Shaarei Tzedek - Orthodox Judaism in Downtown Toronto

“Too much for you!”

In the beginning of this week’s portion (Vaeschanan), Moses beseeches G-d to allow him entry into the Promised Land. “Please let me cross and see the good land that is on the other side of the Jordan, the Good Mountain and Lebanon.”

But G-d refuses. “G-d became angry with me because of you and He did not listen to me. G-d said to me, ‘This is too much for you! Do not continue to speak to Me further about this matter.’”

Instead, G-d tells Moses: “Ascend to the top of the cliff and raise your eyes westward, northward, southward, and eastward, and see with your eyes, for you shall not cross this Jordan (1).”

The Midrash (2), sensitive to the nuances of biblical verbiage, picks up on G-d’s expression to Moses, “This is too much for you,” or in the original Hebrew, “rav lach.” What is the message behind these words? And why were they necessary?

In the classical midrashic style of interpretation, the Midrash focuses our attention to the fact that none other than Moses himself used these exact words — this is too much for you — some four decades earlier, during the mutiny of Korach.

As we recall from the book of Numbers (3), a Levite by the name of Korach together with 250 leaders of the community staged a rebellion against Moses and Aaron. These men protested the hierarchy among the Israelite community. “The entire congregation is holy,” they said, “why do you exalt yourself over the congregation of G-d?!”

Aaron served as the Kohen Gadol, the high priest of Israel, the holiest position within the Jewish people. Korach and his colleagues were Levites or Israelites, who did not possess the same level of sanctity as Aaron and thus could not perform the same services in the Tabernacle. In effect, Korach and his 250 partners demanded that they, too, be granted the status of Kohanim Gedolim, of spiritual princes, performing the holiest divine service in the Holy Temple (4).

Moses responded that it was not he who chose his brother Aaron as the high priest of Israel; it was G-d who conferred upon Aaron these responsibilities.

And then Moses continued with the fateful words: “Too much for you, sons of Levi!” (In the original Hebrew: “rav lachem benei Levi.”) What Moses was saying was that the Levites were asking for too much; they ought to be satisfied with what they had and not ask for more.

Virtue Or Vice?

In a deeply perplexing interpretation, the Midrash comments that since Moses employed this expression when speaking to his adversaries, G-d, too, employed these identical words toward him when denying him the merit to enter into the Holy Land. In the words of the midrash: “With the stick that Moses struck them, he too was struck.”

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What a hard time this is for us. This year that statement does not refer to our History, but to our current situation. The events of these weeks have led me to some reflection that I would like to share with you.

Will sacrificing be re-instituted?

Will Korbanot be reintroduced in the Messianic era? Absolutely! And I hope and pray that will be soon. Why? Because making a sacrifice is about demonstrating the will to pay a price. And the price we are willing to pay for something determines the value we attach to it. Korbanot (sacrifices), set the price we are willing to pay for our attachment to G-d. They set the value we associate with the Divine sanctity of the Jewish Nation.

We make sacrifices for our children’s education; because their education is valuable to us. We sacrifice for our families’ economic security; our families are important to us. We sacrificed in the Holocaust – heavily. We demonstrated to G-d as we walked to the gas chambers that we are willing, if necessary, to pay the highest price for that which is of the highest value to us: our divine mission, our attachment to G-d, our survival as a holy nation and a kingdom of priests. In the Holocaust we sacrificed our crown Jewels, the gems of our society. We sacrificed precious young men in the various wars and struggles that made Israel a reality. And now again as some of the finest and noblest of our young men are losing their lives Al Kedushat Hashem, Israel is sacrificing its gems for the safety of our land and our people. We are sacrificing all the time. If we had a Beit Mikdash , we could sacrifice our animals, our economic security and wealth. Now without a Beit Mikdash we can only sacrifice our children, our brothers and our sisters. This is what we mourn on Tisha Be’Av.

Tisha Be’Av is the day we remember the martyrs of the Holocaust; it is our Yom HaZikaron. But in the remembrance of that, one of the most catastrophic sacrifices of our history, we have so much for which to be thankful. Often we are accused of having gone “like sheep to the slaughter,” without a struggle, without dignity. But that is not so. We waged a massive battle against the Nazi’s….and we won. Where is Hitler? Where is the Nazi Party? Where is the Third Reich? Where is the Jewish People? We are thriving. Hundreds of thousands of people learning Torah around the world. A vibrant State of Israel. Worldwide economic prosperity. We did win the war against Hitler, but we lost 6 million casualties in that war. We mourn our casualties, but we celebrate our victory.

