Editor's Note:
Dear Friend,
With hot summer weather coming, it’s likely that racial tensions will continue to simmer in the U.S. From Missouri to Mississippi to Maryland, the frustration, violence, and deep-seated grievances are remarkably similar.
On both sides of the issue, people struggle to make sense of those with holding a diametrically opposite view. “How can they not see how wrong they are?” they fume. “Don’t they realize how destructive, violent, and narrow their approach is!” they declare self-righteously.
And therein lies the problem. As long as we see two sides, with competing worldviews and goals, peace cannot be achieved.
Rather, as the Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—told New York City Mayor David Dinkins following the Crown Heights riots, “Forget both sides; it is one side, one people united . . .”
“All of them were created by the same G‑d for the same purpose,” the Rebbe told the mayor during an earlier meeting, “to add in all good . . .”
When we truly realize that we are all descendants of a common ancestor, created in the image of G‑d, everything else will fall into place.
With wishes for a safe, healthy, and peaceful summer,
The Chabad.org Editorial Team
What do you think? We'd love to hear from you.
Financial Planning
Here is how to make an honest living, with confidence and minimal worry:
Determine how much you need to provide for your family needs.
Next, get into a business that can make that sum of money.
Now, put your best foot forward to do whatever needs to be done.
But no more than that. More will get you less.
Then pray for compassion, and trust in the One who provides all life to provide your livelihood as well.
You’ve put out your bucket just the right size in the rain. Now trust that heaven will fill it to the brim.[Derech Mitzvosecha, Taglachat Metzora; Hayom Yom, 16 Adar II. 5 Tamuz.]
This Week's Features:
Printable Magazine
The World Is a Coconut Grove From the series: Sparks of Things to Come by Tzvi Freeman
Get Smarter Than Your Phone How not to be the tool of a tool by Michael Kigel
• Is the Internet Good or Bad? (By Chana Weisberg)
YOUR QUESTIONS
Do Jews Cross Fingers?
Is it wrong for a Jew to say “I’m keeping my fingers crossed” for good luck? And if so, is there a Jewish equivalent to crossing fingers? by Aron Moss
• Ask Rabbi Y: Why Do Jews Sit Shivah for Seven Days? (By Yehuda Shurpin)
• Why Israel and the Diaspora Read Different Parshahs (By Mendy Kaminker)
Is Obedience Obsolete?
Demanding obedience is a card parents often pull as leverage in a power struggle. But have the children learned anything meaningful? by Rochel Holzkenner
• Punishments or Gifts? (By Gittle Gesina)
The World Is a Coconut Grove From the series: Sparks of Things to Come by Tzvi Freeman
Is the world a good place or a bad place? That depends. It depends on how willing you are to crack open the nuts.
You see, the Zohar describes our world as an orchard of luscious fruits and exotic nuts. Sounds fantastic, right? But there’s a problem with an orchard: Those delicious treats often come packaged in thick, coarse shells. Think coconut grove. You could be real hungry in a coconut grove.
And that’s just the beginning of the problem. The real problem begins when we start messing with those shells, giving them more substance than they deserve, as though the whole point of the fruit is to support the shell around it.
Fruits are the real meaning of life, the things we came into life to get done. Shells are the background, the stage where all that gets done. Don’t mix foreground and background. You’ll end up with a poorly cracked walnut situation. You don’t want to eat one of those. That’s when those shells become truly sinister.
The true purpose of those shells is a good one—to protect the fruit inside them so that it can mature and sweeten, until the time comes for us to break open the shell and release that fruit. And then, even the shell can become useful.
Here’s an example:
Going to work each day, fighting rush-hour traffic, putting up with callous employers, handling angry clients and getting along with incompetent colleagues can be a real pain. Look for the fruit inside, and all that pain can vanish.
The fruit is the purpose behind your work: Dealing with the world in an ethical, dignified and humane way. Setting priorities, such as times for studying Torah and time for your family. Dealing with clients with integrity, so that you provide people real value, leaving the world a better place than when you started. And then using the money you earn for good things, such as charitable causes, a Torah education for your kids, and a wonderful Shabbat meal with lots of guests.
That’s called peeling away the husk and getting to the juice inside. And once you find that juice, celebrate it, so that everything becomes so much sweeter.
EDITOR'S PICKSGet Smarter Than Your Phone How not to be the tool of a tool by Michael Kigel
That, Kabbalistically understood, the smartphone is nothing less than the flower of technological wisdom is a proposition I ventured to put forth in a recent article on the innermost chochmah of this wondrous pocket appliance.
The proposition, to my flabbergasted consternation, was not received with big smiles and open arms by all readers! In the discussion appended to the article, one finds a number of biting comments. Mushka D. laments: “Almost daily I see people bumping into each other just because they do not see anything besides the screen of their phone.” Rick Brown muses: “I see families in restaurants, parents and children all reading or texting on their phones. Occasionally there is a verbal exchange without taking their eyes off the phone. This is progress?” A reader who goes by the happy sobriquet Wunder-Lust warns: “The fullness of an expanded human consciousness is much more than the sum of technological gizmos.”
Now, I do hope these critics will at least thank me for acquainting them with a kindred soul who, while reviewing my article before it was uploaded for publication, offered an incisive, cutting, painfully smart criticism along the same lines—namely, my dear colleague and co-editor Yaakov Ort. With his permission, I am here reproducing his criticism, with its exquisitely straightforward cry from the heart and its diamantine eloquence.
. . . I very much disagree with the conclusion that “the smartphone is the flower of technological wisdom.” It is, I think, the opposite: the key enabler of a technological dystopia.
I guess I’m one of those social critics who does lament our lemming-like self-abandonment to virtual existence, which is, after all, so much easier than in-person interactions where one cannot hide behind his or her computer screen. Yes, I do believe that the “smartphone dimension” is a toxic illusion of reality, and no, I don’t believe that this is a distinctly cavalier dishonesty just because I’m communicating my thoughts by e‑mail. . . . the “smartphone dimension” is a toxic illusion of reality . . .Yes, I do think that the distance between two people on Skype is categorically different from the distance between two people sitting together at a table.
There is more than one shade of reality (or non-reality) to “virtual” reality. First, there is the virtual reality of words and words alone: hearing about or reading about your new grandchild without having seen or held her. The second form is cooing with her over Skype from a great distance. The third is the perfectly silent, wordless “virtual reality” of holding her in your arms.
A smart metaphysician may see no difference on the loftiest levels of abstraction between these “virtual realities,” but I do believe that a wise one like you should. At the crux of the issue for me is the all-important distinction between what it means to be smart and what it means to be wise.
In short, no, I don’t think I’m a hypocrite because I earn my living trying to connect otherwise disconnected souls through electronic media. Yes, we need to use all available technology to communicate the truth. But let’s not fool ourselves that on balance the negative impact of the words and images available to us, and in fact imposed on us and our kids by smartphones, is a good thing in itself. It’s not.
In addition to the often poisonous content available on smartphones, far worse is the illusion of the connectedness by smartphones and other electronic devices, and the shattering of authentic communication between husband and wife, parent and child, teacher and student, friend and beloved that requires actual real, in-person presence. The world is far more than the words that we use to describe it, and no, you can’t really smell the spaghetti unless you’re in the kitchen.
Anyway, that’s one Luddite’s view.
I hope my readers will appreciate how sincerely and humbly grateful I must be to have the opportunity to work with colleagues like Yaakov Ort, who are of course as far from Luddites as sunlight is from the dark side of the moon.
What can be said to such a truly smart criticism? And we might recall the neat, somewhat antiquated expression one can use upon accidentally cutting into one’s finger with a kitchen knife: “That smarts!” The criticism cuts right to the bone of the issue.
To begin with, as a general guideline to approaching any question of this type—namely, any question concerning technology—we may recall a very apropos story about a certain yechidus, a “private audience,” with the Rebbe. (Arnie Gotfryd refers to the story in a very fine article on the topic at hand.1) A young family came into the Rebbe’s chambers with their special burdens. They had with them their little girl, five years of age or so. By the end of the meeting the precocious child, who had been respectfully quiet throughout the palpably meaningful event, evidently had something to ask the Rebbe. The fact of her burning question became acutely apparent as the family was heading toward the door, shushing the little girl from wasting the precious time of the man carrying the burdens of multitudes upon his shoulders. “Yes,” the Rebbe interrupted their exit, now focusing his entire attention upon the five-year-old girl, “tell me, Rivkale, what is your question?” The parents froze in their tracks. “Rebbe,” she asked, with obvious profound concern, “is nuclear energy dangerous?” The Rebbe, we can be sure, smiled in great delight at the precocious acumen and anxiety of this little Jewish soul. And he had every intention of addressing this far-seeing anxiety with perfect seriousness and due wisdom. “Tell me,” said the Rebbe, “in your kitchen, you have knives, don’t you?” “Yes, Rebbe, lots.” “Do you suppose a knife is a dangerous thing?” asked the Rebbe. “Well,” considered the thoughtful interlocutor, “it depends on how you use it.” “You see,” explained the Rebbe, “nuclear energy is very much the same. Whether it’s dangerous or not really depends on how you use it.”
Applying this guideline to the question concerning smartphones and correlate information technologies, we want to know: How, specifically, do we use such devices in a way that is not dangerous? There are at least two questions at stake, one quantitative, one qualitative.
The Quantitative Question
Quantitatively, there is the issue of how much time we spend on our smartphones. We can hardly dismiss Reb Yaakov’s suspicion that the distance between two people Skyping on a phone “is categorically different from the distance between two people sitting together at a table.” If virtual human interaction were to replace real physical interaction, heaven forbid, then our world might indeed become a “technological dystopia.” How could anything ever replace the warmth of a hug, or of a simple handshake? How could any electronic screen, no matter how high-res, ever capture the gleam in the eye of a friend or the Mona Lisa subtlety of her smile? How could an electroacoustic transducer (“speaker”) ever generate the scrumptious resonance of a human voice, which is never simply a flow of soundwaves poured into one’s ear but is, even beyond any quality issue, a kind of mini-climate in which the listener finds himself enveloped? How could anything ever replace the warmth of a hug, or of a simple handshake? Behind the promise of “high fidelity” sound, does there not lurk a yet higher treason?
The same chassidic sage on whom I relied to compose my rhapsody on the smartphone, it must be noted, gives us an unimpeachable example of the value of personal, embodied contact between human souls. Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi offers the following metaphor to explain the workings of the Kabbalistic sefirah of yesod, “foundation.”
It is the bond by which the father binds his intellect to his son’s intellect while teaching him with love and interest, for he wishes his son to understand. Without this, even if the son were to hear the same words from the mouth of his father (while he speaks and studies aloud to himself), he would not understand them as well as he does now, when his father binds his intellect to him and speaks with him face to face, with love and passion, because he very much desires that his son understand. And the greater the passion and delight of the father, the greater is the influence and the study, because the son is able to receive more and the father influences more.2
This example is especially relevant because it relates to a situation in which the content of the communication is very much at issue. We are not told about how the father gives his son hugs and kisses as a matter of pure paternal affection, and how no amount of letter-writing, for example, could replace such tenderness at close range. The latter is also true, of course. But the example of Rabbi Schneur Zalman underscores the fact that the very communication of information cannot attain its full force and meaning, that the information cannot sink to the required depth in the mind, if the son cannot see the unique twinkle in his father’s gaze, the nuanced gestures, shiftings and aura of his father’s entire physical presence as he imparts the lesson, if he cannot feel the warmth of his father’s hand on his own or the pat on the back when he asks his father a good question or offers a good answer.
There simply can be no question, in sum, of replacing such fully embodied “I-Thou” sessions by disembodied electronic ones. The minutes we spend with our smartphones each day must be intelligently rationed so as to protect eye-to-eye contact from being overrun by eye-to-screen-to-electrical-signals-to-satellite-to-more-electrical-signals-to-screen-to-eye contact.
The Quantitative Question Qualified
At the same time, to haul the entire length of the dividing line between the “real” and “virtual” toward the other extreme, to insist on a total or even a high degree of commitment to the “physical” aspect of communication, would be not just a fallacy of Neo-Luddism; it would be a misplaced nostalgia, a mirage of “good old days” that in fact never existed, not even in the blessed Garden of Eden. The allure of this mirage is grasped specifically by Chabad teaching with greater dexterity and firmness than by any other system of thinking. The bold message of the tradition that culminates in what Shaar HaYichud veha-Emunah says, radically and without misgivings or apology:
REALITY IS VIRTUAL.
All reality is virtual. Without remainder, through and through. Reality is made up of words, G‑d’s words, the words that G‑d uttered during the six days of creation.
Human reality is doubly virtual, moreover, because the human being is defined in his essence as ha-medaber, “the speaker,”3 and hence embodies in microcosmic fashion the essence of this cosmos that is constituted as dibbur, the “spoken word” of G‑d. The phenomenon popularly designated as “virtual reality” (Internet, video games, smartphones, etc.), therefore, is just one specific, localized manifestation of the general human condition.
Long before smartphones and the Internet were around, this profoundly virtual character of the human condition was evident in our passion for the written word.4
When a certain would-be chassid of Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn expressed his distress at being unable to become personally acquainted with him due to geographic constraints, the rebbe assured him as follows: “To the one who asks what his connection is to me when I do not know him on a face-to-face basis . . . True connection takes place by means of Torah learning. When he studies my chassidic maamarim, reads my discourses [ . . . ] herein lies the connection.”5 True connection takes place by means of Torah learning.The term feebly translated as “connection” here is hiskashrus, a code word for the profound spiritual bond between a chassid and his rebbe. It is the same word for the “bond” cited above between the father and son learning Torah together in a setting of total intimacy.
In a similar text, Rabbi Schneur Zalman assures his beloved chassidim, “with whom words of affection have been frequently exchanged” face to face, that his book Tanya, will have an effect not totally unlike that of a personal audience, if they only apply themselves to it: “May my word percolate to them, and my tongue be like the scribe’s pen . . . since time no longer permits of replying to everyone individually and in detail on his particular problem.”6
And the constraints of time are transcended within the “virtual” dimension of the word still more radically than are the constraints of space. When a disciple of the Maggid of Mezritch once expressed heavy apprehensions about writing down his master’s living words for publication, and even dared to ask the Maggid why he desired such a thing, the latter responded: “Is it a small thing in your eyes that King David, peace be upon him, beseeched: ‘May I dwell in Your tent forever’ (Psalms 61:5)—by which he meant: in both worlds?”7 Death itself shall have no dominion over the communicated word.
What such texts seem to ask us to consider is how communication technology, precisely in its “virtual” dimension, can be a red rose in full bloom of a kind of physical reality, for the metaphysical reason that physical reality as such, as physical, is itself constituted as the roots of this rose, or the stalk of the rose, or the rosebud.
None of this, again, can serve to refute Reb Yaakov’s vital distinction among the three shades of “virtuality” of “virtual reality” mentioned in his criticism. As Rabbi Schneur Zalman would no doubt say today: Quantitatively speaking, every single minute that a grandfather spends discussing Torah with his granddaughter by Skype which could have been spent in the same discussion at the kitchen table must be counted a minor tragedy.
Therefore, indeed, I very much share the anxiety of my dear friend Yaakov about playing with knives.8 And here arises the other question. For it is by divine providence that both Yaakov and I find ourselves, by vocation, with our sleeves rolled up, cutting the virtual mushrooms and onions for our conjoint gurgling virtual spaghetti sauce—in his kitchen-beyond-space-and-time known as Chabad.org.
