Editor's Note:
Dear Friend,
At least once a year they come to visit, the misguided spies who earned a place in Jewish history through the unfortunate events of this week’s Torah portion, Shelach.
They had been dispatched with clear instructions: Scout out the land, survey its topography and inhabitants, and bring back a report to Moses. And that is what they did—even bringing back fruit samples.
So why are they viewed negatively for bringing a disparaging report? Weren’t they just carrying out divinely sanctioned orders?
One approach is that the problem was not the actual report, but the conclusions that they drew from it. They were sent to convey what they saw—not to give a feasibility analysis on G‑d’s planned conquest. If G‑d promised to do it, it could be done.
We all encounter obstacles. When we throw in the towel, we’re following the spies. On the other hand, shutting our eyes and pretending the issues don’t exist doesn’t either work—wandering blindly, we’re bound to trip.
This week’s lesson is that we are to take note of the rough terrain, meeting our issues with eyes wide open. But the conclusion mustn’t be “I can’t.” Rather, “It’s going to be hard, a real challenge, but with G‑d’s help I can rise above it all.”
Mendy Kaminker,
on behalf of the Chabad.org Editorial Team
Daily Thought:
Paradise
Rabbi Sholom Ber of Lubavitch used to say that if the hedonists would know the ecstasy of mystic union, they would instantly drop all their worldly pleasures and chase after it.
It is not just pleasure. It is the source of all pleasures.
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This Week's Features:
New Book on the Rebbe Hits Major Best-Seller Lists by Menachem Posner
A much-anticipated new biography about the Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—sold out within hours of its release on Tuesday.Rebbe: The Life and Teachings of Menachem M. Schneerson, the Most Influential Rabbi in Modern History by Joseph Telushkin also reached No. 15 on both Amazon’s and Barnes & Noble’s best-seller lists.
Calling the book “a captivating portrait,” publisher HarperCollins asserted that Rebbe is “the definitive guide to understanding one of the most vital, intriguing figures of the last centuries.”
Describing the Rebbe as a “towering figure who saw beyond conventional boundaries to turn his movement into one of the most dynamic and widespread organizations ever seen in the Jewish world,” Katherine Beitner, director of publicity for HarperCollins Publishers, said that “from his modest headquarters in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, the Rebbe advised some of the world’s greatest leaders, and shaped matters of state and society.”
Publishers Weekly stated, “What stands out [in the book is the Rebbe’s] engagement with the principles by which he managed to wield a considerable influence upon the American cultural scene and the Jewish world. … The book is rich with accounts of encounters with the Rebbe, including, besides his own followers, Jews of many denominations, secular Israeli leaders, American politicians, students of philosophy, and non-Jews.”
Explaining how the book’s content resonates with people from all walks of life, Professor Ruth R. Wisse wrote for Commentary magazine that Telushkin’s new work—along with the more scholarly and well-received “My Rebbe” by noted scholar Rabbi Adin Even-Yisrael Steinsaltz—offers a picture into how the Rebbe “harnessed American freedoms not to free Jews from the perceived limitations of their national religion but to demonstrate the power and attractiveness of the Jewish way of life. His welcoming confidence inspired confidence in the way of life he was offering and the faith tradition he embodied.”
National radio talk-show host Dennis Prager, who interviewed the author on his show Tuesday, called the new book “one of the greatest religious biographies ever written.”
With three weeks to go until 3 Tammuz—the Hebrew anniversary, or yarhtzeit, of the Rebbe’s passing, this year on July 1—interest is expected to mount, as people from all over the world continue to draw wisdom and inspiration from the Rebbe’s legacy and vision.
Rebbe went on sale on June 10, and immediately rose to the top of several best-seller lists, remaining in the top 25.
Said Beitner: “It is rare to see so much interest in a new title so quickly. The demand has been so great that we have already gone back to press in order to more than double our original printing. Clearly, people all over the globe have been affected by the Rebbe’s message, which remains just as relevant and strong, if not stronger, 20 years after his passing.”
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Parshah
Kosher for an Hour
The spies were “kosher for an hou r.” This was taken into account when punishment was meted out. by Lazer GurkowOur Parshah tells a story of twelve agents sent by Moshe to Israel. The Torah testifies that they first embarked with noble intentions despite their later submission of a negative report, which drove the nation to despair. In Rashi’s words, “they were kosher at that hour.” Why does Rashi specify that they were kosher for an hour?
Forty Days = Forty Years
In punishment for the nation believing the negative report, G‑d decreed that they would wander the desert for forty years before entering the land.
We know that the agents journeyed the length and breath of Israel for a period of forty days. By this count, the people were punished on a scale of one year per day of the agents’ journey. Accordingly, every hour of their journey cost the nation half a month of wandering.
However a problem arises when you consider the actual length of our ancestors’ stay in the desert. They embarked on the fourteenth of Nissan and arrived in Israel forty years later, on the tenth of Nissan. By this count, four days were missing from the forty-year total!
Furthermore, by the Torah’s own testimony, it is an eleven-day journey from Sinai to Israel. In all fairness, those eleven days should also be deducted, because they would have traveled during those days even if they were not punished.