On Tisha Be’Av we mourn not only the loss of our Temple . We also mourn the loss of every drop of Jewish blood spilled in the service of Hashem and His people. We remember, we recognize and we mourn each of the human sacrifices we have offered up for our own survival.

Forty years ago, on Tisha B’Av 1967, tears flowed out of the eyes of a Tzaddik.

Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av – this coming Tuesday – is the saddest day of the Jewish calendar. On this day the two holy Temples were destroyed: the first Temple – by the Babylonians 2429 years ago, the second one by the Romans 1939 years ago. We mourn these and other losses every Tisha B’Av.

Yet, 1967 was unique. One witness described the scene: “Never did I see the Rebbe cry like that. His entire body was shaking as he recited Kinus [a series of lamentations said on Tisha B’Av]. The Rebbe was weeping so strongly that we could not hear one clear word of the Haftorah the Rebbe was reading that morning.”

Why was the Rebbe crying so? Tisha B’Av, every year, is a sad day. What distinguished Tisha B’Av 1967 that elicited such a strong reaction?

We can only speculate. But it doesn’t seem that difficult to infer that the tears were related to the events of that summer.

As discussed in this column over the last few weeks, the Rebbe that summer was heralding in the great spiritual awakening that took place as a result of the smashing victory of the Six-Day War. This was the beginning of the “great shofar’s” call touching souls everywhere, even those “lost in the land of Ashur” and “banished in the land of Mitzrayim.”

But then, despite the initial revival, people began gravitating back to their own machinations. Instead of the shofar’s sound leading people to “come and bow down to G-d on the holy mountain in Jerusalem,” the miracles were taken for granted, and even explained away as a result of mans’ self-made strength.

Perhaps the Rebbe was crying over the unprecedented awakening that summer, waiting to be actualized.

People cry over many things. Some of us weep when we are in pain or experience loss. Others cry when they stub their toe or lose money. Yet others cry over their own dashed hopes and broken dreams.

But how many people cry over the suffering of others? How many cry over unfulfilled dreams of a nation? How many are saddened by the cosmic pain that affects the entire universe?

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by Rabbi David Lapin

“Where are you?” I asked myself as I emerged from a very deep slumber early this evening. I have done so much traveling these past couple of weeks, that for a few moments after a nap trying to recover from jetlag, I truly had no idea where I was! “Where are you?” Isn’t that the question Hashem asked Adam[1] after man’s first act of disobedience? And did that act not initiate sin and ultimately culminate in the destruction of the Batei Mikdash (Temples)? Was that act not the starting point of the journey on which we still find ourselves, the journey that will lead us to read Eichah (Book of Lamentations) in a few days, on Tish’a Be’Av?

“Eichah” is spelled in Hebrew with the same letters as Hashem’s question of Adam: “Ayeckah?” (Where are you?). And the same word appears in our Parsha, Devarim, always read on the Shabbat preceding Tish’a Be’Av: “Eichah essah levadi” - Moshe pleads: “How can I manage alone your (the Jewish People’s) troublesomeness, your cynicism and your argumentativeness?” The Book of Lamentations opens with exactly that same word as the Prophet Yirmiyahu exclaims in despair “Eichah yashvah vadad?” How does this city exist in utter desolation after being so vastly populated?

All three of these questions, G-d’s question of Adam, and Moshe’s and Yirmiyahu’s questions, are rhetorical. None of them expect an answer. All entail disappointment and are declarations rather than questions. And yet there are some insightful differences.

Pain about the past; worry about the future

Moshe’s declaration of despair is about the future. How can I continue, he asks. How can I manage to deal with your draining demands, your incessant skepticism, your lack of trust? He would have seen great achievement if he turned around and looked back. But as he looks forward, he sees hardship, fatigue and struggle. He is worried. He does not expect an answer. He knows that he is merely articulating the stuff of leadership. There are times when leaders feel disillusioned, disappointed, let down by the very people for whom they have sacrificed so much. There are often times when leaders would resign if they could, but they can’t and they don’t. They are driven by a higher purpose and are accountable to a higher force than the people they lead. Duty is core to their lives and while they sigh in lonely anguish, they persist in the mission they accepted.