The Qualitative Question
On this question, we might well worry with Rabbi Tarfon that “the day is short, the work is great, the workers are lazy, the reward is great, and the Master of the house is urgent” (Pirke Avot 1:15).
As I mentioned all too cursorily in my previous article, while our passion for communication has become clearer than ever in this brave new Age of the Smartphone, in terms of the content of what is being communicated, the great flood of sentences pouring in around us still needs to be channeled into better, more decent, holier, smarter words. If smartphones become nothing more than opened floodgates for pulp information, frivolous twittering, an electronic tarrying with the trivial, and a forum for gossip boys and gossip girls, then we remain cultured philistines afloat in a diluvian-wide alphabet soup.
We must be careful not to recklessly draw the conclusion from the teaching that the world was made by Ten Utterances that all communication is good. Heaven forfend! It is to the extent, and only to the extent, that each and every word uttered or written by human beings takes pains to root itself in those specific Ten Utterances, the utterances of the Mouth of G‑d, the one source of all possible meaningfulness in the cosmos, the fountainhead known as the Torah—it is only to this extent that human communication can have any genuine value.
“When one speaks words of Torah, one arouses the Supernal Speech, thereby unifying the Divine Presence (Shechinah).”9
In a discourse published in 1980 based on talks delivered in the ’60s, the Rebbe makes a radical statement about the technological advents of the telephone and of the radio, which statement, mutantis mutandis, applies to smartphones and to their primary information basis, the Internet. The statement is based on the radical teaching of the Talmudic sage Reish Lakish regarding the raison d’être of gold. Why did G‑d create gold? What is the purpose of this enchanting yellow metal in the grand scheme of things? If the question seems bizarre to our contemporary ear, this is only because we live in a state of spiritual exile, wherein gold’s degraded value alone is manifest. The world was really unworthy of enjoying the boon of gold. Nevertheless, it was created for the sake of the Tabernacle and the TempleFor Reish Lakish the true, transcendent, supernal value of gold was painfully apparent. Hence his problem: “The world was really unworthy of enjoying the boon of gold. Nevertheless, it was created for the sake of the Tabernacle and the Temple, as it says, ‘The gold of that land is good’ (Genesis 2:12).”10 Human beings have certainly used gold for purposes other than the ornamentation of the Tabernacle and the Temple, but all such uses, without exception, are a degrading insult to gold in its essence.
Now, the Rebbe’s radical statement follows tightly upon this logic. He applies to the “secular” technological wisdom behind the invention of the telephone and radio the same extreme value judgement that Reish Lakish applies to gold:
This is how the matter sits with our issue [of technological wisdom]. When the Zohar connects the advent of secular wisdom with the disclosure of the (inner dimension of the) Torah11 . . . this itself is an indication that herein lies the entire purpose of this advent. [ . . . ] Its true purpose is that secular wisdom itself should be utilized for the sake of Torah and mitzvot. [ . . . ] For example, when one uses a radio to broadcast the inner dimension of the Torah [expounded in chassidic teaching], the material taught regarding the Torah’s inner dimension is thereby heard in a bodily manner and ‘in all the corners of the natural world’. 12
In other words, a knife can be used for good secular purposes, such as cutting vegetables; it can also be used for holy purposes, such as slaughtering an animal for the offerings in the Temple; gold, however, has no good secular usage. The only good and proper usage of gold lies in the sacred beautification of the Tabernacle in the desert and of the Temple in Jerusalem. And likewise the radio and the telephone, and by extension the Internet and the smartphone, . . . the Internet and the smartphone have their only good and proper usage in the communication and broadcasting of Torah and mitzvot. have their only good and proper usage in the communication and broadcasting of Torah and mitzvot. This and this alone constitutes the “supernal wisdom” of a smartphone. This alone is the way to get not just as smart as your phone, but smarter.
Hallelukah!
I must conclude on a psalmodic note. And I wish to do so advisedly. Generally, I find it distasteful when writers or organizations indulge in any kind of self-promotion. In this case, however, relating to this issue at hand, it seems to me that intellectual honesty positively demands something that must seem like self-promotion, and that I would be guilty of a certain moral negligence were I to let the matter slide in the name of modesty.
If the smartphone is indeed part of the general metaphysical blossoming of lower wisdom, i.e., of technological wisdom, and even a synecdoche (“a part standing for the whole”) of this cosmic-historical springtime, then it follows as a matter of logic and of simply opening one’s eyes that Chabad.org is, to date, the one site in view where the beauty and the fragrance of this e‑flower is most evident. (Here, of course, I am focusing on the Internet connectivity of smartphones.) This site in this World Wide Web—again, to date—must be identified, openly and without false modesty, as nothing less than the very purpose of the e‑revolution that is the outcome of the technological progress that has been underway since the mid-1800s.
Are there not more informative sites on the Web? More politically savvy sites? More academically intellectual sites? Sites that catch your eye and your heart more easily and more quickly? To be sure, and to be sure. But if Moses received G‑d’s word at Sinai, and if the Torah is what has shown humanity what it means that the cosmos was made by G‑d’s word, “Let there be light,” and if the Kabbalistic tradition that culminates in Chabad Chassidut has brought maximum illumination to this teaching—three propositions that we embrace with a resounding Amen!—then it follows as a matter of strictest logical necessity that this site that you are presently “visiting” (and, as a dear old Jewish man once said to me as I was leaving his home: “Don’t be a guest!” by which he meant: “Feel at home!”) is the efflorescence of the Internet, the loveliest thing to bloom on the ’Net—until something still more fragrant with Torah is planted and cultivated in this virtual garden—may it be the full messianic manifestation now!
Which means—just to draw the most important psalmodic conclusion here—that you, the frequenter of this website, must openly recognize your own intelligence and spiritual sensitivity in the fact of your regular pilgrimage to this admittedly virtual yet nonetheless holy site.
FOOTNOTES
1.See The Big Knife. And see also Tzvi Freeman’s iSnake, and Rochel Holzkenner’s Can G‑d and Facebook Be Friends?
2.R. Schneur Zalman of Liadi, Tanya, Iggeret ha-Kodesh, Epistle 15, pp. 122b–123a.
3.See R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson, Sefer ha-Maamarim Melukat, Vol. 2 (Brooklyn: Kehot, 2002), p. 210, where the Rebbe underscores the communicative aspect of the human being as ha-medaber: כח הדיבור הוא זה שבכחו לצאת ממציאותו. Cf. Likkutei Sichot, vol. 6 (Brooklyn: Kehot, 1973), pp. 112–116.
It is true that Aristotle also defines the human being as “the speaking animal” (ζῷον λόγον ἔχον); see Politics 1253a, and cf. Ethics I:13. But this definition follows from man’s being a social animal (πολιτικὸν ζῷον) and his quest for what is good within an all-too-human cooperative venture. The unique מדבר status of man indicated by the Torah, by contrast, is derived from the individual soul’s pre-social, primordial conversation with G‑d.
4.The chassidic celebration of virtual reality finds strong philosophical support in the thesis of the philosopher Jacques Derrida, e.g. in his Grammatology (1967), against an old philosophical prejudice that favours the putative “full-presence” of the spoken word over the written word said to lie “dead on the page.” Derrida’s Il n’y a pas de hors-texte, “there is no outside-the-text,” could be a supplement to chassidic teaching.
5.Ha-Yom Yom (Brooklyn: Kehot, 1943), p. 65 (24 Sivan).
6.Tanya, Introduction, p. 4a.
7.Maggid Devarav le-Yaakov, ed. J. I. Schochet (New York: Kehot, 1972), p. 5.
The ideal of a thoroughly virtual existence is embodied in the tzaddik, as is so evident upon his passing into the next world. “When the tzaddik departs, he is to be found in all worlds more than in his lifetime,” because “the life of the tzaddik is not a physical life, but a spiritual life” (Tanya, Iggeret Ha-Kodesh, Epistle 27, p. 146b).
8. For the record, I myself acquired my first cellphone as recently as as seven years ago (2008), and my first smartphone only last November—which I picked up only because my older one broke and the retailer no longer had any simple Nokia phones in stock. Nor can I say that I am yet an avid user. I mention this by way of suggesting that my argument has little to do with any personal predilections.
9.Tanya, Iggeret ha-Kodesh, Epistle 25, p. 140b.
10.Exodus Rabbah 35:1.
11.Zohar 1:116b.
12.R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson, Likkutei Sichot, vol. 15 (Brooklyn: Kehot, 1980), p. 46.
More in Editor's Picks:• Is the Internet Good or Bad? (By Chana Weisberg)
Is the Internet something positive or negative? How about sleep? Sugar? Exercise? Work? Intimacy? Marijuana? Marriage? Divorce?
Nothing in life is simple. A thinking individual would respond with a healthy, noncommittal “it depends.”
Marriage can be great—to the right individual. Divorce can be necessary—in certain circumstances. Sugar can be good in moderation. Marijuana administered to ease pain can vastly improve the quality of life of an ill individual.
So, most things can be either positive or negative, depending on the circumstances and on how they are channeled.
We are approaching the special holiday of Shavuot, when we receive the Torahand “G‑d spoke all these words” (Shemot 20:1).
When “G‑d descended upon the mountain,” we were given the ability to join heaven with earth. Every individual was empowered to be G‑d’s agent to raise up our lowly, physical reality and make it holy and transcendental.
The communication that the Jewish people heard at Mount Sinai was unique in that it had no echo (Shemot Rabbah 28:5).
When a voice reaches a wall, it rebounds, producing an echo. But the Torah given at Mount Sinai was so powerful that it penetrated and permeated every person and every part of the universe.
Since there is no place where Torah is not applicable, the result was an echoless experience. There is no darkness that the Torah cannot illuminate; nothing can block it and cause it to bounce away.
“Everything that G‑d created in His world, He did not create but for His glory” (Ethics 6:11). Every creation can be used and channeled for a divine intent. We bring out the purpose of forbidden things—like non-kosher foods or relationships—by refraining from them. But most things (or forces) belong in the realm of the neutral, and we can reveal their essential reason for existence by directing them for a positive, G‑dly goal.
So, back to the original question—is the Internet positive or negative? Obviously, there’s lots of stuff on the Internet that we need to stay far away from. But it is also a force that can be harnessed for great positivity.
Here at Chabad.org, we try to unleash the Internet’s greatest power by using it to spread the Torah’s wisdom.
In this light, www.TheJewishWoman.org also recently updated and improved our Facebook page. I’d like to personally invite you to check out our Facebook page. Friend us! Comment on our articles! Like us and share our content with other women who would gain from the inspiration.
Because we believe that each and every one of us has the power of replicating that echoless experience, and bringing the wisdom of the Torah—unobstructed—to the four corners of the earth.
Please join us with our goal!
YOUR QUESTIONS
Do Jews Cross Fingers?
Is it wrong for a Jew to say “I’m keeping my fingers crossed” for good luck? And if so, is there a Jewish equivalent to crossing fingers? by Aron Moss
Question:
Is it wrong for a Jew to say “I’m keeping my fingers crossed” for good luck? And if so, is there a Jewish equivalent to crossing fingers? I’m waiting to hear back about a job interview, and need all the luck I can get . . .
Answer:
Crossing fingers is a Christian practice. It originated in medieval England, when Christians believed that the cross symbol had the power to ward off evil and bring good fortune. If you bumped into a witch and didn’t have a cross handy, the easiest way to form one was by curling one finger over another.
These days, most finger-crossers don’t associate it with any religious belief. But it is still not a Jewish thing to do.
And I don’t think there is a Jewish version of crossing fingers. You could try twisting them into a Star of David, but that is more likely to bring arthritis than good luck. Besides, we don’t believe that good fortune comes from signs and gestures. We pray to G‑d, do good deeds and have faith in the future.
The language we use shapes the way we think. So rather than say “I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll get the job,” say “If G‑d wills it, I’ll get the job.” If it’s not meant to be, no finger contortion can change that. And if it is G‑d’s will, no “witch” can get in the way.
More in Your Questions:• Ask Rabbi Y: Why Do Jews Sit Shivah for Seven Days? (By Yehuda Shurpin)
• Why Israel and the Diaspora Read Different Parshahs (By Mendy Kaminker)
Question:
I’m a regular visitor to your Parshahsection as well as to some of your other specialty sites. Lately I’ve noticed something strange. Some websites are showing one Parshah, and others are showing another. What’s going on?
Response:
This happens every few years for a few weeks following either Passover or Shavuot. In both cases, the Jews inIsrael are one portion ahead of the Jews in the rest of the world. How does this come about? There are two dynamics at play here:
- The Torah is divided into 54 portions, which we call Parshahs. EveryShabbat we read another portion. When Shabbat coincides with a holiday, we read the special holiday reading, and the weekly portion is deferred to the following week.
- For reasons you can read about here, most holidays are celebrated for an additional day in the Diaspora. This means that Passover is seven days long in Israel and eight days long in the rest of the world. Similarly, the one-day holiday of Shavuot becomes a two-day affair in the Diaspora.
Therefore, a holiday could extend into Shabbat in the Diaspora but already be over in Israel.
Thus, during some years, while our Israeli brethren read the portion of Shemini on the day following Passover, the rest of us get to it only one week later, since we are still celebrating Passover then, and we continue to lag behind.
The same thing can happen if Shabbat falls on 7 Sivan. While the Jews in Israel read the portion of Naso, Diaspora Jews read the portion associated with the second day of Shavuot.
But don’t worry. We always reunite. In years when Passover creates a split, when the Jews in Israel are up to Bechukotai, the Diaspora Jews combine Bechukotai with the previous portion of Behar, allowing them to catch up with their Israeli counterparts. (In a Jewish leap year, the split lasts until the Parshah of Massei, which in the Diaspora is combined with the previous portion of Matot while in Israel they are read separately.)
In years when we have a post-Shavuot divide, when Israeli Jews are up toBalak, we read the double portion of Chukat-Balak in the Diaspora.
PARSHAHIs Obedience Obsolete?
Demanding obedience is a card parents often pull as leverage in a power struggle. But have the children learned anything meaningful? by Rochel Holzkenner
“Sweetheart, can you please bring Mommy a glass of water? I’m helping your brother with his homework and I don’t want to interrupt. You’re standing so close to the kitchen.”
If you could explain the logic behind your every request, would there be any need for obedience? If all rules began with discussions, would there be any room left for “because Mommy said so”?
And if obedience became obsolete, would children be missing out or better off? Should children be taught to do things that they don’t agree with?Should children be taught to do things that they don’t agree with?
Demanding obedience is a card parents often pull as leverage in a power struggle. I’ve done it many times, and I always regret it: “If you don’t apologize for hitting your brother, you’re not going to camp this summer!” “Get to your room now, or I’ll take away your iPad for five weeks.” “Apologize for speaking disrespectfully, or you can forget about coming to the birthday party!” Parents can usually back kids (especially little ones) into a corner and demand obedience, but have the children learned anything meaningful? What they’ve probably learned is that sometimes you have to let yourself be controlled, or else bad things might happen.
But isn’t there another kind of obedience, one that’s taught pre-emptively, as part of family values? “It’s important to listen to your parents, even when you don’t agree with them. When I ask you for something, I would like you to listen, without asking ‘why’ right away.” Respect and humility are lifelong values that can begin to develop with the simple act of deference to a parent. It is realizing that there are some things that we will understand only when we mature, while our parents have been entrusted with educating us.