It appears that a total of fifteen days were deducted from the forty-year decree. Unless you consider that the agents were righteous, and had kosher intentions, during the first hour. In that case the nation would naturally not be punished for that hour of the agents’ journey, rightfully deducting half a month from the overall total.
With a single word, Rashi helps us understand why the forty-year decree was in fact minus fifteen days.
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More in Parshah:
Confidence(By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks)
It was perhaps the single greatest collective failure of leadership in the Torah. Ten of the spies whom Moses had sent to spy out the land came back with a report calculated to demoralize the nation:“We came to the land to which you sent us. It flows with milk and honey, and this is its fruit. However, the people who dwell in the land are strong, and the cities are fortified and very large . . . We are not able to go up against the people, for they are stronger than we are . . . The land, through which we have gone to spy it out, is a land that devours its inhabitants, and all the people that we saw in it are of great height . . . We seemed to ourselves like grasshoppers, and so we seemed to them.”1
This was nonsense, and they should have known it. They had left Egypt, the greatest empire of the ancient world, after a series of plagues that brought that great country to its knees.This was nonsense They had crossed the seemingly impenetrable barrier of the Red Sea. They had fought and defeated the Amalekites, a ferocious warrior nation. They had even sung, along with their fellow Israelites, a song at the sea that contained the words:
The peoples have heard; they tremble;
pangs have seized the inhabitants of Philistia.
Now are the chiefs of Edom dismayed;
trembling seizes the leaders of Moab;
all the inhabitants of Canaan have melted away.2
They should have known that the people of the land were afraid of them, not the other way around. And so it was, as Rahab told the spies sent by Joshua forty years later:
I know that the L‑rd has given you the land, and that the fear of you has fallen upon us, and that all the inhabitants of the land melt away before you. For we have heard how the L‑rd dried up the water of the Red Sea before you when you came out of Egypt, and what you did to the two kings of the Amorites who were beyond the Jordan, to Sichon and Og, whom you devoted to destruction. And as soon as we heard it, our hearts melted, and there was no spirit left in any man because of you, for the L‑rd your G‑d, He is G‑d in the heavens above and on the earth beneath.3
Only Joshua and Caleb among the twelve showed leadership. They told the people that the conquest of the land was eminently achievable because G‑d was with them. The people did not listen. But the two leaders received their reward. They alone of their generation lived to enter the land. More than that: their defiant statement of faith and their refusal to be afraid shines as brightly now as it did thirty-three centuries ago. They are eternal heroes of faith.
One of the fundamental tasks of any leader, from president to parent, is to give people a sense of confidence: in themselves, in the group of which they are a part, and in the mission itself. A leader must have faith in the people he or she leads, and inspire that faith in them. As Rosabeth Moss Kanter of Harvard Business School writes in her book Confidence, “Leadership is not about the leader, it is about how he or she builds the confidence of everyone else.”4 Confidence, by the way, is Latin for “having faith together.”
The truth is that in no small measure a law of self-fulfilling prophecy applies in the human arena. Those who say “We cannot do it” are probably right, as are those who say “We can.” If you lack confidence, you will lose. If you have it—solid, justified confidence based on preparation and past performance—you will win. Not always, but often enough to triumph over setbacks and If you lack confidence, you will losefailures. That, as mentioned in a previous Covenant and Conversation, is what the story of Moses’ hands is about, during the battle against the Amalekites. When the Israelites look up, they win. When they look down, they start to lose.
That is why the negative definition of Jewish identity that has so often prevailed in modern times (Jews are the people who are hated, Israel is the nation that is isolated, to be Jewish is to refuse to grant Hitler a posthumous victory) is so misconceived, and why one in two Jews who have been brought up on this doctrine choose to marry out and discontinue the Jewish journey.
Harvard economic historian David Landes, in his The Wealth and Poverty of Nations, explores the question of why some countries fail to grow economically while others succeed spectacularly. After more than 500 pages of close analysis, he reaches this conclusion:
In this world, the optimists have it, not because they are always right, but because they are positive. Even when wrong, they are positive, and that is the way of achievement, correction, improvement, and success. Educated, eyes-open optimism pays; pessimism can only offer the empty consolation of being right.5
I prefer the word “hope” to “optimism.” Optimism is the belief that things will get better; hope is the belief that together we can make things better. No Jew, knowing Jewish history, can be an optimist, but no Jew worthy of the name abandons hope. The most pessimistic of the prophets, from Amos to Jeremiah, were still voices of hope. By their defeatism, the spies failed as leaders and as Jews. To be a Jew is to be an agent of hope.
The most remarkable by far of all the commentators on the episode of the spies was the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneersohn. He raised the obvious question. The Torah emphasizes that the spies were all leaders, princes, heads of tribes. They knew that G‑d was with them, and that with His help there was nothing they could not do. They knew that G‑d would not have promised them a land they could not conquer. Why, then, did they come back with a negative report?