Yirmiyahu’s exclamation is not worry about the future; it is pain about the past. Where Moshe asks “what is going to happen?” Yirmiyahu asks “What happened?” Moshe wonders how things will unfold. Yirmiyahu wonders how things have unfolded. Moshe the leader, the king, worries about the effectiveness of his leadership going forward. Yirmiyahu the prophet, worries about the past, about what happened and why and how to repair it and avoid its recurrence. Yirmiyahu is afflicted with pain; Moshe with worry.

Divine experience is neither in the past nor the future; it is in the present

Hashem’s question of Adam is rhetoric too; it is also an exclamation. However, His question is neither about the future nor about the past. It is not about “How did you come to this?” nor is it about “What will become of you?” G-d’s question is focused with laser-beam clarity on the present: “Where ARE you Adam, where ARE you?”

In both, Eichah questions the element of helplessness, of victimization. Moshe, unable to change his situation, feels like a victim of an ungrateful nation. Yirmiyahu feels like a victim of an epic tragedy. But in the “Where are you?” question there is no place for victim; the tone is not accusatory or controlling, it is caring and empathetic. And therein lies its force.

So often we feel pain about issues in the past that we can no longer control or change, things of which we have not yet let go. We feel like victims of other people’s actions and circumstances beyond our control. We poison ourselves with negative energy as we lament things that are not worthy of lamentation. We lament on Tish’a Be’Av for the very reason that in the desert we lamented for no valid reason. A lesson of Tish’a Be’Av is to limit the things we mourn and lament. We are commanded to mourn the loss of the Temple until its reconstruction (BMB”Y), but we are also commanded to heal ourselves from all other losses and to get over them.

Pain and bitterness of past resentment is not the only useless negative energy we generate. Sometimes we do it by worrying about a future that we can also not control. We allow ourselves to slide into victim mode. When we feel worry we should check in with ourselves: Is there something we can do right now to mitigate or eliminate the potential for future downside? If there is, then do it. If there isn’t anything we can do, then let go of fear and stop feeding our insecurities. We become stuck in the “how did I?” of the past and the “how will I?” of the future. Yet the really important question that we should be asking 24/7 is not “How will I?” or “How did I?”, but simply “Where am I?”; because that is the question G-d asks of us.

Where am I in relation to my spouse, children and parents? Where am I in relation to my family, friends and community? Where am I in my journey of life? Where am I with regard to my physical, spiritual, and emotional health? Where am I with respect to the objectives I have set for myself, and the commitments I have made to others? Where is my soul? Where am I in relation to Hashem? Is He looking for me as He looked for Adam, or am I clearly visible alongside Him all the time? Am I hiding from him or am I proudly standing before Him? We don’t even have to probe with the “why?” question: just the “where?” question. If we are asking the question, we will move forward into the answer.

I thought I was confused when I awoke so jetlagged this evening, but I wasn’t confused at all. In my semi-conscious, non-analytical frame of mind I asked myself the only question that really counts: Where are you?

Notes:

[1] Breishit 3:9

The name of this week’s Torah portion is the Hebrew word “Matot,” which means tribes. This is so because the portion opens with Moses’ address to the heads of the Jewish tribes (1).

In Judaism, a name is profoundly significant. It conveys the inside story of the person or thing that carries this name. The same is true concerning the names of Torah portions. Each portion of the Bible, notwithstanding its multitude of details, contains a pervading theme throughout. Yet it is not always easy to discover the theme and it is the name of the portion that serves as our clue to discover its unifying thread.

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by Rabbi David Lapin

The Benei Gad and Benei Reuvein are criticized for being focused more on their cattle and wealth than on their love of Eretz Yisrael. How many of us fall into that same category?

The Shem Mishmuel (Masa’ei 5677) points out that the suffering of the travels in the wilderness were Israel’s preparation for entering the Land with all it’s sanctity. The fact that our Galut has been so much longer and harder than theirs indicates how much more valuable Eretz Yisrael will be in the post Messianic era than it was in the post Mosaic era. There is discomfort and pain in travel (Masa’ot), but in that discomfort there is growth, and preparation for a new life in Eretz Yisrael.