If we look to the Torah as a template for parenting, we’ll see that G‑d has a lot of requests for us, and for the most part He explains His reasoning for them. The vast majority of the mitzvahs are civil laws (mishpatim) or testimonials(eidot), laws that commemorate an event or represent an idea. “Remember theShabbat and make it holy . . . because for six days G‑d made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and on the seventh day He rested; therefore, G‑d blessed the Sabbath day and sanctified it.”1 The Torah is generous in its explanation of Shabbat, almost compelling us to observe it. G‑d rested today! He blessed Shabbat!
But some of the mitzvahs leave us completely bewildered. G‑d says that only animals that chew their cud and have split hooves are kosher,2 but He doesn’t mention why the cud-chewing, split-hooved animals are better for us. And that’s not the only one; there are a few other mitzvahs for which the Torah offers no explanation at all. These type of mitzvahs are categorized as chukim, supra-rational laws. Supra-rational is different than irrational. Irrational laws have no logic behind them; they are random and capricious. Supra-rational laws have profound logic. But we don’t get it. We weren’t privy to G‑d’s infinite logic on these ones. So keeping kosher is pretty much a matter of obedience: “G‑d wants this, so I’m in.”
But let’s be honest—to be a decent person, you also need obedience. Obedience to an objective moral code that may not feel right at times. Sometimes it feels right to hurt another person; it even makes sense: “If they hurt me, they deserve it.” Sometimes being honest doesn’t make sense, or being faithful doesn’t seem worth it. It’s then that we have to fall back on obedience in order to maintain our decency: “G‑d doesn’t let, so I can’t do it. But if it were up to me, I’d choose to be immoral right now.”
What’s interesting is the way that G‑d introduces us to His chukim. You’d think He’d lay down the law with even more dogma than the laws that make sense. But quite the contrary; G‑d introduces the chukim with sensitivity, even vulnerability. In Parshat Bechukotai, G‑d says, “If you will go in My chukim(supra-rational laws) and observe My commandments and perform them, I will give your rains in their time, the land will yield its produce, and the tree of the field will give forth its fruit.”3 The Talmud says, “Don’t read ‘If you follow Mychukim,’ but ‘Please, I’m begging you to follow My chukim.’”4 Perhaps the implication is that G‑d knows how hard it is to act contrary to our logic, and so He begs us to perform His chukim.
But on a deeper level, G‑d’s pleading with us to keep the chukim also empowers us. G‑d is giving us that extra strength for the leap from human reasoning to working on G‑d’s terms. G‑d is making it easier for us to buy into the mitzvahs that don’t make sense by saying, “Please follow My chukim.”
When G‑d speaks about the civil laws and the testimonial laws, He doesn’t plead; but for His suprarational requests, He does. Maybe it’s because we need that extra push. I’ve done it many times, and I always regret itOr perhaps it is because He knows that living in accordance with the chukim is really best for us, even if we ourselves do not realize it. But chassidic teaching says that G‑d begs because He feels deep pleasure when we do a mitzvah that we don’t understand.
It’s touching when someone is willing to meet your needs even when they don’t understand your needs. In my husband’s home, birthdays were no big deal. I mean, they were acknowledged, but there was no hoopla. So when we got married and my birthdays rolled around, I would always be insulted: “You didn’t plan anything for my birthday?!” Eventually, my husband got that it was important to show me that my birthday was on his radar. I’m still not sure he’s convinced that a birthday is that big of a deal, and that’s why, when he does go out of his way for me, I really appreciate it. I’m touched.
So for the most part, G‑d explains why He wants the things He asks of us. But then there are a few things that G‑d asks us to do out of obedience. We can either disregard them because they don’t make sense, we can do them with some resistance, or we can be gracious and do them with a full heart, out of love, knowing that G‑d wants only what’s best for us. G‑d is “touched” by our irrational commitment to Him, and that’s good to know.
Parents aren’t G‑d. We make demands of our children that may not be coming from a healthy place. But we can learn from G‑d. G‑d usually appeals to our good sense and logic. His civil laws teach us how to be sensitive, and the testimonials keep us connected to our history. But then there are some requests that He asks—He begs—us to do, without giving us a reason. Likewise, we usually appeal to our children’s sense of reason: “Brush your teeth, or plaque will build up around them.” “Put your toys where they belong, and then you’ll know where to find them.” But sometimes we teach them the value of obedience: There doesn’t have to be an understood reason to follow instructions. This lesson is best taught pre-emptively, so that it won’t be confused with a power struggle between parents and children. It can be taught with joy and pleasure too: “I noticed that you picked up your toys as soon as we asked you. It makes us so happy when you listen the first time.”
G‑d says, “If you will (please) go in My chukim.” Why does He say “go” and not “If you will (please) follow My chukim”? The Rebbe explains that “going” implies focused and fluid movement. Buying into the chukim will help you move, spiritually speaking. It will add a new dynamic to your relationship with G‑d. It’s kind of ironic: the mitzvah that seems to be all about personal sacrifice is the one that propels us in our spiritual growth.5
When children are Sometimes, it feels right to hurt another personexpected to be obedient and stifle their own feelings and opinions, they suffer. But when children are taught that by listening to their parents they are doing something important and beneficial, they begin to realize that there is a greater truth than their own. And there is something very liberating about surrendering to a higher truth.
In 1980 the Rebbe founded a youth organization called Tzivos Hashem, the Army of G‑d. Today, Tzivos Hashem is the largest Jewish children’s club in the world. But in the early days, many people were uncomfortable with the name of this new club, the Army of G‑d. Armies are about fighting and destruction, they argued. Why not just call it a club? The Rebbe in turn shared with his critics that he’d thought long and hard about the name for this group, and had considered the negative connotations of war. Nonetheless, he said, what children need to know as they begin to pursue their relationship with G‑d is that every person is a soldier. G‑d is depending on them to accomplish something big down here on earth. And even when a soldier isn’t privy to the whole military strategy, he still follows orders. In the Army of G‑d, there is no destruction, only a strong commitment to our Supernal Commander in Chief.
| FOOTNOTES | |
| 1. | Exodus 20:7–10. |
| 2. | Leviticus 11:3–4. |
| 3. | Leviticus 26:3. |
| 4. | Talmud, Avodah Zarah 5a. |
| 5. | Likkutei Sichot, vol. 1, p. 281. |
• Punishments or Gifts? (By Gittle Gesina)
So, we answer the soul’s call. We learn about our roots, about the heritage bequeathed to us by our ancestors, and we make the transition to the religious way of life. We begin to observe Shabbat, keepkosher, adhere to the modest style of dress, and participate in the numerous practices of the holidays.
Yet something is amiss. The baggage of the past doesn’t seem to allow us to fully embrace the new life. Fears, anxieties, worries do not leave us so readily, even though we seem to be doing all the right things. Without attempting to make this essay dramatic, I would like to share my insight, which has shed more light on and deepened my relationship with my Creator.
I started to believe in G‑d in my adolescence. My adherence to Jewish practices steadily increased from age 16, and at 20 I undertook complete observance. I started to fulfill the commandments to the best of my knowledge and abilities. All seemed appropriate on the outside. What was on the inside? What about my personal, intimate relationship with G‑d?
I read numerous accounts on how one is to experience G‑d’s love and care, and I understood intellectually that He is always with us. The subconscious message, however, was different. I perceived G‑d as an onlooker to my life. He was dispassionately watching from above as I struggled through the daily challenges, waiting for me to slip in order to shoot down the punishment. I constantly feared something terrible happening if I let down my guard. I could not rely on anything, because it could be taken away as a reprimand or a reminder not to be too cocky. Not only that, but G‑d could inflict pain on me at His whim. On the outside, intellectually, I accepted the Jewish view of G‑d as benevolent, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in kindness and truth; on the inside, subconsciously, my old view persisted.
During one of my journaling excursions, I attempted to uncover the reasons for my fear of punishment and my shame for thinking that I deserved it. I realized that I was under the heavy influence of pagan ideology, which was further reinforced by the autocratic adult rule during my upbringing. Going against the established practices was wrong, and pain and suffering were self-inflicted by my own disobedience and willfulness. Comfort was possible only if I dutifully complied with the expectations of me.
To my surprise and relief, I was finally able to reconcile this subconscious indoctrination from childhood with my struggles as an adult.
When people refer to negative occurrences in life as punishments, they operate along materialistic guidelines. According to this view, the “bad” thing is anything which stands in the way of a person’s experiencing the pleasures and comforts of life. Losing a job means that there will be less money to get things one wants to have, to do the things one wants to do. An illness spells pain. There is frustration with not being able to enjoy sports, or even to do simple chores at one’s will. There seems to be no answer as to why bad things happen—natural calamities, wars, death. One draws the conclusion that it must be that G‑d is a cruel G‑d, quick to punishment. This view fills one with anxiety and dread of the future. If it is good now, it means that it will get bad at some point in the future.
The spiritual approach offers another explanation to life’s seemingly painful events. The underlying principle of creation is that G‑d made this world for the purpose of serving Him with complete devotion and self-abandonment, making this material existence into a dwelling place for Him. He is the creator, and He causes everything to run according to His will. With every thing that happens to us, whether good or bad, we can learn how to serve Him a little better, how to draw down His presence a little closer. The challenges set in front of us are never greater than we what can handle. G‑d is not only behind us, encouraging and cheering as we muster the strength to keep going, but He is beside us, breathing energy into us, and carrying us in His arms when we are unable to walk by ourselves. He is not out to break us, but to make us. Losing a job, becoming ill, or any other calamity one can think of are not punishments. At first, they cause us to reach deeper and deeper into our own resources, until we realize that we can’t do it without Him. From that, the realization that nothingis possible without Him begins to infiltrate our minds and hearts, changing our frame of reference on the world from self-centered to G‑d-centered, exactly as He wants it to be. I cannot perceive a source of greater comfort and security.
In the course of my religious journey, I heard these explanations, read them, even spoke about them myself, but they never became a reality for me until I put them against my old, deeply rooted beliefs, which were the cause of all the fear, anxiety and shame. Now, the process of shaking off the distorted childhood views and turning around to face mature reality is just beginning to take place. This slow and gentle process, as it infuses my soul with insights, inspiration, gratitude and humbleness, enables me to proclaim that everything will only get better from now on.
Parshah Summary
On Mount Sinai, G‑d communicates to Moses the laws of the Sabbatical and Jubilee cycles:
The Shemittah years express our trust in G‑d as provider:
In addition to being a year of emancipation, in which indentured servants are set free and ancestral lands revert to their original owners, the fiftieth year is also a year on which all work on the land ceases, as in the seventh year of each Shemittah cycle.
The ownership of movables—objects other than real estate and people—can be permanently transferred from one person to the other with a sale. The Torah only warns, “You shall not defraud one another.”
But in the Land of Israel, where each tribe was allotted its province and each family its estate, “the land may not be sold forever, for the land is Mine; for you are strangers and sojourners with Me.”
So if a person becomes destitute and is forced to sell his estate, the “sale” is in fact only a long-term leaseuntil the next Jubilee year, at which time it reverts to the owner. Thus,
All of the above, however, does not apply to the sale of a home within a walled city. Such a sale can be “redeemed” during the first year only; if the seller or his relative do not exercise this right, it remains in the hand of the buyer, nor does it revert to its original owner on the Jubilee year.
(Regarding the Levites, who did not receive estates in the Holy Land, only cities in which to live, the sale of a home in the city does return to the Levite owner in the Jubilee year, “for the houses of the cities of the Levites—these are their estate among the children of Israel.”)
One Jew can never be another’s slave, for they are all G‑d’s servants:
The Parshah of Behar (“on the mountain”) concludes with a warning against idol-worship, and yet another reiteration of the mitzvah of Shabbat.
Thus opens the second Parshah in this week’s reading,Bechukotai (“in My statutes”), which goes on to enumerate the earthly blessings that will result when the people of Israel follow G‑d’s commandments:
And so it goes—more than thirty verses filled with every catastrophe imaginable, predicting every calamity destined to befall our people in the course of our history because we “walk casually” with G‑d:
If a person is pledged (i.e., a person declares “I pledge my value to G‑d” or “I pledge this person’s value”), the Torah sets a fixed sum, based on the age and sex of the pledged person and ranging from 3 to 50 shekels, which is seen to represent that pledged person’s monetary “value.” This amount is given to the treasury of the Holy Temple by the one who made the pledge.
If a kosher, unblemished animal is pledged to G‑d, it is brought as an offering in the Holy Temple. “He shall not exchange it nor substitute another for it, be it a good for a bad, or a bad for a good; and if he shall at all exchange beast for beast, then it and its substitute shall both be holy.”
Other objects (such as a nonkosher animal or a house) are given to the Temple treasury to be sold, or else they are redeemed by their pledger for their assessed market value plus 20%.
A pledged field goes to the Temple treasury until the Jubilee year (see above), at which time it goes to thekohen (priest). A person wishing to redeem his pledged field is assessed not according to the field’s market value, but by the Torah’s own criteria: 50 shekel perbeit chomer (an area equivalent to slightly less than four acres). This amount is to be deducted in accordance with how many years remain until the Jubilee year (e.g., if only 20 years remain until the Jubilee, than the value per beit chomer is 20 shekels). The 20% addition also applies.
“These are the commandments,” our Parshah concludes and closes the book of Leviticus, “which G‑d commanded to Moses for the children of Israel on Mount Sinai.”
When you come to the land which I give you, the land shall keep a sabbath to G‑d.
Even that which grows of its own accord in the field and vineyard may not be harvested in the Shemittah year; instead,
Six years you shall sow your field, and six years you shall prune your vineyard, and gather in its fruit.
But in the seventh year shall be a sabbath of solemn rest for the land, a sabbath for G-d; you shall neither sow your field nor prune your vineyard.
The sabbath produce of the land shall be food for you, and for your servant, and for your maid, and for your hired worker, and for your stranger that sojourns with you; and for your cattle, and for the wild beast in your land shall all its increase be food.
And if you shall say: What shall we eat in the seventh year? Behold, we shall not sow, nor gather in our produce!
But I will command my blessing upon you in the sixth year, and it shall bring forth fruit for three years. You shall sow on the eighth year and eat yet of old fruit until the ninth year; until her fruits come in, you shall eat of the old store.The seven-year Shemittah cycle is part of a greater cycle—the 50-year Jubilee cycle. After counting seven Shemittahs—forty-nine years—Jubilee
You shall sound the shofar on the tenth day of the seventh month, on the Day of Atonement shall you sound the shofar throughout all your land.
You shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaimliberty throughout all the land to all its inhabitants thereof: it shall be a Jubilee for you. You shall return every man to his estate, and you shall return every man to his family.
The Parshah goes on to outline the Torah’s laws on commerce and property rights.Selling Land
The ownership of movables—objects other than real estate and people—can be permanently transferred from one person to the other with a sale. The Torah only warns, “You shall not defraud one another.”
But in the Land of Israel, where each tribe was allotted its province and each family its estate, “the land may not be sold forever, for the land is Mine; for you are strangers and sojourners with Me.”
So if a person becomes destitute and is forced to sell his estate, the “sale” is in fact only a long-term leaseuntil the next Jubilee year, at which time it reverts to the owner. Thus,
Furthermore, at any time (after two years from the time of the sale), the seller, or his close relative, has the option of “redeeming” the field from the buyer by giving him the equivalent value of the remaining years until the Jubilee.According to the multitude of years you shall increase its price, and according to the fewness of years you shall diminish the price of it; for what he sells you is a number of years of produce.