His answer turns the conventional understanding of the spies upside down. They were, he said, not afraid of defeat. They were afraid of victory. What they said to the people was one thing, but what led them to say it was another entirely.
What was their situation now, in the wilderness? They lived in close and continuous proximity to G‑d. They drank water from a rock. They ate manna from heaven. They were surrounded by the clouds of glory. Miracles accompanied them along the way.
What would be their situation in the land? They would have to fight wars, plow the land, plant seed, gather harvests, and create and sustain an army, an economy and a welfare system. They would have to do what every other nation does: live in the real world of empirical space. What then would happen to their relationship with G‑d? Yes, He would still be present in the rain that made crops grow, in the blessings of field and town, and in the Temple in Jerusalem that they would visit three times a year, but not visibly, intimately, What would be their situation in the land?miraculously, as He was in the desert. This is what the spies feared: not failure, but success.
This, said the Rebbe, was a noble sin, but still a sin. G‑d wants us to live in the real world of nations, economies and armies. G‑d wants us, as he put it, to create “a dwelling place in the lower world.” He wants us to bring the Shechinah, the divine presence, into everyday life. It is easy to find G‑d in total seclusion and escape from responsibility. It is hard to find G‑d in the office, in business, in farms and fields and factories and finance. But it is that hard challenge to which we are summoned: to create a space for G‑d in the midst of this physical world that He created and seven times pronounced good. That is what ten of the spies failed to understand, and it was a spiritual failure that condemned an entire generation to forty years of futile wandering.
The Rebbe’s words ring true today even more loudly than they did when he first spoke them. They are a profound statement of the Jewish task. They are also a fine exposition of a concept that entered psychology only relatively recently—fear of success.6 We are all familiar with the idea of fear of failure. It is what keeps many of us from taking risks, preferring instead to stay within our comfort zone.
No less real, though, is fear of success. We want to succeed: so we tell ourselves and others. But often unconsciously, we fear what success may bring: new responsibilities, expectations on the part of others that we may find hard to fulfill, and so on. So we fail to become what we might have become had someone given us faith in ourselves.
The antidote to fear, both of failure and success, lies in the passage with which the Parshah ends: the command of tzitzit.7 We are commanded to place fringes on our garments, with among them a thread of blue. Blue is the color of the sky and of heaven. Blue is the color we see when we look up (at least in Israel; in Britain, more often than not we see clouds). When we learn to look up, we overcome our fears. Leaders give people confidence by teaching them to look up. We are not grasshoppers unless we think we are.
FOOTNOTES
1.Numbers 13:27–33.
2.Exodus 15:14–15.
3.Joshua 2:9–11.
4.Rosabeth Moss Kanter, Confidence (Random House, 2005), 325.
5.David Landes, The Wealth and Poverty of Nations (London: Little, Brown, 1998), 524.
6.Sometimes called the “Jonah complex” after the prophet. See Abraham Maslow, The Farther Reaches of Human Nature (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1977), 35–40.
7.Numbers 15:38–41.
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My First Halachic Question(By Elisha Greenbaum)
I’d been on the job for just a few weeks when one of our members hesitantly approached me after services: “Rabbi,” he began, “may I ask you a question in halachah?”
Yes! I was ready! This was what I’d entered the rabbinate for. This was why I’d spent years attending international yeshivahs and studying for my semichah ordination. Ask me your halachic question, please.
“Rabbi,” This was what I’d entered the rabbinate forhe continued, “you know where I live, and you know how I get to shul on Shabbat. For the last few months, whenever I’ve come to shul, I have started to wear tzitzit under my shirt. Wearing them makes me feel good inside.
“However, this morning, as I was driving to shul, I started to wonder whether I wasn’t acting hypocritically. Should a Shabbat-breaker like me really be wearing such a holy garment as tzitzit? Rabbi, what do you think—should I stop wearing them?”
I’ve got to admit, at first I was a tiny bit disappointed. This was the halachic question I was waiting for? So much for my rosy vision of engaging in an in-depth analysis of some weighty issue of Jewish law. The answer seemed so obvious: of course he shouldn’t take his tzitzit off. Every mitzvah is an independent path to G‑dliness, and the neglect of one commandment should not preclude the fulfillment of another.
However, one of the most useful pieces of advice I ever received in life was a favorite saying of my father’s: “Before you answer a question, ask yourself, ‘Why is this person asking you this question at this time?’”
Thankfully, before I could blithely shoot off a response, I checked my initial impulse and gave his question the attention and respect it deserved. On reflection, I realized that he wasn’t really asking me “a halachic question”; he could have worked out the halachah easily enough for himself. He was really looking for an opportunity to explore his feelings of unease at his current unstructured approach to Judaism, and looking for reassurance that it was all right to take his own time and follow his own path to observance.
My new congregant and I spent a fair bit of time chatting with each other and trying to understand each other better. I learned far more about his past relationship with Judaism, as well as his current needs and desires, than I would have if I had just answered his question without giving him the time he needed to unburden.
