the children of Israel and say to them: When a man expresses a vow, [pledging the] value of lives to the Lord … (Vayikra 26:1-2)”

The Book of Vayikra ends with a discussion of “erech” (valuation) vows. A person has the ability to pledge their “value” to the Temple. The Torah provides a framework based on age and gender, irrespective of a person’s abilities, profession, or skill set.

Yet, we find a fascinating detail. The verses state:

“The [fixed] value of a male shall be as follows: From twenty years old until sixty years old, the value is fifty silver shekels, according to the holy shekel … And if [the person is] sixty years old or over, if it is a male, the value shall be fifteen shekels … (Vayikra 26:3,7)”

Why this significant shift in value? A man above the age of sixty loses close to two-thirds of the value he possessed between the ages of 20-60. How are we to understand this change?

The Imrei Emes (Rabbi Avraham Mordechai Alter, Rebbe of the Hasidic dynasty of Ger, 1866-1948) explains this dynamic. Every person has an intrinsic value. We each have a worth. Even if we make mistakes, bad decisions, fall and fail; we possess holiness and Godliness within. This is the deeper meaning of erech vows. From the time a baby is 30 days old until one draws his last breath, (s)he has value. But our innate value is directly related to our ability to change. The power of change is the greatest gift God has given us. No matter what I have or have not done – I can become someone better and holier. Change is always possible no matter when, no matter where. However, the reality is that the older we get, the more set in our ways we become, and the more difficult change becomes. As we get older, change is still possible, it just may not be probable. My “value” is fundamentally linked to my ability to change. Therefore, the individual between 20-60, representing the prime of life, has the highest value, because his ability and probability of change is highest. Once the individual is over sixty, the ability for change is still present, but the danger of becoming set in one’s ways is a bit more pronounced, and as such, the erech value of such individual decreases.

In this last lesson of Sefer Vayikra, God conveys to us, His beloved children, that we each have value. Too often, we assume that our mistakes and missteps deprive us of worth; there is nothing further from the truth. We each have incredible value until we draw our last breath. The way to actualize and amplify your personal worth is to tap into the gift of change. The more we are willing to change, the more value our life has.

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