All of the above, however, does not apply to the sale of a home within a walled city. Such a sale can be “redeemed” during the first year only; if the seller or his relative do not exercise this right, it remains in the hand of the buyer, nor does it revert to its original owner on the Jubilee year.
(Regarding the Levites, who did not receive estates in the Holy Land, only cities in which to live, the sale of a home in the city does return to the Levite owner in the Jubilee year, “for the houses of the cities of the Levites—these are their estate among the children of Israel.”)
Prohibition of Usury
If your brother grow poor, and his means fail with you, then you shall support him—be he a stranger or a citizen—that he may live with you.
Take no usury of him, or increase, but fear your G‑d, that your brother may live with you.
You shall not give him your money upon usury, nor lend him your foodstuffs for increase. I am G‑d your G‑d.
And what of the person so impoverished that he has nothing to sell but his own self?The Indentured Servant
If your brother who dwells by you grows poor, and be sold to you, you shall not work him as a slave.
But as a hired servant and as a citizen he shall be with you, and shall serve you until the year of Jubilee.
Then shall he depart from you, both he and his children with him, and shall return to his own family, and to the estate of his fathers shall he return.
For to Me are the children of Israel servants; they are My servants, whom I brought forth out of the land of Egypt; I am G‑d your G‑d.
“If you walk in My statutes and keep My commandments and do them, I will give your rain in due season, the land shall yield its produce, and the trees of the field shall yield their fruit.”Reward
Thus opens the second Parshah in this week’s reading,Bechukotai (“in My statutes”), which goes on to enumerate the earthly blessings that will result when the people of Israel follow G‑d’s commandments:
Your threshing shall reach to the vintage, and the vintage shall reach to the sowing time; and you shall eat your bread to the full, and dwell secure in your land.
I will give peace in the land; and you shall lie down, and none shall make you afraid. I will remove evil beasts out of the land, neither shall the sword pass through your land.
You shall chase your enemies, and they shall fall before you by the sword. Five of you shall pursue a hundred, and a hundred of you shall put ten thousand to flight . . .
For I will turn My face to you. I will make you fruitful and multiply you, and establish My covenant with you . . .
I will place My dwelling amongst you; and My soul shall not abhor you. I will walk among you; I will be your G‑d, and you shall be My people.
I am the L‑rd your G‑d who brought you out from the land of Egypt, from being their slaves; I have broken the bars of your yoke, and made you walkupright.
I will give peace in the land; and you shall lie down, and none shall make you afraid. I will remove evil beasts out of the land, neither shall the sword pass through your land.
You shall chase your enemies, and they shall fall before you by the sword. Five of you shall pursue a hundred, and a hundred of you shall put ten thousand to flight . . .
For I will turn My face to you. I will make you fruitful and multiply you, and establish My covenant with you . . .
I will place My dwelling amongst you; and My soul shall not abhor you. I will walk among you; I will be your G‑d, and you shall be My people.
I am the L‑rd your G‑d who brought you out from the land of Egypt, from being their slaves; I have broken the bars of your yoke, and made you walkupright.
Then comes the tochachah (“rebuke” or “punishment”)—a harshly detailed prediction of what will befall the people of Israel when they turn away from G‑d:The Rebuke
But if you will not hearken to Me, and will not do all these commands; if you shall despise My statutes, if your soul shall abhor my laws, so that you will not do all My commandments, and break My covenant,
I also will do this to you; I will appoint over you terror, consumption and fever, that shall consume the eyes, and cause sorrow of heart . . .
I will set My face against you, and you shall be slain before your enemies; they that hate you shall reign over you, and you shall flee when none pursues you . . .
I will make your skies like iron, and your earth like brass. Your strength shall be spent in vain, for your land shall not yield her produce, neither shall the trees of the land yield their fruit . . .
I shall cast your carcasses upon the carcasses of your idols. . . . I shall lay desolate your holyplaces . . .
And you I shall scatter amongst the nations . . .your land shall be desolate, your cities in ruins. . . . Those who remain of you shall pine away in their iniquity in your enemies’ lands . . .
And yet,And you I shall scatter amongst the nations . . .your land shall be desolate, your cities in ruins. . . . Those who remain of you shall pine away in their iniquity in your enemies’ lands . . .
I will remember My covenant with Jacob. Also My covenant with Isaac, also My covenant with Abraham will I remember; and I will remember the land . . .
Despite all, the people of Israel shall forever remain G‑d’s people:
Even when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not cast them away; nor will I ever abhor them, to destroy them and to break My covenant with them; for I am the L‑rd their G‑d.
The second part of Bechukotai legislates the laws oferachin (“values” or “appraisals”)—the manner by which to calculate the values of different types of pledges made to G‑d.Values and Appraisals
If a person is pledged (i.e., a person declares “I pledge my value to G‑d” or “I pledge this person’s value”), the Torah sets a fixed sum, based on the age and sex of the pledged person and ranging from 3 to 50 shekels, which is seen to represent that pledged person’s monetary “value.” This amount is given to the treasury of the Holy Temple by the one who made the pledge.
If a kosher, unblemished animal is pledged to G‑d, it is brought as an offering in the Holy Temple. “He shall not exchange it nor substitute another for it, be it a good for a bad, or a bad for a good; and if he shall at all exchange beast for beast, then it and its substitute shall both be holy.”
Other objects (such as a nonkosher animal or a house) are given to the Temple treasury to be sold, or else they are redeemed by their pledger for their assessed market value plus 20%.
A pledged field goes to the Temple treasury until the Jubilee year (see above), at which time it goes to thekohen (priest). A person wishing to redeem his pledged field is assessed not according to the field’s market value, but by the Torah’s own criteria: 50 shekel perbeit chomer (an area equivalent to slightly less than four acres). This amount is to be deducted in accordance with how many years remain until the Jubilee year (e.g., if only 20 years remain until the Jubilee, than the value per beit chomer is 20 shekels). The 20% addition also applies.
“These are the commandments,” our Parshah concludes and closes the book of Leviticus, “which G‑d commanded to Moses for the children of Israel on Mount Sinai.”
From Our Sages
G‑d spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai, saying . . . (Leviticus 25:1)
What has the Sabbatical year to do with Mount Sinai? Were not all commandments given on Sinai? But the verse wishes to tell us: just as with the Sabbatical year both its general principle and its minute details were ordained on Mount Sinai, so, too, was it with all the commandments—their general principles as well as their minute details were ordained on Mount Sinai.
Rabbi Akiva says: The general principles and the details were given at Sinai. They were then repeated in the Tent of Meeting, and enjoined a third time in the Plains of Moab (i.e., in Moses’ narrative in the book of Deuteronomy).
The Torah is telling us that a Shemittah is to both precede and follow our six years of labor: to follow it on the calendar, but to also precede it—if not in actuality, then conceptually.
We find a similar duality in regard to the weekly seven-day cycle. The weekly Shabbat has a twofold role: a) It is the day “from which all successive days are blessed”—the source of material and spiritual sustenance for the week to follow. b) It is the “culmination” of the week—the day on which the week’s labors and efforts are harvested and sublimated, and their inner spiritual significance is realized and brought to light.
But if every week must have a Shabbat to “bless” it, what about the week of creation itself? In actuality, G‑d began His creation of existence—including the creation of time—on Sunday, which is therefore called the “First Day.” But our sages tell us that there was a primordial Shabbat which preceded creation—a Shabbat existing not in time but in the mind of G‑d, as a vision of a completed and perfected world.
Therein lies an important lesson in how we are to approach the mundane involvements of life. True, we begin with the material, for in a world governed by cause and effect, the means inevitably precede the end. But what is first in actuality need not be first in mind. In mind and consciousness, the end must precede the means, for without a clear vision of their purpose to guide them, the means may begin to see themselves as the end.
The spiritual harvest of a Shabbat or Shemittah can be achieved only after a “work-week” of dealing with the material world and developing its resources. But it must be preceded and predicated upon “a sabbath unto G‑d” that occupies the fore of our consciousness and pervades our every deed.
Rabbi Yosei the son of Rabbi Chanina said: Come and see how harsh are the results of [violating the provisions of] the seventh year. A man who trades in seventh-year produce must eventually sell his movables, for it is said, “In this year of Jubilee you shall return every man unto his possession,” and immediately after it says: “If you sell aught to your fellow.” If he disregards this, he eventually sells his estates, since following that it is said: “If your brother becomes poor, and sells some of his estate.” Before he knows it, he is selling his house, for next it is written: “If a man sell a dwelling house in a walled city” . . . Before he knows it, he is compelled to borrow on interest, for next it is written: “If your brother becomes poor, and his hand fail with you . . . take no usury of him.” And before he knows it, he is selling himself, as it is said, “If your brother becomes poor with you and sells himself to you” . . .
Legally, it is only forbidden to defraud one’s fellow. But a chassid must go beyond the letter of the law, and take care not to delude himself, either.
Our sages tell us that the seven-year Shemittah cycle corresponds to the seven millennia of history. For six thousand years man labors in the fields of the material world, in preparation for the seventh millennium—a millennium that is “wholly Sabbath and tranquility, for life everlasting,” the era of Moshiach.
Thus, the question “What shall we eat in the seventh year?” can be asked on the historical plane as well. If the spiritual giants of earlier generations—the patriarchs and the matriarchs, the prophets, the sages of the Talmud—failed to bring about a perfect world, what can be expected of us? If the first five millennia of history could not provide for the universal Sabbath, what can be expected of us, we of the “sixth year,” exhausted and depleted of spirit?
Yet the sixth year will be the one to yield and sustain the seventh. Precisely because our resources are so meager, our every trial and achievement is so much more meaningful, so much more precious to G‑d. He therefore promises to command His blessing to our efforts, so that they shall nourish the sabbatical millennium and beyond.
If you walk in My statutes (Leviticus 26:3)
The word “if” is to be understood as a plea on the part of G‑d: “If only you would follow My statutes . . .”
The Torah comes in two forms: written and engraved. On the last day of his life, Moses inscribed the Torah on parchment scrolls. But this written Torah was preceded by an engraved Torah: the divine law was first given to us encapsulated in the Ten Commandments, which were etched by the hand of G‑d in two tablets of stone.
When something is written, the substance of the letters that express it—the ink—remains a separate entity from the substance upon which they have been set—the parchment. On the other hand, letters engraved in stone are forged in it: the words are stone and the stone is words.
By the same token, there is an aspect of Torah that is “inked” on our soul: we understand it, our emotions are roused by it; it becomes our “lifestyle” or even our “personality”; but it remains something additional to ourselves. But there is a dimension of Torah that is chok, engraved in our being. There is a dimension of Torah which expresses a bond with G‑d that is of the very essence of the Jewish soul.
Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch heard this, and objected: “No, the identity of the Jew cannot be compared to erasable ink on parchment. Every Jew is indeed a letter in G‑d’s Torah, but a letter carved in stone. At times, the dust and dirt may accumulate and distort—or even completely conceal—the letter’s true form; but underneath it all, the letter remains whole. We need only sweep away the surface grime, and the letter, in all its perfection and beauty, will come to light.”
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Rabbi Jacob said: There is no reward for the mitzvot in this world . . .
[What is the proof for this?] In connection with the mitzvah of honoring one’s parents it is written, “In order that your days may be prolonged, and that it may go well with you” (Deuteronomy 5:16). In reference to the mitzvah of “dismissal of the nest” (to chase away the mother bird before taking the young) it is written, “That it may be well with you, and that you may prolong your days” (ibid. 22:7). Now, what if a person’s father says to him, “Ascend to the loft and bring me young birds,” and he ascends to the loft, dismisses the mother and takes the young, and on his return falls and is killed—where is this man’s wellbeing, and where is this man’s long days? But “in order that it may be well with you” means on the day that is wholly good; and “in order that thy days may be long,” on the day that is wholly long.
Perhaps such things don’t happen? Rabbi Jacob saw an actual occurrence.
All that is true, and did, and will, come to pass. When we fulfill all the commandments of the Torah, all the good things of this world will come to us; and when we transgress them, the evils mentioned in the Torah will happen to us. Nevertheless, those good things are not the ultimate reward of the mitzvot, nor are those evils the ultimate punishment for transgressing them.
The explanation of the matter is thus: G‑d gave us this Torah; it is a tree of life, and whoever observes all that is written in it and knows it with a complete knowledge merits thereby the life of the world to come. . . . Yet G‑d also promised us in the Torah that if we observe it with joy . . . He will remove from us all things that may prevent us from fulfilling it, such as illness, war, hunger, and the like, and He will bestow upon us all blessings that bolster our hand to observe the Torah, such as abundant food, peace, and much gold and silver, in order that we should not need to preoccupy ourselves all our days with our material needs, but be free to learn the wisdom and observe the commandments by which we shall merit the life of the world to come . . .
By the same token, we are employed by G‑d to develop and elevate His world through the performing of mitzvot. The actual reward for our work will come later, in the world to come, after our task is completed; but G‑d is also “obligated” to allow us to enjoy the material blessings of this world, which is the object of our toil.
Doubtless, the religions of those times—as do the religions of our times—all promised rewards destined for the soul after its departure from the body, so as to distance the proof of their claims. Because they are not in possession of the truth, they cannot promise an imminent and tangible sign. . . . But our Torah makes promises that can be confirmed in the here and now—something that no other teaching can do.
At times when people do not usually go out, like the eve of Shabbat.
In the days of Moshiach, every species of tree will bear edible fruit.
There may be food, there may be drink, but if there is no peace, there is nothing.
That there will not be war goes without saying; the sword will not even pass through your land on the way to another country.
But is this the right proportion? It should have stated only “and a hundred of you shall pursue two thousand.” But the explanation is: a few who fulfill the commandments of the Torah cannot compare with many who fulfill the commandments of the Torah.
An animal walks with its face to the earth, for earthiness and materiality is all that it knows. Man walks upright, for man was born to gaze upon and aspire to the heavens.
There are different opinions among the Kabbalists in regard to the rewards and punishments that the Torah predicts for the observance or non-observance of the mitzvot. Nachmanides is of the opinion that “the rewards that befall a person for the doing of a mitzvah, or the punishments that come because of a transgression, come about only by supra-natural means. Were a person to be left to his nature and natural fate, the righteousness of his deeds would not give anything to him nor take anything from him. Rather, the Torah’s rewards and punishments in this world are all miracles. They come hidden, for the one who observes them thinks them to have occurred by the normal conduct of the world; but they are in truth divinely ordained rewards and punishments to the person.”
Other Kabbalists, however, maintain that this is a natural process. In the words of Shaloh: “The supernal worlds respond to the actions of the lower world, and from there the blessing spreads to those who caused it. To one who understands this truth, it is not a miracle, but the nature of the avodah (man’s life’s work to serve G‑d).” In other words, punishment for wrongdoing is no more G‑d’s “revenge” than falling to the ground is divine retribution for jumping out the window. Just as the Creator established certain laws of cause and effect that define the natural behavior of the physical universe, so too did He establish a spiritual-moral “nature,” by which doing good results in a good and fulfilling life, and doing evil results in negative and strifeful experiences.