One insight that seemed to give him some comfort was that the reason we wear tzitzit is so that “when you see them, you will remember all the commandments of the L‑rd, to perform them” (Numbers 15:39). Wearing tzitzit is supposed to remind us of the other mitzvahs. You can even say they’re supposed to make us feel guilty. They’re doing their job!Mitzvahs are addictive
Mitzvahs are addictive; if you do some, you’ll be tempted to do more. Obviously, it’s unwise and unhelpful to do too much too fast, but the natural temptation is to do more. What my friend was mistaking for unease at hypocrisy was really his conscience urging him to take the next step on his journey to Judaism, and stop driving to shul. You don’t stop wearing tzitzit because they’re doing what they’re supposed to; rather, you ready yourself to take the next step that you’re supposed to.
There is no shame in doing a mitzvah, and no reason to desist just because you’re not yet fully ready to take on another. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. Every step is just another stage towards “performing all the commandments of the L‑rd” and readying oneself to listen to G‑d’s message when He calls.
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Shelach in a Nutshell - Numbers 13:1–15:41
Moses sends twelve spies to the land of Canaan. Forty days later they return, carrying a huge cluster of grapes, a pomegranate and a fig, to report on a lush and bountiful land. But ten of the spies warn that the inhabitants of the land are giants and warriors “more powerful than we”; only Caleb and Joshua insist that the land can be conquered, as G‑d has commanded.The people weep that they’d rather return to Egypt. G‑d decrees that Israel’s entry into the Land shall be delayed forty years, during which time that entire generation will die out in the desert. A group of remorseful Jews storm the mountain on the border of the Land, and are routed by the Amalekites and Canaanites.
The laws of the menachot (meal, wine and oil offerings) are given, as well as the mitzvah to consecrate a portion of the dough (challah) to G‑d when making bread. A man violates the Shabbat by gathering sticks, and is put to death. G‑d instructs to place fringes (tzitzit) on the four corners of our garments, so that we should remember to fulfill the mitzvot (divine commandments).
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Women
Knowing and Controlling
No doctor or healer can tell you when you will become pregnant or when a treatment will work—it is purely in G-d’s hands. by Elana Mizrahi
“Elana, if I only knew when I would become pregnant. Then I could wait. You can tell me that it will take a year’s time, even two years. Whatever. But just give me a number and tell me that it will happen. I can handle that—waiting—as long as I know. But this not-knowing—that I can’t deal with . . .”“Elana, when do you think I’ll give birth? Do you think it will be soon? Tonight? Tomorrow? When? If I could just know, I would be so much calmer. I could go on for another few days, if I just knew when . . .”
“When is this labor going to end? How much longer until I have my baby?”If I only knew when I would become pregnant
“Elana, when?” The famous question I hear all the time. And “How?” Women want to know. And they want to know now. Their knowing stems from a desire, a need to control. I wish I had the answers to give them, but maybe not knowing and relinquishing control is actually the answer.
G‑d commanded the man, saying, “Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat; but of the Tree of Daat (Knowledge) of Good and Bad, you must not eat thereof” . . . The woman saw that the tree was good for eating and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was desirable for comprehension, and she took of its fruit and ate; and she gave also to her husband with her and he ate . . . And G‑d said to the woman, “What is this that you have done! . . . I will greatly increase your suffering and your pregnancy; in pain shall you bear children. Your craving shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.”1
What exactly happened here? Eve, the first woman of the world, ate from the Tree of Daat. She didn’t eat from the Tree of Life. She didn’t eat from the tree of beauty, wisdom or desire. No, she ate from the Tree of Knowledge. Eve wanted a specific type of knowledge. She wanted the knowledge that is only in G‑d’s hands. She wanted to control. Don’t we all want to know and want to control?
“I feel so bloated. When are my menses coming already?”
“What is going on with my body?”
“What is happening with the baby?”
You want to get pregnant; you can’t. You don’t want to get pregnant; you become pregnant. You want the baby to sleep; she won’t go to sleep. You want him to wake up; he won’t wake up. You know what’s best; you see with such clarity, but your husband won’t listen to you or take your advice. Knowledge—that is control. This is what we all want, right? (I certainly do!) And yet, the more we want to know, the less we do. The more we want to control, the less we can.
There’s a woman who comes to me for a reflexology treatment for infertility. She has read all the medical literature and knows how to calculate her ovulation and how to optimize her chances of becoming pregnant, but she still cannot become pregnant. I tell her, “Stop being so smart! Stop trying to figure it all out. Stop trying to know so much! Babies are from G‑d. Relinquish control to Him and work on having a loving relationship with your spouse and G‑d.” She comes to me three months later with good news: thank G‑d, she’s pregnant.
Another woman has read every birthing book and spoke with every Stop trying to figure it all outmother that she knows. As her doula, I breathe with her, I dance with her, I massage her back. She wants to know every detail of what is going on: “What process of labor am I in? How long do you think it will be now?” And with all her questions and wanting to know, she stays closed. I whisper into her ear, “Let go. Stop trying to control your body.” When I tell her that it doesn’t really matter, when she lets go of the control and need to know, this woman opens up and calmly births her baby.
