Listen to my talk from last night, "Rules and Meaning," at Cong. Mikdash Eliyahu, here.
Read a parallel devar Torah, from several years ago, here.
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Megilat Esther: Rules and Meaning
Listen to my talk from last night, "Rules and Meaning," at Cong. Mikdash Eliyahu, here.
Read a parallel devar Torah, from several years ago, here.
Tuesday, February 27, 2018
Lighting Shabbat Candles (Part 1)
Sunday, February 25, 2018
Parashat Ki Tissa: True Leadership
True Leadership
A Message for Parashat Ki Tissa 2017
Click here to view as PDF
A teacher is one who makes himself progressively unnecessary. (Thomas
Carruthers)
In his recent book, The Myth of the Strong
Leader, Archie Brown noted the mistaken tendency to equate “strong
leadership” with “good leadership.” He argued that it is wrong to believe that
the more power one individual wields, the more impressive a leader he is.
Drawing from examples on each end of the historical spectrum, Brown illustrated
the dangers inherent in a system governed by a single individual and the
potential success latent in one that includes the voices of many.[1]
This perspective on leadership has shed light for me upon Moshe’s several
actions in the immediate aftermath of het ha-egel.
The episode began with the nation’s
nervousness at that time:
And the people saw that Moshe lagged in coming down from the
mountain, and the people assembled against Aharon and said to him, “Rise up,
make us gods that will go before us, for this man Moshe who brought us up
from the land of Egypt, we do not
know what has happened to him”. (32:1)
Am Yisrael’s description of Moshe in
the moments prior to their sin portrayed their mistaken conception of the
nature of his role as their leader. Overlooking God’s part in the exodus from
Egypt, they declared Moshe their singular leader and panicked in his absence.
God hinted at their seriously mistaken understanding when he then commanded
Moshe: “Quick, go down, for your people that you brought up from Egypt
has acted ruinously” (7). Moshe’s descent from the mountain was thus charged
with the mission of fixing the nation’s broken conception of leadership.
And Moshe stood at the gate of the camp and said, “Whoever is
for God, to me!” And the Levi’im gathered round him. And he said to them, “Thus
said Hashem, God of Israel, ‘Put every man his sword on his thigh, and cross
over and back from gate to gate in the camp and each man kill his brother and
each man his fellow and each man his kin.’” And the Levi’im did according to
the word of Moshe, and about three thousand men of the people fell on that day.
(26-8)
Michael Walzer highlighted the political
significance of this episode. He noted that whereas many of the other
murmurings in the desert ended with the wrongdoers’ death by God – at his
word, the idol worshippers in this instance were killed by the people
– at Moshe’s command. Walzer detected in Moshe’s cry of “Whoever
is for God, to me!” an expression of true leadership, seeing in it an immediate
creation of a subgroup of leaders whose vision was focused on the future. Moshe
drew to his side the “new-modeled men” who were committed to the covenant of a
“chosen people,” and thereby created the magistrates of the future – the
priests and the bureaucrats.[2]
In stark contrast to his previous acts of
justice individually performed in Egypt – when he killed the Egyptian
and separated the quarreling Israelites, Moshe now widened the nation’s circle
of leadership and emboldened the appropriate people of caliber.
Moshe’s most memorable action at that time,
however, was the smashing of the tablets (19). I believe that the true
significance of that decision lay in the people’s understanding of the tablets
as a body of knowledge necessarily taught by to them by Moshe.[3]
Bill Gates wrote that “good leaders will challenge themselves, bring fresh
thinking and expert advice, and not only invite but seriously consider opposing
viewpoints.”[4]
Understanding the unhealthy dependency of the people upon him at that time,
that is exactly what Moshe did. He smashed the tablets and beckoned the people
to think independent of himself. He forced them to seek knowledge and to
discover parts of the Torah on their own.
It is in this light that I understand, as
well, several midrashim that describe a fundamental difference between
the two sets of tablets. The Hakhamim envisioned the first tablets as
miraculously encompassing all the Written and Oral Torah, while the second set taught
only the Written Torah.[5]
By smashing the first tablets, then, Moshe was necessitating the people’s
self-engagement and individual efforts in studying and explaining the Torah.
R. Mosheh Lichtenstein detected a similar
initiative in Moshe’s subsequent actions:
And Moshe would take the Tent and pitch it for himself outside
the camp, far from the camp, and he called it Ohel
Mo’ed (the Tent of Meeting). And so, whoever sought God would go out to Ohel
Mo’ed which was outside the camp. (33:7)
R. Lichtenstein noted that Moshe was no
longer in the camp – teaching the people in their own homes, walking among
them, bringing the Torah to their door, and instead required anyone who desired
the Word of God to make an active effort to go outside the camp and seek God.
He thereby created a new echelon of active spiritual leadership and shifted the
people from a leadership model based on passive acceptance to one that demanded
initiative and effort.[6]
Het ha-egel taught
Moshe the vital lesson of the “myth of the strong leader.” He learned that the
people’s dependency upon him as their sole leader had led to their swift
downfall and he quickly sought to change that conception. His string of
successive actions – demanding that the God-fearers murder the idol
worshippers, smashing the tablets, and moving the Tent outside of the camp –
were all aimed at broadening the leadership of the nation. It was in those
hectic moments of crisis that Moshe emerged as a true leader.