A third approach sees the suffering associated with sin as the byproduct of G‑d’s rehabilitation of the iniquitous soul. The analogy is the removal of an infective splinter from a person’s body: the pain that is experienced is not a “punishment” as such for the person’s carelessness, but an inevitable part of the healing process itself. The fact that a foreign body has become embedded in living flesh and has caused its decay makes its removal a painful experience. By the same token, when something alien to the soul’s bond with G‑d has become embedded within it, the extraction of this alien body, and the healing of the bond, is experienced as painful to both body and soul.
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The most terrible of punishments is for G‑d to indulge the sinner this vanity. For G‑d to say: “All right, have it your way; what happens to you is of no significance”—for G‑d to act toward him as if He really does not care what happens to him.
When a father punishes his child, the suffering he inflicts on himself is greater than anything experienced by the child. So it is with G‑d: His pain is greater than our pain.
It was told of Elijah the Righteous that while searching for those who were languishing with hunger in Jerusalem, he once found a child faint with hunger lying upon a dungheap.
“Of what family are you?” he asked him. “I belong to this-and-this family,” the child replied. He asked: “Are any of that family left?” and he answered, “None, excepting myself.”
Thereupon he asked: “If I teach you something by which you will live, will you learn?” He replied, “Yes.” “Then,” said he, “recite every day: “Hear O Israel, the L‑rd is our G‑d, the L‑rd is one.” But the child retorted: “Be silent, for one must not make mention of the name of G‑d”—for so his father and mother had taught him—and straightaway he brought forth an idol from his bosom, embracing and kissing it, until his stomach burst, his idol fell to the earth, and he upon it, thus fulfilling the verse, “I shall cast your carcasses upon the carcasses of your idols.”
Even in their desolation, they retain their holiness.
This is actually a blessing for Israel—that their enemies will derive no satisfaction from the land, for it shall remain desolate as long as the people of Israel are exiled from it.
G‑d did a kindness to the people of Israel, that He scattered them amongst the nations. For if they were concentrated in one place, the heathens would make war on them; but since they are dispersed, they cannot be destroyed.
And you I shall scatter amongst the nations (26:33)
The people of Israel were exiled among the nations only in order that converts should be added to them.
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said: Come and see how beloved are Israel in the sight of G‑d, in that to every place to which they were exiled the Shechinah (Divine Presence) went with them. They were exiled to Egypt and the Shechinah was with them, as it says, “Did I reveal myself unto the house of your father when they were in Egypt” (I Samuel 2:27). They were exiled to Babylon and the Shechinah was with them, as it says, “For your sake I was sent to Babylon” (Isaiah 43:14). And when they will be redeemed in the future, the Shechinah will be with them, as it says, “Then the L‑rd your G‑d will return with your captivity” (Deuteronomy 30:3)
Every person was born to a mission in life that is distinctly, uniquely and exclusively their own. No one—not even the greatest of souls—can take his or her place. No person who ever lived or who ever will live can fulfill that particular aspect of G‑d’s purpose in creation in his stead.
A wealthy businessman and his coachman arrived in a city one Friday afternoon. After the rich man was settled at the best hotel in town, the coachman went off to his humble lodgings.
Both washed and dressed for Shabbat, and then set out for the synagogue for the evening prayers. On his way to shul, the businessman came across a wagon which had swerved off the road and was stuck in a ditch. Rushing to help a fellow in need, he climbed down into the ditch and began pushing and pulling at the wagon together with its hapless driver. But for all his good intentions, the businessman was hopelessly out of his depth. After struggling for an hour in the knee-deep mud, he succeeded only in ruining his best suit of Shabbat clothes and getting the wagon even more hopelessly embedded in the mud. Finally, he dragged his bruised and aching body to the synagogue, arriving a scant minute before the start of Shabbat.
Meanwhile, the coachman arrived early to the synagogue and sat down to recite a few chapters of Psalms. At the synagogue he found a group of wandering paupers, and being blessed with a most generous nature, invited them all to share his meal. When the synagogue sexton approached the paupers to arrange meal placements at the town’s householders, as is customary in Jewish communities, he received the same reply from them all: “Thank you, but I have already been invited for the Shabbat meal.”
Unfortunately, however, the coachman’s means were unequal to his generous heart, and his dozen guests left his table with but a shadow of a meal in their hungry stomachs.
Thus the coachman, with his twenty years of experience in extracting wagons from mudholes, took it upon himself to feed a small army, while the wealthy businessman, whose Shabbat meal leftovers could easily have fed every hungry man within a ten-mile radius, floundered about in a ditch.
“Every soul,” said Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak in conclusion, “is entrusted with a mission unique to her alone, and is granted the specific aptitudes, talents and resources necessary to excel in her ordained role. One most take care not to become one of those ‘lost souls’ who wander through life trying their hand at every field of endeavor except for what is truly and inherently their own.”
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My Place or Yours?
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• Knowledge vs. Wisdom (By Mendel Kalmenson)
What has the Sabbatical year to do with Mount Sinai? Were not all commandments given on Sinai? But the verse wishes to tell us: just as with the Sabbatical year both its general principle and its minute details were ordained on Mount Sinai, so, too, was it with all the commandments—their general principles as well as their minute details were ordained on Mount Sinai.
(Torat Kohanim; Rashi)
Rabbi Ishmael says: The general principles of the Torah were given at Sinai, and the details [when G‑d spoke to Moses] in the Tent of Meeting.Rabbi Akiva says: The general principles and the details were given at Sinai. They were then repeated in the Tent of Meeting, and enjoined a third time in the Plains of Moab (i.e., in Moses’ narrative in the book of Deuteronomy).
(Talmud, Shabbat 6a)
When you come into the land which I give you, the land shall rest a sabbath unto G‑d (25:2)
Taken on its own, this verse seems to imply that “a sabbath unto G‑d” is to be observed immediately upon entering the Land. But in practice, when the Jewish people entered the Land of Israel they first worked the land for six years, and only then observed the seventh year as the Shemittah (sabbatical year)—as, indeed, the Torah clearly instructs in the following verses.The Torah is telling us that a Shemittah is to both precede and follow our six years of labor: to follow it on the calendar, but to also precede it—if not in actuality, then conceptually.
We find a similar duality in regard to the weekly seven-day cycle. The weekly Shabbat has a twofold role: a) It is the day “from which all successive days are blessed”—the source of material and spiritual sustenance for the week to follow. b) It is the “culmination” of the week—the day on which the week’s labors and efforts are harvested and sublimated, and their inner spiritual significance is realized and brought to light.
But if every week must have a Shabbat to “bless” it, what about the week of creation itself? In actuality, G‑d began His creation of existence—including the creation of time—on Sunday, which is therefore called the “First Day.” But our sages tell us that there was a primordial Shabbat which preceded creation—a Shabbat existing not in time but in the mind of G‑d, as a vision of a completed and perfected world.
Therein lies an important lesson in how we are to approach the mundane involvements of life. True, we begin with the material, for in a world governed by cause and effect, the means inevitably precede the end. But what is first in actuality need not be first in mind. In mind and consciousness, the end must precede the means, for without a clear vision of their purpose to guide them, the means may begin to see themselves as the end.
The spiritual harvest of a Shabbat or Shemittah can be achieved only after a “work-week” of dealing with the material world and developing its resources. But it must be preceded and predicated upon “a sabbath unto G‑d” that occupies the fore of our consciousness and pervades our every deed.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
Rabbi Yosei the son of Rabbi Chanina said: Come and see how harsh are the results of [violating the provisions of] the seventh year. A man who trades in seventh-year produce must eventually sell his movables, for it is said, “In this year of Jubilee you shall return every man unto his possession,” and immediately after it says: “If you sell aught to your fellow.” If he disregards this, he eventually sells his estates, since following that it is said: “If your brother becomes poor, and sells some of his estate.” Before he knows it, he is selling his house, for next it is written: “If a man sell a dwelling house in a walled city” . . . Before he knows it, he is compelled to borrow on interest, for next it is written: “If your brother becomes poor, and his hand fail with you . . . take no usury of him.” And before he knows it, he is selling himself, as it is said, “If your brother becomes poor with you and sells himself to you” . . .
(Talmud, Kiddushin 20a)
If you sell aught to your fellow, or buy aught from your fellow’s hand, you shall not defraud one another (25:14) . . . You shall not defraud one another; but you shall fear your G‑d (25:17)
The first verse refers to financial fraud. The second verse forbids verbal fraud—speaking hurtful words or giving bad advice. That is why the second verse adds “but you shall fear your G‑d,” lest a person say: Who will know that my intention was to do him evil?
(Torat Kohanim; Rashi)
Legally, it is only forbidden to defraud one’s fellow. But a chassid must go beyond the letter of the law, and take care not to delude himself, either.
(Rabbi Bunim of Pshischa)
If you shall say: What shall we eat in the seventh year? Behold, we shall not sow, nor gather in our produce! But I will command My blessing upon you in the sixth year, and it shall bring forth fruit for three years . . . (25:20–21)
The question “What shall we eat in the seventh year?” is even more pressing in light of the fact that, the land having been depleted by five years of planting, the sixth year’s yield is naturally less than average. Yet G‑d promises that it will provide not only for a full year’s sustenance, but also for the seventh year and beyond.Our sages tell us that the seven-year Shemittah cycle corresponds to the seven millennia of history. For six thousand years man labors in the fields of the material world, in preparation for the seventh millennium—a millennium that is “wholly Sabbath and tranquility, for life everlasting,” the era of Moshiach.
Thus, the question “What shall we eat in the seventh year?” can be asked on the historical plane as well. If the spiritual giants of earlier generations—the patriarchs and the matriarchs, the prophets, the sages of the Talmud—failed to bring about a perfect world, what can be expected of us? If the first five millennia of history could not provide for the universal Sabbath, what can be expected of us, we of the “sixth year,” exhausted and depleted of spirit?
Yet the sixth year will be the one to yield and sustain the seventh. Precisely because our resources are so meager, our every trial and achievement is so much more meaningful, so much more precious to G‑d. He therefore promises to command His blessing to our efforts, so that they shall nourish the sabbatical millennium and beyond.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
For they are My servants, whom I took out of the land of Egypt; they cannot be sold into slavery (25:42)
At the time of the Exodus, G‑d made freedom the inherent and eternal state of the Jew. From that point on, no power or force on earth can subvert our intrinsic freedom.
(Maharal)
If you walk in My statutes (Leviticus 26:3)
The word “if” is to be understood as a plea on the part of G‑d: “If only you would follow My statutes . . .”
(Talmud, Avodah Zarah 5a)
If you walk in My statutes (Leviticus 26:3)
The word chok (“statute” or “decree”), which gives the Parshah of Bechukotai its name, literally means “engraved.”The Torah comes in two forms: written and engraved. On the last day of his life, Moses inscribed the Torah on parchment scrolls. But this written Torah was preceded by an engraved Torah: the divine law was first given to us encapsulated in the Ten Commandments, which were etched by the hand of G‑d in two tablets of stone.
When something is written, the substance of the letters that express it—the ink—remains a separate entity from the substance upon which they have been set—the parchment. On the other hand, letters engraved in stone are forged in it: the words are stone and the stone is words.
By the same token, there is an aspect of Torah that is “inked” on our soul: we understand it, our emotions are roused by it; it becomes our “lifestyle” or even our “personality”; but it remains something additional to ourselves. But there is a dimension of Torah that is chok, engraved in our being. There is a dimension of Torah which expresses a bond with G‑d that is of the very essence of the Jewish soul.
(Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi)
A rabbi once offered the following analogy: “Every Jew is a letter in the Torah. But a letter may, at times, grow somewhat faded. It is our sacred duty to mend these faded letters and make G‑d’s Torah whole again.”Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch heard this, and objected: “No, the identity of the Jew cannot be compared to erasable ink on parchment. Every Jew is indeed a letter in G‑d’s Torah, but a letter carved in stone. At times, the dust and dirt may accumulate and distort—or even completely conceal—the letter’s true form; but underneath it all, the letter remains whole. We need only sweep away the surface grime, and the letter, in all its perfection and beauty, will come to light.”
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Rabbi Jacob said: There is no reward for the mitzvot in this world . . .
[What is the proof for this?] In connection with the mitzvah of honoring one’s parents it is written, “In order that your days may be prolonged, and that it may go well with you” (Deuteronomy 5:16). In reference to the mitzvah of “dismissal of the nest” (to chase away the mother bird before taking the young) it is written, “That it may be well with you, and that you may prolong your days” (ibid. 22:7). Now, what if a person’s father says to him, “Ascend to the loft and bring me young birds,” and he ascends to the loft, dismisses the mother and takes the young, and on his return falls and is killed—where is this man’s wellbeing, and where is this man’s long days? But “in order that it may be well with you” means on the day that is wholly good; and “in order that thy days may be long,” on the day that is wholly long.
Perhaps such things don’t happen? Rabbi Jacob saw an actual occurrence.
(Talmud, Kiddushin 39b)
Since we know that the reward for the mitzvot, and the good which we shall merit if we keep the way of G‑d written in the Torah, is solely in the life of the world to come . . . and the retribution exacted from the wicked who abandon the ways of righteousness written in the Torah is the cutting off [of the soul] . . . why does it say throughout the Torah, “If you obey, you will receive such-and-such; if you do not obey, it shall happen to you such-and-such”—things that are of the present world, such as plenty and hunger, war and peace, sovereignty and subjugation, inhabitancy of the land and exile, success and failure, and the like?All that is true, and did, and will, come to pass. When we fulfill all the commandments of the Torah, all the good things of this world will come to us; and when we transgress them, the evils mentioned in the Torah will happen to us. Nevertheless, those good things are not the ultimate reward of the mitzvot, nor are those evils the ultimate punishment for transgressing them.
The explanation of the matter is thus: G‑d gave us this Torah; it is a tree of life, and whoever observes all that is written in it and knows it with a complete knowledge merits thereby the life of the world to come. . . . Yet G‑d also promised us in the Torah that if we observe it with joy . . . He will remove from us all things that may prevent us from fulfilling it, such as illness, war, hunger, and the like, and He will bestow upon us all blessings that bolster our hand to observe the Torah, such as abundant food, peace, and much gold and silver, in order that we should not need to preoccupy ourselves all our days with our material needs, but be free to learn the wisdom and observe the commandments by which we shall merit the life of the world to come . . .
(Mishneh Torah, Laws of Repentance 9:1)
Maimonides’ concept of the “reward” for mitzvot in this world has a parallel in Torah law. The law states that farm workers must be allowed to eat of the food they are working with; even an animal may not be “muzzled as it threshes.” This is not payment for their work—their wages they receive later, after their work is done—but a special provision that says that they must be allowed to eat from the produce they are working with.By the same token, we are employed by G‑d to develop and elevate His world through the performing of mitzvot. The actual reward for our work will come later, in the world to come, after our task is completed; but G‑d is also “obligated” to allow us to enjoy the material blessings of this world, which is the object of our toil.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
moreDoubtless, the religions of those times—as do the religions of our times—all promised rewards destined for the soul after its departure from the body, so as to distance the proof of their claims. Because they are not in possession of the truth, they cannot promise an imminent and tangible sign. . . . But our Torah makes promises that can be confirmed in the here and now—something that no other teaching can do.
(Ran)
At times when people do not usually go out, like the eve of Shabbat.
(Talmud; Rashi)
In the days of Moshiach, every species of tree will bear edible fruit.
(Torat Kohanim; Rashi)
There may be food, there may be drink, but if there is no peace, there is nothing.