The sages say that only G‑d holds the keys to birth, the revival of the dead, and rain (all which have to do with growth and life). That means no doctor or healer can tell you when you will become pregnant or when a treatment will work—it is purely in G‑d’s hands. When you are in labor, no doctor or midwife can tell you when you will give birth—only G‑d knows.
As women, we have a tikkun (reparation) that we can do in order to rectify the sin of Eve: to relinquish the desire to control. To call out to G‑d and let Him open up the door to salvation. When we do that, we convert the “curse” into a blessing.
FOOTNOTES
1.Genesis 2:16–3:16.
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More in Women: Don’t Diet—Live It!(By Judy Gruen)
Americans are burned out from dieting, and I say it’s about time. Researchers at The NPD Group, which tracks Americans’ dieting habits, revealed that only 20 percent of American adults reported dieting in 2012, down from a peak of 31 percent in 1991. Only 23 percent of women claimed to be dieting—10 points down from a decade ago.The very word “diet” has the echo of oppression. Years ago I decided life was too important to obsess over trying to look good in skinny jeans, so I redefined Years ago I decided life was too important to obsess over trying to look good in skinny jeans“diet” as a way to simply get healthier. This was a small stroke of genius, if I may say so myself. No more weighing protein on little scales. No more arbitrary deadlines to lose X amount of weight. After I made this decision, I felt ten pounds lighter already!
I confess, it took me years to slowly peel off a dozen pounds using my new mindset. Pathetic, you might say. Maybe, but my weight never seesawed up and down either. It just kept slowly dropping, as I dared to try things like tofu-vegetable stir-fry dinners and discovered to my shock that I liked them. Today I’m not fat and not slim, but I am at peace with my “huggable” proportions.
As a kid, I loved to eat more than I hated being pudgy. And I was not about to limit soft challah on Shabbat, those gooey brownies at the shul kiddush that I never got at home, and other highly caloric and delicious foods and treats plentifully available in Jewish life. Sometimes I claimed to be dieting but secretly bought cinnamon crumb donuts from the junior high cafeteria. I was jealous of friends who could eat whatever they wanted and not gain weight, like my friend Janet, whom I watched toss back four large doughnuts in a row without expanding one millimeter. The existence of Janet’s masterful metabolism might explain my youthful hesitancy to believe in a good and just G‑d.
During college, I realized that my favorite lunch of a double slice of thick-crust pizza with a frozen yogurt chaser was in direct conflict with my goal of attracting a man to marry. I hated jogging, but it beat swimming and the chlorinated water that always ended up in my nose, so I ran, loathing every Janet’s masterful metabolism might explain my youthful hesitancy to believe in a good and just G‑dminute of it. I cut back on the pizza and discovered fresh broccoli. Fortunately, I liked going green. Exercising more and eating less, I enjoyed the novel sensation of cinching a belt over a defined waistline.
I stayed motivated because eating healthier and exercising, even a little, made me feel better, and I was determined to avoid the health problems that were already beginning to plague my sedentary and overweight parents, still only in their 50s. I refused to get discouraged by my slow progress or by coworkers who said things like “I’d give blood, too, but I don’t weigh enough.”
With His infinite sense of humor, G‑d sent me a husband who was naturally slender and almost indifferent to food. On our first date he wouldn’t finish a single scoop of ice cream after dinner, claiming he was full. Wanting a relationship based on honesty and frankness, I demanded he hand it over. I finished it.
Marriage requires patience and forgiveness, and I have forgiven my husband for still fitting into his wedding suit after twenty-five years and for his unfathomable quirk of “forgetting to eat.” (I text him at work to remind him.) What choice do I have? His love and affection for me have never wavered, no matter if I wear a size 8 or 12.
Raising four kids who for years would only eat pasta, hot dogs, pizza and chicken nuggets—even with broccoli on the side—took its toll. When I realized that my waistline had gone MIA, I vowed to get back in shape. Wanting variety, I tried everything: boot camp fitness, belly dancing, boxing, barre-style Pilates, Bikram yoga, and even some things that didn’t start with the letter B. Ironies abound in the fitness industry, including gym instructors who shout, “Remember to breathe!” (do they think I’ll forget?) and yoga teachers who preach self-love but who correct you in front of everyone saying, “This isn’t an interpretive dance class.” There’s a lot to laugh about, and laughter burns calories. And here’s a tip for you health-food zealots out there: Friends don’t tell friends they have sworn off all white flour and sugar and feel better than ever.
Like Friends don’t tell friends they have sworn off all white flour and sugar and feel better than evereverything else worthwhile in life, getting and staying healthy takes work. But it’s not a zero-sum game. If you can’t exercise four times a week, exercise once or twice a week, and try to build up. You’ll feel better. And instead of looking in the mirror and frowning at a body that doesn’t match our shallow culture’s “ideal” figure, be thankful for all the miraculous things your body does for you every day. The Almighty knows that we human beings tend to focus more on what we don’t have, rather than on what we do have. Our morning blessings are a great opportunity to say “Thank You, G‑d” for some of the most basic things we would otherwise take for granted, like the ability to see, walk, move our arms and think. Starting my day with blessings and a connection to G‑d is also a reminder that what really counts is how I build my spiritual life—those are the muscles I need to keep toning!