But there is growth in pain only when pain is experienced. An anaesthetized person does not grow from the pain they experience while under anesthetic. I sometimes worry whether many of us (me included) truly feel the pain of Galut and thereby grow, or whether we are anaesthetized from the pain and feel comfortable in our state of spiritual mindlessness. Do we feel so comfortable in Galut that Israel and it’s wellbeing comes second, or do we feel the discomfort of our situation, grow from the pain, and crave our return to Eretz Yisrael?

These are the questions to ponder during the Three Weeks, as we too should daven each day - with our families - for the well being of our beloved Land and our people.

© Rabbi David Lapin, 2007

What you are willing to sacrifice is what you gain

The opening passage of the Parsha holds the key to understanding courage.

Zimri desecrated G-d’s name by publicly flaunting his illicit relationship with the Midianite Princess, Kozbi bat Tzor. Pinchas reacts passionately and in accordance with the Halachah of that time, assassinates Zimri and kills Kozbi. Hashem responds by rewarding Pinchas with an everlasting Brit Shalom (Covenant of Peace) manifesting in the hereditary rights of Kehuna. From now on Pinchas and his male descendants would be Kohanim. Rashi and others ask if Pinchas was already a Kohen, the grandson of Aharon the Kohen Gadol, what was new in this “gift” of Kehuna t! hat G-d now gave him?

Rashi answers that Kehuna had only been given to Aharon and to Aharon’s sons (and their descendants) who were anointed at that time with Aharon. But since Pinchas was already born but was not anointed, he in fact did not become a Kohen until this moment.

The Zohar however says that a Kohen who murders, loses his status and rights of Kehuna. The Sefat Emet[1] points out accordingly that Pinchas had lost his Kehuna when he killed Zimri, and G-d returned it to him as a reward for his intervention in the Zimri affair. Pinchas sacrificed his life (Zimri would have been fully entitled to kill Pinchas in self defense - that was a risk Pinchas took) and his Kehuna. He had no idea that Hashem would return it to him; he assumed it would be lost forever. He was willing to lose his Kehuna to do what was right. His reward lay exactly in the things he sacrificed: He was given eternal life (Pinchas is! Eliyahu Hanavi who never died), and he and his descendants are given back the Kehuna they lost.

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by Rabbi YY Jacobson

The opening chapter of the book of Jeremiah — read this Sabbath in Synagogues across the world (1) — depicts the moving first encounter between the prophet Jeremiah and G-d.

“And the word of G-d was upon me (Jeremiah), saying: ‘When I had not yet formed you in the belly, I already recognized you; and when you had not yet come forth from the womb, I sanctified you; a prophet to the nations I have made you.’

“And I said, ‘Aha! My Lord, G-d, behold! - I know not how to speak, for I am but a lad.’

“G-d said to me, ‘Do not say ‘I am but a lad,’ rather to wherever I send you shall you go, and whatever I command you shall you speak. Fear not before them, for I am with you… See I have appointed you this day over the nations and over the kingdoms, to uproot and to smash and to destroy and to raze; to build and to plant.”

At this point G-d dispatches Jeremiah on a grueling mission — to transform a depraved Jewish nation to fulfill their calling as holy people; to make Israel aware of the dire consequences that would befall them if they would not put en end to the immorality that eroded their communities in the Land of Israel. “From the North shall the evil loose itself upon the inhabitants of the Land (2),” Jeremiah is instructed to relate to his people.

“You shall gird your loins and arise and speak to them all that I shall command you,” G-d says to Jeremiah. “Do not tremble before them (3).”

Sadly, Jeremiah’s pleas and warnings to his people went unheeded. Jeremiah was even deemed by many as a fanatical madman, as he wandered the streets of Jerusalem and attempted to ignite the conscience of his people. Jeremiah witnessed first hand — in the year 586 B.C.E. — the destruction of Jerusalem and the first temple, the massacre of hundreds of thousands of Jews and the exiling of his nation, documented by the prophet in the book of Lamentations. This was the first time in their history during which the Jewish people lost their independence and were expelled from their Land.

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