(Rashi)
That there will not be war goes without saying; the sword will not even pass through your land on the way to another country.
(Torat Kohanim; Rashi)
But is this the right proportion? It should have stated only “and a hundred of you shall pursue two thousand.” But the explanation is: a few who fulfill the commandments of the Torah cannot compare with many who fulfill the commandments of the Torah.
(Torat Kohanim; Rashi)
An animal walks with its face to the earth, for earthiness and materiality is all that it knows. Man walks upright, for man was born to gaze upon and aspire to the heavens.
(Rabbi DovBer of Mezeritch)
There are different opinions among the Kabbalists in regard to the rewards and punishments that the Torah predicts for the observance or non-observance of the mitzvot. Nachmanides is of the opinion that “the rewards that befall a person for the doing of a mitzvah, or the punishments that come because of a transgression, come about only by supra-natural means. Were a person to be left to his nature and natural fate, the righteousness of his deeds would not give anything to him nor take anything from him. Rather, the Torah’s rewards and punishments in this world are all miracles. They come hidden, for the one who observes them thinks them to have occurred by the normal conduct of the world; but they are in truth divinely ordained rewards and punishments to the person.”
Other Kabbalists, however, maintain that this is a natural process. In the words of Shaloh: “The supernal worlds respond to the actions of the lower world, and from there the blessing spreads to those who caused it. To one who understands this truth, it is not a miracle, but the nature of the avodah (man’s life’s work to serve G‑d).” In other words, punishment for wrongdoing is no more G‑d’s “revenge” than falling to the ground is divine retribution for jumping out the window. Just as the Creator established certain laws of cause and effect that define the natural behavior of the physical universe, so too did He establish a spiritual-moral “nature,” by which doing good results in a good and fulfilling life, and doing evil results in negative and strifeful experiences.
A third approach sees the suffering associated with sin as the byproduct of G‑d’s rehabilitation of the iniquitous soul. The analogy is the removal of an infective splinter from a person’s body: the pain that is experienced is not a “punishment” as such for the person’s carelessness, but an inevitable part of the healing process itself. The fact that a foreign body has become embedded in living flesh and has caused its decay makes its removal a painful experience. By the same token, when something alien to the soul’s bond with G‑d has become embedded within it, the extraction of this alien body, and the healing of the bond, is experienced as painful to both body and soul.
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If you will not hearken to Me, and walk casually with Me, I too will act casually with you . . . (26:28)
All sins derive from the sin of insignificance: when a person ceases to be sensitive to the paramount importance which G‑d attaches to his life and deeds. “I don’t really matter” is not humility—it is the ultimate arrogance. It really means: “I can do what I want.”The most terrible of punishments is for G‑d to indulge the sinner this vanity. For G‑d to say: “All right, have it your way; what happens to you is of no significance”—for G‑d to act toward him as if He really does not care what happens to him.
(The Chassidic Masters)
moreWhen a father punishes his child, the suffering he inflicts on himself is greater than anything experienced by the child. So it is with G‑d: His pain is greater than our pain.
(Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov)
It was told of Elijah the Righteous that while searching for those who were languishing with hunger in Jerusalem, he once found a child faint with hunger lying upon a dungheap.
“Of what family are you?” he asked him. “I belong to this-and-this family,” the child replied. He asked: “Are any of that family left?” and he answered, “None, excepting myself.”
Thereupon he asked: “If I teach you something by which you will live, will you learn?” He replied, “Yes.” “Then,” said he, “recite every day: “Hear O Israel, the L‑rd is our G‑d, the L‑rd is one.” But the child retorted: “Be silent, for one must not make mention of the name of G‑d”—for so his father and mother had taught him—and straightaway he brought forth an idol from his bosom, embracing and kissing it, until his stomach burst, his idol fell to the earth, and he upon it, thus fulfilling the verse, “I shall cast your carcasses upon the carcasses of your idols.”
(Talmud, Sanhedrin 63b)
Even in their desolation, they retain their holiness.
(Talmud, Megillah 28a)
This is actually a blessing for Israel—that their enemies will derive no satisfaction from the land, for it shall remain desolate as long as the people of Israel are exiled from it.
(Rashi)
G‑d did a kindness to the people of Israel, that He scattered them amongst the nations. For if they were concentrated in one place, the heathens would make war on them; but since they are dispersed, they cannot be destroyed.
(Talmud, Pesachim 87b; Midrash Lekach Tov)
And you I shall scatter amongst the nations (26:33)
The people of Israel were exiled among the nations only in order that converts should be added to them.
(Talmud, ibid.)
The “converts” that the Talmud speaks of are the “sparks of holiness” contained within the material resources of the world, which are redeemed and elevated when we use these resources in our service of G‑d.
(The Chassidic Masters)
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said: Come and see how beloved are Israel in the sight of G‑d, in that to every place to which they were exiled the Shechinah (Divine Presence) went with them. They were exiled to Egypt and the Shechinah was with them, as it says, “Did I reveal myself unto the house of your father when they were in Egypt” (I Samuel 2:27). They were exiled to Babylon and the Shechinah was with them, as it says, “For your sake I was sent to Babylon” (Isaiah 43:14). And when they will be redeemed in the future, the Shechinah will be with them, as it says, “Then the L‑rd your G‑d will return with your captivity” (Deuteronomy 30:3)
(Talmud, Megillah 29a)
Rabbi Isaac ben Samuel says in the name of Rav: The night has three watches, and at each watch the Holy One, blessed be He, sits and roars like a lion and says: Woe to the children on account of whose sins I destroyed My house and burnt My Temple and exiled them among the nations of the world . . . Woe to the father who has banished his children, and woe to the children who have been banished from the table of their father!
(Talmud, Berachot 3a)
Every person was born to a mission in life that is distinctly, uniquely and exclusively their own. No one—not even the greatest of souls—can take his or her place. No person who ever lived or who ever will live can fulfill that particular aspect of G‑d’s purpose in creation in his stead.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
This point is illustrated by a story told by the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn:A wealthy businessman and his coachman arrived in a city one Friday afternoon. After the rich man was settled at the best hotel in town, the coachman went off to his humble lodgings.
Both washed and dressed for Shabbat, and then set out for the synagogue for the evening prayers. On his way to shul, the businessman came across a wagon which had swerved off the road and was stuck in a ditch. Rushing to help a fellow in need, he climbed down into the ditch and began pushing and pulling at the wagon together with its hapless driver. But for all his good intentions, the businessman was hopelessly out of his depth. After struggling for an hour in the knee-deep mud, he succeeded only in ruining his best suit of Shabbat clothes and getting the wagon even more hopelessly embedded in the mud. Finally, he dragged his bruised and aching body to the synagogue, arriving a scant minute before the start of Shabbat.
Meanwhile, the coachman arrived early to the synagogue and sat down to recite a few chapters of Psalms. At the synagogue he found a group of wandering paupers, and being blessed with a most generous nature, invited them all to share his meal. When the synagogue sexton approached the paupers to arrange meal placements at the town’s householders, as is customary in Jewish communities, he received the same reply from them all: “Thank you, but I have already been invited for the Shabbat meal.”
Unfortunately, however, the coachman’s means were unequal to his generous heart, and his dozen guests left his table with but a shadow of a meal in their hungry stomachs.
Thus the coachman, with his twenty years of experience in extracting wagons from mudholes, took it upon himself to feed a small army, while the wealthy businessman, whose Shabbat meal leftovers could easily have fed every hungry man within a ten-mile radius, floundered about in a ditch.
“Every soul,” said Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak in conclusion, “is entrusted with a mission unique to her alone, and is granted the specific aptitudes, talents and resources necessary to excel in her ordained role. One most take care not to become one of those ‘lost souls’ who wander through life trying their hand at every field of endeavor except for what is truly and inherently their own.”
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VIDEO
My Place or Yours?
The Sages declare that when the first day of the seven-week 'Omer' countdown begins on a Sunday, then the count is perfect and complete. But surely the 49-day count is perfect regardless of which day in the week it starts? In answering this question, this class addresses two kinds of relationships and where perfection really begins. by Moishe New
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• Knowledge vs. Wisdom (By Mendel Kalmenson)
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• Miriam bat Bilgah, Part 1 (By Binyomin Bitton)
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STORY
The Holocaust Torah and the Stories It Tells...
• Miriam bat Bilgah, Part 1 (By Binyomin Bitton)
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STORY
The Holocaust Torah and the Stories It Tells...
There were lots of things I knew about Mr. Friedman, and many I didn’t. One fact I thought I understood was that he’s always been a man of ordinary means. So when I first heard about the Holocaust Torah, I thought I’d misunderstood. By Yvette Miller
With his white beard, erect bearing and melodious voice, Mr. Friedman has been a fixture in our synagogue for decades. Whenever we need someone to lead services, he steps in—and fills the sanctuary with old-fashioned melodies that come directly from prewar Europe. At times—during services, Shabbat meals orkiddush—he hums loudly: operatic Jewish tunes I’ve heard only on old records, their melody swelling briefly. Reminders of the sounds of his youth.
For years, I learned about his past only in pieces—snatches of information gleaned from brief conversations. “Did you know that Mr. Friedman sailed on the Exodus?” my husband asked years ago, referring to the clandestine ship carrying hundreds of broken Holocaust survivors to what would soon become the state of Israel. The ship was intercepted and attacked by British forces, and its broken human cargo of desperate passengers was imprisoned behind barbed wire in Cyprus. Looking at the elderly man, I could scarcely believe it, and asked another elderly member of our synagogue who nodded grimly: “There’s a lot more to Mr. Friedman than meets the eye.”
Word spread, and we began asking Mr. Friedman questions, until finally one day he brought photos and newspaper clippings into synagogue and told his story to the enthralled congregation over Shabbat lunch.He was a teenager in 1947, orphaned and bereft
He was a teenager in 1947, recently released from a concentration camp, orphaned and bereft. The Haganah (the precursor to Israel’s military) organized the secret journey on the Exodus 1947. Mr. Friedman was one of those allowed on board the ship, which was named by its hopeful Jewish occupants. He described the overcrowded conditions, the fear as the rickety ship was attacked by British fighters, and the joy at being allowed to take a few steps on the shores of the Holy Land before being forced back on a ship and imprisoned by the British for months.
Once he settled in Israel, Mr. Friedman told the spellbound congregation, he was drafted into the new Jewish state’s fledgling army and fought in Israel’s war of independence.
“You’re a hero!” somebody cried, and Mr. Friedman gave a characteristic shake of his head. Explaining that he did a lot of guard duty, he brushed aside all compliments. “I drank a lot of coffee,” he shrugged, ending the conversation. He could be like that: brusque, cutting through sentimentality.
“You’re a pretty girl, but I can’t see your face with that hat,” he told me many times after Shabbat services. I started wearing hats with smaller brims to synagogue just to please him.
He could be prickly. When I invited him for a holiday meal, he insisted that he wanted to stay home, alone. “Who will you talk to?” I asked. “Look,” he replied, “I’ll put a mirror on the table in front of me, and talk to myself.”
He hadn’t always been alone. His wife, Lilly, was beautiful and sweet. I remember sitting next to her once in synagogue on Shavuot. She was eyeing the flowers decorating the synagogue for the holiday. “You should have seen the flowers we had back in Europe,” she sighed. “They filled the synagogue. And the sweet smell!” But Lilly had passed away several years ago, and Mr. Friedman was now alone, living in the small apartment they’d shared, every wall decorated with the vibrant needlepoint copies of famous paintings that Lilly loved to sew.
There were lots of things I knew about Mr. Friedman, and many I didn’t. One fact I thought I understood was that he’s always been a man of ordinary means. I’d seen his small apartment, and I’d asked him about his life once he moved to Chicago. “I worked for a candle manufacturer,” he had told me. Once, when I’d asked him why he didn’t visit Lilly’s relatives in Israel, he explained that he couldn’t afford the trip.
So when I first heard about the Holocaust Torah, I thought I’d misunderstood. “Who’s sponsoring the Torah?” I asked. I had participated in many campaigns to raise money for new Torah scrolls. Torah scrolls are painstakingly handwritten by scribes, using special handmade ink and parchment. It typically takes a scribe a year of full-time work to complete a Torah. The cost is very high. New Torah scrolls can run into the tens of thousands of dollars. It’s customary to invite everyone in a community to help contribute to the cost, and the fundraising to complete such a work can take years.
Mr. Friedman had commissioned a sefer Torah, our rabbi announced—an entire scroll—and had paid for the undertaking himself, in memory of his parents and his wife. The scroll itself was Mr. Friedman’s aloneWhen congregants asked to be allowed to contribute, he asked our rabbi to explain that this wasn’t possible. (In the end, a “deal” was struck: congregants were able to contribute towards purchasing a silver crown for the Torah, but the scroll itself was Mr. Friedman’s alone.) The next time I saw Mr. Friedman—tidy as ever, his white hair brushed neatly back, wearing what looked like an old, much-mended suit and a tie—I asked him about the Torah scroll.
“It’s in memory of my parents and my wife,” he explained, nodding.
I glanced at his frayed cuffs, his old and much-polished shoes. “However did you save enough to pay for it?” I asked.
Mr. Friedman fixed me with a piercing stare and enunciated slowly: “I’ve been saving for this Torah all my life.”
Shortly after this exchange, I brought a meal to Mr. Friedman’s apartment, and asked if he minded if I stayed and asked him about his parents. He led me to two old pictures hanging on his wall. They showed a very young man in a hat, and a girl—she looked scarcely out of her teens—wearing a wig. “These are my parents,” he said. He gazed at the pictures tenderly for a moment. “Ask what you like,” he said with a sigh.
Mr. Friedman (Mordechai was his given name) was born in Sárospatak, a Hungarian town of two thousand people, a quarter of whom were Jewish. His family was chassidic. He had an older sister, Sarah. “It was unusual for a chassidic family to have only two children,” he acknowledged. There had been complications at his birth, and his mother hadn’t been able to have more children.
“There was very little anti-Semitism,” Mr. Friedman said. “I complained once that a boy selling newspapers yelled at me and chased me. My father was a muscular man. He owned a hardware store.” The boy was warned, and other than that incident, there was little tension in his town.
“What were your parents like?” I asked. Mr. Friedman thought for a moment, settling on a story to tell.
Sometime in the early years of World War II, a tall German major came into his father’s store. “He was wearing medals,” Mr. Friedman recalled, and a familiar impish tone crept into his voice. “Where did he get the medals? He must have bought them, because he sure wasn’t born before World War I.” The major addressed Mr. Friedman’s father as “dirty Jew” and explained that everyone in town said his was the only hardware store that could supply all the building materials he needed to construct two military camps nearby, and at a reasonable price. “The major said he was sorry he couldn’t go elsewhere, and kept saying, ‘dirty Jew,’” Mr. Friedman said with a sad chuckle.
“Father sat and listened, and asked what was needed. When the major gave him a list, he said he could handle it and it wouldn’t be a problem. The major said that it had better not be a problem, and left without saying goodbye.
“On Shabbat, my father was wearing his shtreimel and kapota (a special Shabbat hat and coat) and was going to shul. The major’s sergeant showed up and said that they had an emergency and needed materials. My father turned to my mother and said, ‘Give the keys to the maid, and tell her to let the sergeant take what he needs.’ Then he went to shul.