I wasted decades obsessing about my weight, and am relieved to have lost that emotional flab. My own Jewish values taught me that G‑d gave me my body as a gift—even if I might quibble with the packaging—to use in building a purposeful life. I work to keep it healthy so that I can keep giving, creating, taking care of my family and living the full and rich life that Torah affords. Focusing “on high” in that way fosters a sense of inner beauty and strength that helps me “just say no” to a big mound of potatoes or that crumb doughnut at the office.
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Video
First, Be a Good Wife<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=2607560&width=auto&height=auto"></script><div style="clear:both;">Visit <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish.TV</a> for more <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish videos</a>.</div>
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A counter-intuitive teaching on how to prioritize the many relationships we may be juggling (from the series, Seeds of Wisdom). By Mendel Kalmenson
Watch Watch (3:10)<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=2607560&width=auto&height=auto"></script><div style="clear:both;">Visit <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish.TV</a> for more <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish videos</a>.</div>
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More in Video:
Inscribed in a Book
http://www.chabad.org/therebbe/livingtorah/player_cdo/aid/2586175/jewish/Inscribed-in-a-Book.htm
http://www.chabad.org/2586175
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Women and Challah(Aaron L. Raskin)
<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=2135451&width=auto&height=auto"></script><div style="clear:both;">Visit <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish.TV</a> for more <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish videos</a>.</div>
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Kosher Meat Preparation
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Your Questions
I Don't Mind Sin
It wasn’t kosher, and I knew it. But I was hungry. In a weak moment, I ate the sandwich. And then . . . nothing happened. by Aron Moss
Question:
I was observant as a child, keeping Shabbat and kosher. But then once, when I was a teenager, a neighbor offered me a meat sandwich. It wasn’t kosher, and I knew it. But I was hungry. In a weak moment, I ate the sandwich. And then . . . nothing happened. I was not struck down by lightning, I didn’t get sick or collapse, the sky didn’t fall. I realized that these laws actually mean nothing. So I stopped keeping Shabbat, and then it was a matter of time before I dropped religion entirely. There’s a part of me that would like to be observant again, but doesn’t my experience prove that the mitzvahs are irrelevant?
Answer:
On the contrary, your experience proves just how detrimental sin can be. The consequence for breaking the Torah’s rules is not the sky falling, or being struck down by lightning. The consequence of sin is indifference. When you do bad and feel nothing, that is the greatest punishment there can be.
What happened to you is exactly what the Talmud says: “One sin leads to another.” When you do something wrong, a layer of ice forms over your soul. You become less spiritually sensitive, less in touch with G‑d, cold and apathetic. The feeling of indifference makes the next transgression easier, leading to a vicious cycle of spiritual degeneration and disconnection.
This is the deeper meaning of the biblical death penalty for sins. The death is an internal one—your soul loses its life-force, your spirit is cut off, your heart goes stone cold. When you eat non-kosher or break Shabbat, something changes inside you. The fact you feel nothing is a reflection of how deep the damage is. Your soul is numb.
But your soul can always be revived. For the Talmud teaches that just as one sin leads to another, so one mitzvah leads to another. If one sandwich can freeze your spirit, one good deed can bring your soul back to life, melting the ice of indifference and allowing you to feel again. The first step is hard, but the next one is easier.
You have proven the numbing power of breaking the Torah’s rules. Now prove the reviving power of keeping them, and do just one mitzvah.
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Sources
Pirkei Avot 4:2; Likkutei Torah, Devarim (Shabbat Teshuvah) 64d.
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More in Your Questions:
What Is Challah?(By Mendy Hecht)
The pure, simple, unadorned word challah means “a loaf of bread.” However, in halachic terms the word challah has a very specific definition, and colloquially it came to mean a certain type of bread thousands of years later.The halachic definition of challah is a reference to Positive Mitzvah #133. It entails separating a section of dough from your kneading and giving it to a kohen. This piece of dough is called “challah.” Any dough which is made of wheat, barley, spelt, oat or rye is obligated in this mitzvah. The kohen and his family would eat the challah while in a state of ritual purity. The rabbis decided that a home baker should give 1/24th of the dough to the kohen, while a commercial baker has to donate 1/48th of his dough.
Biblically speaking, the mitzvah of challah is observed only in the Land of Israel. Furthermore, according to most halachic authorities, the mitzvah of challah was a requirement only in the times of the Temple. Today, no Temple, no challah. But the rabbis reinstituted the practice of challah—even outside the Land of Israel—to commemorate this special mitzvah. However, since today we are all considered ritually impure, the kohen cannot eat the challah. Instead, Jewish women through the centuries knead homemade dough, and then separate a piece of the dough and burn it. All kosher bakeries do the same—they separate a piece of dough from each batch, and throw it on the floor of the oven. Today only a small piece of dough is separated for challah: since it isn’t eaten, it would be wasteful to separate 1/24th or 1/48th of the dough.