“When he came home from shul, he didn’t mention the matter again. At the beginning of the month my father wrote an invoice, and my sister went to the military command and handed in the invoice. Two days later, the major came into the store and started yelling, saying that the invoice wasn’t right.” Mr. Friedman sighed. His father hadn’t charged for the items the sergeant took on Shabbat. As the major screamed and threatened his life, his father reluctantly wrote up an invoice—overlooking the many items the sergeant had stolen—and presented the official invoice to the major. After the major paid his bill, Mr. Friedman recalled, his father gave the money straight to charity.
When Mr. Friedman was 14, his father was taken away to perform slave labor for a military camp on the Russian front.They never saw each other againThey never saw each other again. “Before my father left,” Mr. Friedman recalled, “he took me aside and said, ‘I have a job for you, but you have to swear you won’t tell anybody.’ Then he showed me a list with half a dozen relatives’ names and addresses, and the amount he gave them for Shabbat every week.”
His father never used to eat breakfast with the family on Thursdays, and now at last young Mordechai understood why: Thursday morning was when his father went door to door distributing funds. As his father was taken away, Mr. Friedman hid the precious list under his mattress. “On Thursday, I took the list out, but I realized I didn’t know where to get the money. I went to my mother and told her the story. She started laughing, and I asked what was so funny. She said, ‘You think that living with your father so many years, I didn’t know what he was doing every Thursday morning? But he wanted to keep it a secret, so I let him.’” His mother gave him the money, and he was able to continue the tradition for a little while longer.
The Jews of Sárospatak were deported in 1944. Mr. Friedman doesn’t often talk of the events of the following year. “We went to the ghetto for a week or two,” he said. The truth of what was happening to European Jewry dawned on him slowly then. “Everybody found out the same way. You could smell it in Auschwitz.” Sent to Auschwitz, Mr. Friedman was assigned to a section next to a small area where Jewish men, women and children lived in almost normal conditions. “They had normal clothes, and the children played with toys,” Mr. Friedman recalls. He later found out that this was an area set up for the Red Cross, to show humanitarian observers that all was well in Auschwitz so that they could reassure the world that Jews there were treated well.
From Auschwitz he was sent to be a slave laborer in Dachau. “I worked at the BMW factory,” Mr. Friedman recalled. “At that time they made airplane engines. I worked on huge bomb shelters (for the factory workers), because the Americans were bombing them day and night. When we saw an American plane we would sometimes jump up and down, asking them to bomb us and put us out of our misery.” His characteristic humor emerging, Mr. Friedman’s voice took on a wry tone. “One day I had a little pleasure, if you can call it that. I was sent to Munich. It was really ruined then, late in the war. A police officer said, ‘Hook up a hose to the fire hydrant,’ and people lined up with bottles.” Mr. Friedman’s job was to hold the spigot, but it was the middle of winter and bitterly cold. “I spilled the water on the Germans”“My hand was shaking, so I spilled the water on the Germans, so I made for them a little problem,” he said with a bitter laugh.
After the war, and his experiences fighting for Israel, Mr. Friedman met his wife, Lilly, in the early 1950s. He saw her on a street corner of the Israeli city of Netanya, and she was so beautiful, he explained, that he had to find out who she was. I found myself nodding in agreement. Even in old age, when I knew her, Lilly was lovely, with beautiful sparkly blue eyes. My reverie about Lilly was broken as Mr. Friedman continued to tell me about Lilly’s horrific experiences in the Holocaust. I had not realized that she had a twin. She and her sister became subjects of Mengele’s gruesome twin experiments. The sisters survived, but the rest of their large family was wiped out. Lilly lived in London after the war, and told Mr. Friedman that she had to go back home. “I said that we would get married first,” he recalled, and they did.
Eventually settling in Chicago, Mr. Friedman and Lilly lived frugally. They both worked hard, and seldom recalled their early lives or wartime experiences. They never told people that through the decades they were quietly setting aside funds to one day honor their families and memorialize those they had lost.
Finally, on December 21, 2014, Mr. Friedman’s dream came true. The Torah he had commissioned was ready, and on a cold, brisk day, dozens of friends joined him as he led the Torah to its new home. His beloved wife didn’t live to see this day, but Mr. Friedman made sure that her memory was honored by the new scroll, too. Dedicated to his parents, Mendel and Raizy, and to his wife, Lilly, Mr. Friedman’s Holocaust Torah was his answer to all that was taken from him. “I didn’t want to pay for a plaque or a stone, something that people never look at or use,” he explained. For years, he had considered ways to best remember his loved ones. A Torah scroll is used each week, he said. It seemed a warmer, more fitting way to remember them.
Mr. Friedman insisted on carrying the scroll himself, up the synagogue driveway and into the building. A normally wry, taciturn man, he delivered a brief address to the congregation. But as he placed the Torah in its cabinet, he wept. At long last, his beloved parents, his beloved wife, were coming home.
More in Story:• The Pearl from G-d (Ruth Rabbah 3:4; Exodus Rabbah 52:3)
Rabbi Chiya and Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta were learning Torahtogether in the great study hall in Tiberias on the afternoon beforePassover (according to some, it was the afternoon before Yom Kippur), when they heard people talking loudly. Rabbi Shimon asked Rabbi Chiya, “What are they doing?”
Rabbi Chiya said, “Those who have are buying groceries, and those who have nothing are going to their employers to demand their pay.”
Rabbi Shimon said, “If that’s what’s going on, I’m going to go to my Employer and He’ll pay me, too.”
He left the city and went to pray in a cave near Tiberias. Soon he saw a hand stretch out and offer him a valuable pearl. He brought the pearl to RabbiYehuda Hanassi, who asked him, “Where did you get this? It looks priceless! Take these three dinars, buy all you need in honor of the holiday, and after the holiday we will spread the word and see what price it fetches.”
Rabbi Shimon took the three dinars, went shopping and went home. His wife saw what he’d bought and asked, “Shimon, have you become a thief? Where did you get this?”
“It’s from G‑d,” he said.
“If you don’t tell me where you got it, I won’t taste even a bite of it,” his wife said.
“I prayed to G‑d, and He gave it to me,” he said.
“In the world to come, all the righteous ones will be sitting under canopies that are laden with jewels. Are you telling me that you won’t mind if your canopy has a pearl missing?”
“What should I do?” he asked.
“Go return all the things you’ve bought, give the money back to whoever loaned it to you, and return the pearl to its owner.”
When Rabbi Yehuda Hanassi heard that Rabbi Shimon had changed his mind about accepting the pearl, he summoned Rabbi Shimon’s wife and told her, “You’re causing your righteous husband a lot of anguish!”
She asked him, “Do you want his canopy to have a pearl less than yours in the world to come?”
“And if his is lacking, do you think that there’s no righteous person who will be able to give him one?” countered Rabbi Yehuda.
“Rabbi, I don’t know if we’ll get to see you in the world to come. Doesn’t each righteous person have his own abode there?” she asked.
Rabbi Yehuda admitted that she was right.
When Rabbi Shimon heard the outcome of the conversation, he returned the pearl. When he’d taken the pearl, Rabbi Shimon’s palm had faced up; when he reached out to return it, his palm was down, the angel’s hand was under it, as if he were giving a loan to G‑d.
The rabbis said, “The second miracle was greater than the first, since it’s the way of the heavens to give but not to take.”
RUTH RABBAH 3:4; EXODUS RABBAH 52:3
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LIFESTYLE
Mount Sinai Cake
Showcase the beauty of Mount Sinai with this beautiful Shavuot cake.By Miriam Szokovski
I’m excited about this cake because it came out exactly the way I visualized it. (No, it doesn’t always!) It’s also an easy cake to decorate, so even if you’re a complete novice with no prior experience, you should be able to pull this one off.
We’re about to celebrate the holiday of Shavuot, which marks the giving of the Torah over 3,000 years ago. After G‑d chose Mount Sinai to be the place He would give the Torah, the small, brown, dry mountain burst into bloom, growing flowers and lush greenery.
So today I present you . . . Mount Sinai cake!
I’m giving you recipes for the cake and frosting (below), but if baking’s not your thing, don’t let that put you off. I’m not really a fan of cake mixes and bought frosting, but because this is more of a “concept cake,” I think we can make an exception this time. Or if you have a favorite cake recipe, feel free to use that instead. Really, any cake and any frosting will work for this one.
To get the mountain shape, you’ll need either the Wilton Wonder Cake Mold, or you can use a stainless steel mixing bowl. If you’re using a mixing bowl, I recommend a smallish one, and try to use a shallow wider bowl rather than a narrow deeper bowl. It will bake more evenly that way. Make the cake batter and pour it into the pan. Make sure the pan is well greased so the cake will come out easily. I like to use the baking sprays that have flour in them; then the cake slips right out. Bake the cake until a toothpick comes out dry. Let it cool before turning it out of the pan.
Note: I heard from some of you last year that you had trouble baking this cake without the Wonder Mold pan. Baking it in a bowl successfully seems to depend on the size and shape of the bowl, so here is a way to make the mountain shape using a regular round cake pan:
- Bake three round cakes. (I used 6″ pans, which gave me a taller, steeper mountain. For a rounder, hillier look, like the original cake, use a wider pan.)
- Let the cakes cool, and cut off the tops of 2 of the cakes.
- Spread icing on the top of the first cake, then place the second cake on top.
- Spread icing on top of the second cake, and place the third cake (the one whose top you didn’t cut off) on top.
- Place the stacked cakes in the freezer for an hour or so.
- Remove from the freezer and use a long, sharp knife to angle the sides into a mountain shape.
- Then continue with the decorating directions.
To decorate, you’ll need the cake, frosting and candies. I used chocolate lentils (a.k.a. smarties, M&Ms, candy-coated chocolate), and I specifically chose a type that comes in two sizes.
Stick the cake in the freezer for a couple of hours—this will make it easier to decorate. Sift the icing ingredients together, add the water and mix with a spoon in one direction until icing is smooth.
Take the cake out of the freezer and put it on a piece of wax paper (this will make the clean-up easier). Pour the icing over the top and let it drip down the sides.
You can help it along with a knife or a spatula. Don’t worry if it’s not too perfect, because you’ll be covering it anyway. Let the excess icing drip onto the wax paper.
Stick the cake back in the freezer for about half an hour (or in the fridge for a couple of hours), and then change the wax paper so you’re working on a clean surface.
Now it’s time to start decorating.
First form a couple of flowers. I used the smaller candies for flowers. One candy for the center, six for the petals. Don’t worry if you have a hard time placing them evenly—it’s about the overall effect, not absolute perfection.
After you’ve made a couple of flowers, start filling in the spaces with the larger green candies. Continue making flowers and filling the space with green candies until the cake is fully covered. You can use some of the smaller green candies to fill in gaps, like I did.
Very important: Keep your fingers clean. If you get some frosting on your fingers, wipe it off before continuing. You don’t want chocolate frosting all over your candies—it will look like a muddy mess.
Try to be as light-fingered as possible. You don’t want to push against the frosting too firmly. And if it starts to feel melty, you can stick it back in the freezer for half an hour and then keep going. It all depends on how quickly you work.
And that’s all there is to it! You just created a beautiful Mount Sinai cake with no special equipment or cake-decorating skills. You could also give this job to your kids—keep them busy for a while and get them excited about the holiday. Win-win.
If you’d like to add an extra touch, you can print out a picture of the two tablets, tape them to a toothpick and stick it in the top of the cake.
These are the recipes I used, but again, you can use any cake and any frosting. Doesn’t even need to be chocolate. Whatever you prefer.
Cake Ingredients:
- ¾ cup oil
- 1⅛ cups sugar
- 2 eggs
- ½ cup cocoa
- 1⅓ cups flour
- 1 tsp. coffee dissolved in ¾ cups hot water
- 1 tsp. vanilla extract
- ½ tbsp. baking powder
- ½ tsp. baking soda
- ½ tsp. salt
Cake Directions:
- Cream oil, sugar, eggs and vanilla.
- Add the rest of the ingredients and mix until there are no lumps.
- Pour into greased pan and bake at 325° F until a toothpick comes out clean, approximately 45–50 minutes.
Frosting Ingredients:
- 2½ cups confectioner’s sugar
- 1 cup cocoa
- ¼ tsp. salt
- 6–7 tbsp. hot water
Frosting Directions:
- Sift cocoa powder and confectioner’s sugar into a bowl. Add salt. Whisk with a fork to combine.
- Add the hot water 2 tablespoons at a time, mixing with a spoon in one direction until frosting is smooth.
What’s on your Shavuot menu?
More in Lifestyle:• Discover the Secret to Perfect Floral Arrangements
Color scheme is an essential part of designing a flower arrangement. ThisShavuot, create an attractive bouquet using basic color theory principles.
Primary Colors
There are three primary colors—red, blue and yellow. They are the key essential anchors on the color wheel. When mixed together in different proportions, they create secondary colors such as orange, purple and green. Play around with primary colors to create vivid and striking flower arrangements
Harmonious Colors
Colors that are next to one another on the color wheel will be visually pleasing. For example, orange harmonizes well with red and yellow in a mixed arrangement, because it sits between them on the color wheel.
Tonal Value
Why not mix up your arrangement using the same color, but variations of tonal intensity. Vary your arrangements with pale and warmer blooms. This creates harmony and can influence the mood of an arrangement, making it warmer or cooler, or gentle vs. intense.
Contrasting Colors
Colors that sit opposite each other on the color wheel work very well together. For example, the bouquets of pink and green look more vibrant, saturated and pure when placed together than if arranged separately. The opposite colors complement each other very well.
The Rules in Practice
In general, most color combinations will work, but there are some that work better than others, such as purple and yellow and red, or blue and yellow, or even green and purple and orange. You want to make sure that your arrangements are not too confusing to the eye, which can lead to weakening your overall design. Think simple. A good guideline is to limit your arrangement to 2–3 harmonizing colors (that are next to one another) and 1–2 complementary colors (across from each other).
Happy Shavuot!
JCreate is an online Jewish crafting magazine.
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• One Heart (By Sara Seldowitz)
Pastels
Artist’s Statement: At the giving of the Torah, the Jewish people camped in front of the mountain, so united they were likened to one person with one heart.
Sara was born and raised in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Vibrant colors, rhythm and balance in nature influences her compositions. Sara, a self-taught artist, has enjoyed creating artwork since she was a child and has experimented with different techniques and mixed media. Sara combines rich colors and texture in her paintings inspired by Jewish themes and ancient texts. In her creative artwork she hopes to express the joy of living in G-d's world. Sara lives with her family in Brooklyn, NY.
© Copyright, all rights reserved. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with Chabad.org's copyright policy.
JEWISH NEWS
Deaf Boys and Girls to Experience Summer Camp Steeped in Judaism
Two different programs offer Deaf children sports, excursions and more in a warm atmosphere and Jewish context. First of a series of articles on Chabad summer camps. By Menachem Posner
Deaf Boys and Girls to Experience Summer Camp Steeped in Judaism
Two different programs offer Deaf children sports, excursions and more in a warm atmosphere and Jewish context. First of a series of articles on Chabad summer camps. By Menachem Posner
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| Friendships were made and common experiences shared last summer at an |
The first in a series of articles on Chabad-Lubavitch summer camp.
For most of his childhood, 12-year-old Joel Pennington was unique. He was the only child in his Houston, Texas, neighborhood who was Deaf, and one of the only Jewish students in the special school for the Deaf that he attended in Austin.
“Joel has a very special soul and was always drawn to Judaism,” says his mother, Orit Pennington. “But we really had no way of teaching him beyond what he picked up at home.”