Before separating the challah, the following blessing is recited:
Baruch attah Ado-noy Elo-hei-nu melech ha-olam asher kid-e-sha-nu b’mitz-vo-tav v’tzi-vanu le-haf-rish challah.
[Blessed are You, L‑rd our G‑d, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to separate challah.]
Eventually, the soft, sweet bread loaves customarily eaten by the Shabbat meals became known as challah (not “hally,” as is the popular mispronunciation).
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Essay
The Kabbalah of Smell
Being the youngest in my family, I was unfamiliar with the finer points of the art of diaper changing. by Dovid Zaklikowski
Being the youngest in my family, I was unfamiliar with the finer points of the art of diaper changing. Prior to the birth of my oldest child, I actually found myself looking forward to this rite of parenthood, waiting to be introduced to this new ritual.At first it was not bad, not much of a challenge. More recently, however, as my son approaches his second birthday, the stench emanating from his diaper is unreal. I don’t really mind changing his diaper—and the odor provides an incentive to do so expeditiously—but the smell which precedes the changing is quite unbearable.
The messes my son makes in the dining room, the unpolished silver in the china closet, or my unmade bed—all bother me. But they are relatively manageable in comparison to the stench that extends from the diaper. I find this intriguing. Why can I mentally block out images of chaos and disarray, but not a foul smell?
Ironically, the faculty of smell seems to be the least important of the human senses and faculties. A lack of ability to walk, speak, hear or see is considered a major handicap. A deficiency in any of these vital areas presents extreme challenges to the individual possessing such a disability. Lacking olfactory ability, on the other hand, is not considered a grave handicap. I have yet to hear anyone say, “Oh, what a pity on that guy, he cannot smell!” I’m still waiting for the day when one of my colleagues enters the office and announces, “My G‑d, I did not smell anything today! Please bring me something fragrant, quick!” Life in the office has “toughened” me; nowadays I’m rarely amazed by some of the odd habits I witness . . . but I’ll admit that I’d be highly surprised to hear such a statement!
This is because smell is not a human need. Contrast this with food. Food provides us with life energy: we cannot exist without eating. And yes, on a daily basis one or more of my coworkers enter the office grumbling about being hungry, or expressing their absolute inability to function unless they have a coffee ASAP.
However, as “insignificant” as olfaction may seem, it has an intrinsic quality that goes beyond food, beyond voice and sight. An individual is refreshed upon smelling a pleasant fragrance. Coming home on Friday afternoon and smelling the delicious aromas of the Shabbat foods baking in the oven . . . In a certain sense, the aromas provide what ingesting the foods cannot. They calm a person down; they please, refresh and warm the soul.
In my grandfather’s synagogue there was a bottle of pungent-smelling salt. A senior member of the congregation explained to me that the bottle was set aside for Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, a day when all fast. “In the event that someone faints,” he said, “we pull out the bottle and place it beneath the individual’s nose. It does the trick. It brings the person back to consciousness.” While I never personally witnessed such an incident, it got me thinking. Why not just stuff a piece of cheesecake in the person’s mouth? Would that not do the trick?
Food is very physical, and that’s what it offers a person—physical nourishment. We eat to strengthen our bodies, and thus provide our souls with healthy habitats.
Fragrance is not palpable, and neither are the benefits it offers. Kabbalah teaches that smell is the connection of the physical and spiritual, our connection to the soul.
In the story of Creation, after G‑d formed Adam out of earth, “He breathed into his nostrils the soul of life.”1 The connection between the nose and the soul remains. Olfaction is a sensation of the soul, the soul benefiting or suffering from pleasing or disturbing aromas. The physical person’s ability to share the sensations provided by smell is a window into the world of the soul.
When I have a cold and my congested nose doesn’t allow me to smell, I am not handicapped. Being unable to smell is not a physical handicap; it is a spiritual impairment. I have lost my connection between body and soul.
Because sound and sight are connected to the physical, they have the ability to absorb my entirety—I become engrossed in the film; my entire being is forgotten as I watch a fascinating documentary or listen to a delightful composition of fine music.
Smell, on the other hand, calms. It brings renewed strength from a higher plateau, the soul. It awakens one from a faint because it reaches the soul and brings down renewed strength to the body.
And when there is a bad stench, it too touches my soul. And therefore I cannot handle the smell. My soul cannot handle it, and I am compelled to remove the source of the offending odor and air out the room.
Every Shabbat we are endowed with an additional soul which accompanies us on this holy day. This soul departs us with the arrival of darkness on Saturday night, and our “weekday soul” grieves at the loss of its spiritual companion.
During the havdalah parting services, when we bid the Shabbat farewell, we smell a pleasant fragrance.2 This comforts the soul, bringing it a sense of tranquility and relief.3
FOOTNOTES
1.Genesis 2:7.
2.Talmud, Berachot 57b; Code of Jewish Law, Orach Chaim 297.