“His soul was thirsty for something more that I was not able to give him,” she acknowledges. “He knew it was there, but he could not access it.”Orit made her son a special Sign LanguageHaggadah for Passover and another booklet for Rosh Hashanah, but was stymied when it came to finding a synagogue or Hebrew school where he would be able to interact with Jewish peers and experience Jewish tradition firsthand.
Orit describes what happened next as a “miracle.” In the spring of 2014, she attended a pidyon haben ceremony for first-born boys in an Orthodox synagogue, and the rabbi encouraged the attendants to make whatever request they wanted from G‑d at that special time. During the reception that followed, she met a person who put her in touch with Rabbi David Kastor, a Deaf rabbi; she never even knew one existed.
The two began learning on a weekly basis over VP (video phone). During one of their sessions, Kastor introduced his young pupil to Rabbi YehoshuaSoudakoff of the Jewish Deaf Foundation, who is Deaf and was busy organizing a Jewish overnight camp for Deaf boys within the framework of Camp L’man Achai in Upstate New York.
Sports and water activities were on the schedule.
At the camp last summer, Joel found himself among 10 other Deaf boys from throughout the United States and Israel for a first-of-its-kind experience. Soudakoff, 23, and other Deaf staff members led discussions on Jewish topics, organized sports activities and took the kids on excursions, many of them focused on nature.
“For the first time, Joel was able to be part of a group—a Jewish Deaf boy among Jewish Deaf boys like himself,” says his mother. “There he was making challah, being fully engaged in a communal Shabbat dinner and just living Judaism in a very warm environment with boys like him.”
One of them was Elian Zfati, from Frederick, Md., who also relished the opportunity to interact with other Jewish Deaf boys. “My son especially enjoyed learning foreign sign languages from the children from Russia, Israel and other countries,” says his mother, Simi, who is also Deaf, in an interview conducted via an interpreter. “He also gained tremendously in his Jewish engagement, learning how to read the Hebrew alphabet and so much more.”
Simi Zfati learned about the camp from internal networking within the Deaf community, which she describes as close-knit. She says that many more of her friends will be sending their children there this year after hearing of last summer’s success.
“I myself went to Jewish camp when I was a child,” she says recalling her own childhood in a Deaf Orthodox Jewish home. “I loved going to camp, but I felt very alone a lot of the time, not able to understand what was happening and why.”
Prayers are part of the program, as is a Havdalah candle nod to Lady Liberty.
Learning in Their Own Way
But this summer will come full-circle for her. Ninety miles to the south of where Elian will attend camp, his two sisters, aged 10 and 12, will join with other Deaf girls for their own camp experience within Camp Gan Israel of the Poconos in Dingmans Ferry, Pa. This is the first time such a program has taken place there.
“They are so looking forward to the experience,” says their mom. “It will be so special for them to meet Deaf girls, and learn about Judaism and their common Jewish heritage in their own way.”
Altogether, Soudakoff expects 30 children to participate in the two programs, including eight boys and two girls from Israel, and two counselors who will be flying along with them.
“For me, it is amazing to see how the program has grown,” says Soudakoff. “As more and more children and their families become involved in this project, the more the Jewish Deaf community grows—in numbers, involvement and cohesiveness. Our community is thinking more about Judaism, talking about it more and doing more.”
To find a Jewish camp near you, visit the Camp Gan Israel directory here. To learn more about Jewish camps for Deaf children, click here.
Signing updates of their days to their parents back home via computer.
Nature excursions keep the kids busy in the great outdoors.
Enjoying some down time at a picnic bench on the grounds.
The boys camp was such a success that this year, a girls camp will take place this summer within Camp Gan Israel of the Poconos in Dingmans Ferry, Pa.
More in Jewish News:
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| Rabbi Yitzchok Loewenthal, co-director of Chabad of Denmark in Copenhagen with his wife, |
Rabbi Yitzchok Loewenthal, co-director of Chabad of Denmark in Copenhagen with his wife, Rochel since 1996, was at the synagogue only 30 minutes beforehand. At the time, he described the lockdown procedures that followed the attack: “Police with machine guns have now closed the Chabad House street at both ends. Helicopters and sirens all around. Barricaded all doors.”
Three months later, he talks about the repercussions of the distressing incidents, along with the approach of the Jewish holiday of Lag BaOmer, which begins tomorrow night, May 6. Like Chabad centers all over the world, the day will be celebrated with festivities and study.
A: Despite the tragedy, people have pulled together. People have shown their connection in different ways, including being more interested in Judaism and participating in Jewish events. Although it takes more effort for people to come to Jewish events because it is now viewed as somewhat dangerous, we have not seen a lessening of participation. On the contrary, a number of young people have become more interested in the Chabad House and our activities, partially as a result of their response to the attack. We also now have security around-the-clock, at least for the time being.Q: It has been several months since the shootings in Copenhagen. How has the community, both Jewish and general, come together in the wake of such violence? And have new measures been instituted to safeguard Jewish facilities?
Jewish children in Denmark sent letters to Israeli soldiers thanking them for all they do, long before the incidents in February.
Q: Lag BaOmer carries the theme of the imperative to love and respect one’s fellow Jew (Ahavat Yisrael). In these contemporary times, how is that exemplified? And how does that carry over into the larger world, again considering what happened in the city back in February?
A: It is exemplified through care, respect and love for one another, focusing on the deeper dimension of our identity, and focusing on what unites us instead of what divides us. Concerning the Danish Jewish community, some of the petty differences and disagreements that have been a part of the discourse of the community have quieted down as people have realized that it is important to stand together, and remain united and strong.
Q: The holiday also fosters the theme of Jewish unity. How so, practically speaking?
A: Jewish unity is more than just a slogan; it is a perspective. That is what theLubavitcher Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—stressed is the principal theme of Lag BaOmer. We try to emphasize this perspective—a more spiritual perspective, a perspective that sees the positive.
Q: How has Chabad of Denmark traditionally celebrated Lag BaOmer?
A: We generally have a big barbecue and picnic, with activities for children and adults. There are moon bounces, and we always make a bonfire. It usually draws a few hundred people from all walks of Jewish life. It is an event that is very popular, celebrated in Fælledparken, the local park. We also put up a replica of the Western Wall in Jerusalem (the Kotel), and many men put ontefillin. And, of course, we hold classes about the holiday and topics related to it.
Rabbi Yitzchok and Rochel Loewenthal, and their family.
Q: Mourning observances during the weeks of Omer-counting are suspended on the 33rd day—Lag BaOmer. That means weddings can take place. Have there been many weddings on this day since you have been in Copenhagen? Is there any ceremony that stands out?
A: One that stands out from the past is of the wedding of good friends of ours, where the girl had been to our camp and Talmud Torah, and years later, she met her chatan(bridegroom) at the Chabad House. They decided to get married on Lag BaOmer, but didn’t want it to disturb our annual barbecue event in the park. So they made the chuppah in the morning, then we had our barbecue in the afternoon, and in the evening was the wedding meal. It was a Lag BaOmer to truly be remembered.
Q: In light of what happened earlier this year, what is it you want the world to know about your community’s resiliency and about Jewish resiliency in general?
The streets of Copenhagen, where the rabbi and others pedal a mobile sukkah during the fall holiday of Sukkot.
A: The Jewish people have survived and will survive. Despite the challenges, we stand strong, we stand united, and we move forward. To date, there are about 6,000 Jews in Copenhagen and a few hundred in Århus, with others scattered around. This Passover, in addition to our regular seders here in Copenhagen, we also held seders in Århus.
We recognize that darkness is fought with light. So we are working to add in the light—to spread and increase it.
Think about the Second World War; of all the European nations, the Danish people were the ones who rescued their Jews by ferrying them over to relative safety in Sweden. They managed to evacuate most of Denmark’s 7,500 Jews in a significant act of resistance against Nazi Germany. About 500 people were captured by the Nazis and taken away, although 450 returned. And during the time that the Jews were in Sweden, their homes, as well as the synagogues and Jewish school, were kept in proper condition by the Danish people. Denmark was the only country in the world where such a thing happened.
In fact, Monday marked 70 years since Denmark was freed from German occupation, an event that is celebrated here annually.
At the time, the Danish public responded with responsibility towards the Jewish people. We see the same today. In many ways, it is unique to this country. So yes, the community is moving forward—with the memory of Dan Uzan on their minds, a man killed while guarding a Jewish place of worship—to positive and better heights.
The holiday, which begins on Wednesday night, is focused on children and adults enjoying themselves, with a learning component as well.
Children scramble on a moon bounce in Fælledparken during a previous Lag BaOmer event.
Face-painting is a part of the festivities.
Taking time for kids to just be kids.
The rabbi hands out balloons, and the children dig into bags of popcorn, part of a carnival feel.
Kosher hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill are available for all.
A moment to pause and pose, with bike in tow, a popular mode of transportation in the European city.
Lag BaOmer is a holiday for Jews of all ages, with time spent in the great outdoors.
Appreciating Fælledparken in Copenhagen, which was created between 1906 and 1914 by landscape architect Edvard Glæsel in cooperation with the city.
Men wrap tefillin with the rabbi in front of a replica of the Western Wall in Jerusalem (the Kotel), which is set up in the park for Lag BaOmer.
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| “Daily Wisdom” was the gold |
Daily Wisdom, an anthology of 378 daily inspirational lessons culled from the vast and deep Torah teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—was the gold winner in the religion category of the prestigious 2015 Benjamin Franklin Awards. The book is published by Kehot Publication Society.
Administered by the Independent Book Publishers Association, the award is widely regarded as one of the highest national honors for publishers in the United States.
The lessons in Daily Wisdom are apportioned according to the day-to-day study cycle of the Torah, covering another section of the weekly Torah reading. The teachings were rendered into English and adapted by Rabbi Moshe Wisnefsky. The book was produced by Chabad House Publications of California and published by Kehot in July of 2014. Following the book’s initial success, it was recently republished in a compact format as the Asher David Milstein Edition.
The following excerpt is a teaching for Thursday, May 7, 2015, when the fifth section of the portion of Emor is read. (Leviticus 23:23–32)“The Rebbe’s inspirational teachings are a relevant and living source of wisdom and comfort to people of every walk of life,” noted Rabbi Chaim Nochum Cunin, director of Chabad House Publications. “Daily Wisdom is a vehicle through which thousands of people are now being personally impacted by these teachings. We are honored that this important contribution was recognized by the Independent Book Publishers Association.”
Summary of Daily Portion
Passover is followed seven weeks later by the holiday of Shavuot (“Weeks”). Although the months of the Jewish year are numbered from Nissan, the years are counted as beginning on the first day of Tishrei, the seventh month. The first of Tishrei is thus Rosh Hashanah, “the Beginning of the Year.” This holiday is marked by the sounding of the shofar, a ram’s horn, except when it coincides with the Sabbath.
Spiritual Heights of the Sabbath
G-d told Moses: “The first day of the seventh month [Tishrei] will be ... a remembrance of the shofar blast.”
The sounding of the shofar on the first day of the year elicits new Divine energy that will sustain all creation, spiritual and physical, for that year. However, when Rosh Hashanah coincides with the Sabbath, the shofar is not sounded; we only “remember” it by mentioning it in our prayers.
This is because blowing the shofar on the Sabbath is not only superfluous, but pointless. G-d’s sovereignty over us is the primary theme of Rosh Hashanah. Sounding the shofar at G-d’s “coronation” is our declaration of our renewed selfless and voluntary submission to His sovereignty. The need for such a declaration, however, implies that we are conscious of ourselves as independent beings who must submit to G-d intentionally. Such self-awareness characterizes our consciousness on weekdays. On the Sabbath, in contrast, when we are inherently absorbed in our heightened Divine consciousness, such a declaration is redundant.
Source: Sefer HaSichot 5749, Vol. 2, pp. 705-707
Administered by the Independent Book Publishers Association, the award is widely regarded as one of the highest national honors for publishers in the United States.
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| Given the devastation already being felt in Nepal, the fear is that without sturdy |
With monsoon season fast approaching, Chabad of Nepal is working feverishly to supply thousands of Nepali people with sturdy tents that will be able to withstand the annual gush of rain and pounding winds that are expected to hit the country, which is still recovering from a massive 7.8 earthquake less than two weeks ago.
Monsoon season typically starts in June and runs through September. Given the devastation already being felt, the fear is that the rains could make life even more unbearable for local residents, many of whom have no homes to return to.
“There are dark clouds gathered in the skies above Kathmandu,” reports Chani Lifshitz, co-director of Chabad of Nepal with her husband, Rabbi Chezky Lifshitz. “Just thinking of what the impending rains will do to those living in makeshift tents makes your heart tremble.”
While she cares for the living, other staff members at Chabad, including her husband, have been charged with the grim task of dealing with the dead. Rabbi Chezky Lifshitz and British volunteer Yehuda Rose have been working almost nonstop—with the help of foreign embassies and the families of those still missing—to identify and honorably transport home any Jews who died as a result of the quake.To that end, Lifshitz and a band of volunteers—many of them Israeli—are going from camp to camp distributing water, food, medicine, warm clothing, and most of all, waterproof tents.
On Wednesday morning, they announced that they had identified and returned the remains of two Jewish German nationals, having worked closely with German rescue teams and diplomats to ensure a proper burial.
As of Thursday, the rabbi reported that as many as 170 Westerners remain missing, among them Jews, though they don’t have an exact number.
The Lifshitzes have also been meeting with foreign officials who are in Nepal to assess the impact of the earthquake on the nation’s infrastructure, as they continue to focus on international and local recovery efforts.
So many have lost so much as a result of the earthquake.
Ilan Shohat, the mayor of Tzfat, Israel—whose city has twice been devastated by earthquakes in past centuries that killed thousands—is on a fact-finding trip to Nepal to learn more about the impact of the earthquake, in addition to the short- and longer-term steps towards recovery.
Shohat spent some time at the Chabad House, participating in a Lag BaOmer celebration, and spoke to aid workers and travelers who remained behind to help. One thing he saw firsthand among the Nepalis is that for those who survived the quake and its aftermath, the need for humanitarian aid grows more necessary by the day.
“There are long, long lines of people waiting to get what they need to keep body and soul together,” says Chani Lifshitz. “The thirst is unbelievable. When we bring water, they literally fall upon us. Our volunteers are working hard to give them what they need, and it’s so important that we get them adequate shelter before the rains come.”
Chabad of Nepal is collecting donations to help purchase much-needed supplies, especially tents, before the monsoon season hits. To help with the earthquake relief effort, visit the special relief fund page:www.Chabad.org/Nepal and indicate that the donation is for tents.
A band of volunteers—many of them young Israelis—are going from camp to camp distributing water, food, medicine, warm clothing, and most important of all, waterproof tents. They are led by Chani Lifshitz, co-director of Chabad of Nepal, with her husband, Rabbi Chezky Lifshitz.
“The thirst is unbelievable,” says Chani Lifshitz. “When we bring water, they literally fall upon us.”
Ilan Shohat, the mayor of Tzfat, Israel, traveled to the Chabad House, participating in a Lag BaOmer celebration, and speaking to aid workers and visitors there who remained behind to help.
Rabbi Chezky and Chani Lifshitz, far right, have been meeting with foreign officials in Nepal, there to assess the impact the earthquake had on the nation's infrastructure, as they continue to focus on international and local recovery efforts.