3.Based on the teachings of the “Tzemach Tzedek,” Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneersohn, the third Chabad rebbe (Sefer ha-Likkutim, s.v. Reiach), and other sources.
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Jewish News
Little Leaguers Go to Bat Over Teammate’s ‘Tzitzit’
For one Arizona 9-year-old, there’s no choosing sides when it comes to Judaism—and his friends agree. by Menachem Posner
Nine-year-old Yossi Lipskier is a crack Little Leaguer and much-valued player, even though he never participates in games on Shabbat and Jewish holidays. His teammates backed him up when he declined to take off his tzitzis when an umpire said he must to stay in the game.
The rabbi says he didn’t realize at first that what his son did was anything special.
Nine-year-old Yossi Lipskier—the oldest of six children of Rabbi Mendy and Tzipi Lipskier, who co-direct Chabad Lubavitch of Fountain Hills in Arizona—is a crack Little Leaguer and much-valued player, even though he never participates in games on Shabbat and Jewish holidays.
According to the rabbi, “his teammates—none of whom are Jews—have all accepted that he does things differently and respect him for it.”
At a recent game, however, as Yossi was about to take his turn at bat, an umpire asked the boy to remove his tzitzit, a small garment worn by Jewish men and boys in fulfillment of the biblical commandment to wear fringes on the corners of a rectangular piece of cloth.
“Faced with a choice between discarding his baseball uniform or his Jewish one, my son told us that he had a question in his mind for just a moment—just a flash,” tells the rabbi, “but then he knew what he needed to do. He respectfully walked off the diamond.
“This kind of gaon Yaakov [Jewish pride] comes from being a shaliach [emissary] of the Rebbe [Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory]. Yossi supplements his day-school education with programs via the Shluchim Online School and a warm Chassidic education at home. It is the way we raised him. It is how our parents raised us. It’s how the Rebbe raised us all.”
After Yossi stepped down from the plate, his teammates rallied around him, refusing to play in support of their friend.
Ultimately, the coaches and umpire put their heads together, deciding to allow Yossi to play—with his fringes flapping in the breeze—and the game continued.
Rabbi Lipskier points out that the peaceful resolution is typical. “As long as we are proud and comfortable with our Judaism,” he notes “people around us respect our principles as well. In fact, there was another game after that with the same umpire, and he did not say a word about Yossi’s tzitzit.”
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Getting There
“That is all fine and well,” replied Rabbi DovBer’s friend, “but there remains one slight problem: I need the merchandise . . .” by Yanki Tauber
One day, a visitor arrived at the home of Rabbi DovBer, the Maggid of Mezeritch. The visitor was an old friend of Rabbi DovBer’s, who had studied with him in their youth. With great interest he observed the behavior of his former study partner, who had since become a follower of the founder of Chassidism, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, and had assumed the leadership of the chassidic community upon the latter’s passing.
The visitor was particularly struck by the amount of time that the chassidic master devoted to his prayers. He himself was no stranger to reflective prayer: when he and Rabbi DovBer had studied together, they had pored over the mystical teachings of the Kabbalists, and would pray with the prescribed meditations, or kavanot, outlined in the writings of Kabbalah. But never in his experience had prayer warranted such long hours.
“I don’t understand,” he said to Rabbi DovBer. “I, too, pray with all the kavanot of the mystics. But still, my prayers do not take nearly as much time as yours do.”
Rabbi DovBer’s visitor was a dedicated scholar. His wife ran the family business so that he could devote all his time to Torah study. Only once a year was he forced to break from his studies for a few weeks: his wife would give him a list of the merchandise she needed, and he would travel to the fair in Leipzig to wheel and deal.
“Listen,” said Rabbi DovBer to his visitor, “I have an idea for you. Why must you waste precious weeks of study every year? This year, sit at home. Envision the journey to Leipzig in your mind’s eye: picture every station along the way, every crossroads, every wayside inn. Then, imagine that you are at the fair, making your rounds at the booths. Call to mind the merchants that you deal with, reinvent the usual haggling and bargaining that follows. Now, load your imaginary purchases upon your imaginary cart and make the return journey. The entire operation should not take more than a couple of hours, and then you can return to your beloved books!”
“That is all fine and well,” replied Rabbi DovBer’s friend, “but there remains one slight problem: I need the merchandise.”
“The same is true with prayer and its kavanot,” said Rabbi DovBer. “To envision a particular attribute of G‑d in its prescribed section of the prayers, or to refer to a certain nuance of emotion in your heart at a particular passage, is all fine and well. But you see, I need the merchandise . . .”
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Paintings - In search for truth, we must bend just a drop(by Dovid Shraga Polter) Lifestyles
Still Life on the Red Tablecloth by Eduard Gurevich
BY EDUARD GUREVICH
Eduard Gurevich studied in Ukraine’s famous art schools. He moved to Israel in 1990 where he devoted himself to painting Jewish-themed work. Eduard hopes that his artwork will lead people to a greater appreciation of the beauty of Israel and Judaism. His work has been exhibited internationally, and appears in private galleries in Germany, Canada, France, USA, Russia and Israel.
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