I’ve seen firsthand how ineffective and even dangerous it can
be when leaders make decisions alone – and how much good we can do when we work
together. (Bill Gates)
[1] Archie Brown, The Myth of the Strong Leader: Political Leadership in the Modern Age (New York,
2014).
[2] Michael Walzer, Exodus and Revolution (New York, 1985), pg. 60-1.
[3] Consider, for example,
the nation’s request of Moshe at Har Sinai: “Speak you with us that we may
hear, and let not God speak with us lest we die” (20:19). See, as well, Devarim
5:20-4.
[4] Bill Gates, “What Makes a Great Leader.”
[5] See Beit ha-Levi, derush
no. 18 (printed at the end of Responsa Beit ha-Levi) and HaAmek
Davar to Shemot 34:1 and Devarim 9:10.
[6] R. Mosheh Lichtenstein, Moses: Envoy of God, Envoy of His People (Jersey City, NJ, 2008), pg. 72-6. Cf. the
introduction to Harerei Kedem vol. 2 (Jerusalem. IS, 2004).
Friday, February 23, 2018
Purim: Hearing His Voice
Hearing His Voice
A Message for Purim 2018
Click here to view as PDF
Two people were once given the identical task
of identifying their friends in the black of the night. One was supplied a
flashlight, and he easily recognized his acquaintances by shining the light at
their faces. The other, however, was not given a flashlight and he was
therefore compelled to identify those around him by carefully listening to the
sounds of their voices and footsteps. The first individual performed best in
the challenge, as the sight of people’s faces is far more revealing than audial
clues. The second individual, however, had acquired a skill that would last him
long into the sun-lit morning hours and beyond. He had developed a sensitivity
akin to that of a blind person, and he could now identify his contacts under any
circumstance, even in the absence of a visual aid.
R. Yisshak Hutner z”l cited the above
parable in order to distinguish between the lasting legacies of Purim and
Pesah, respectively. He explained that in contrast to the integral role of
God’s exposed miracles on Pesah, Purim’s enduring mark lies in His hidden
voice at its events. Indeed, “The memory of Purim will never cease from among
their descendants” (Esther 9:28), as Am Yisrael then developed the vital
skill of “hearing the voice and footsteps of God.”[1]
In the words of Ilana Kurshan: “To know God in Purim mode is to give shape to
the shadows. But to know God in Pesah mode is to live in a world of absolute
black and white, where everything has its reason.”[2]
Understanding the lesson of Purim in this fashion,
we may further explain a puzzling statement of the Hakhamim:
“The Jews had light and gladness, and joy and honor” (Esther
8:16). Rav Yehudah said: “Light” refers to Torah. And it similarly says, “For
the missvah is a lamp and the Torah is light” (Mishlei
6:23).[3]
It is surprising that the Hakhamim
found any reference to talmud Torah in a pasuk from Megilat
Esther – a book that conspicuously omits any explicit mention of Torah
and missvot! Perhaps, however, they were specifically pointing to the Torah’s
role in our future ability to expose God’s hidden presence in this world. Allow
me to explain.
Over forty years ago, The New York Times
Magazine ran an article entitled “A Life in the Talmud.” It described the
fascinating life and experiences of Holocaust survivor and Talmud scholar David
Weiss Halivni. The article particularly highlighted the central role that the
study of Talmud played at every stage of his development. The concluding
paragraphs recalled a student revolt at Columbia University in 1968. Halivni
remembered walking to his home, near the uprising, when the students looked at
him with obvious disdain. He sensed these young men and women viewed a Talmud
scholar, who focused on ancient texts and wisdom, as the epitome of
“non-relevance.” Halivni’s interviewer asked him what he did next. “I did what
I always do when I feel upset,” he answered, “I went back…to my home; I went
upstairs, took out a Talmud, and learned. Except this time, my eyes were wet. I
had tears in my eyes, and I couldn’t very well see what I was learning.”[4]
How did studying Talmud provide Prof.
Halivni with a sense of solace during his most difficult experiences? Consider
R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik z”l’s description of his similar reaction to a
tragic occurrence in his life. He explained his experiences following the
untimely passing of his wife:
Sometimes
I study the Torah deep into the night. Of course, these are the best hours for
Torah study – things appear clearer, sharper. It happens, in the course of my
study, that I sense someone standing near me, bending over my shoulder and
peering at my page of Gemara, looking precisely at the same subject on
which I am focusing, and nodding his head at a new idea whose accuracy I am
still considering.
R. Soloveitchik concluded: “My ability to get
over what befell me during these past few years is due to the fact that I
relate to this principle of ‘Torah from Heaven’ not merely in the sense of ‘to
believe’ but also in the sense of ‘to know’.”[5]
Our success at rising from the “low points”
in our lives is commensurate to our ability to locate and “know” God’s
presence. Mordekhai, Esther and the Jews of Shushan accomplished this mission long
ago. The enduring message of Purim, then, is to hear His silent
and hidden voice in our own lives. The tools for discovery, of course, are
His eternal words – the Torah.
“The Jews had light…” Rav Yehudah said: “Light refers to
Torah.”
Shabbat shalom! Rabbi
Avi Harari
[1] R. Yisshak Hutner, Pahad Yisshak: Purim (Brooklyn, NY, 2004), Inyan 34. This essay was
translated into English by Pinchas Stolper, in Living Beyond Time: The Mystery and Meaning of the Jewish Festivals (Brooklyn, NY, 2003), pg.
299-302.
[2] Ilana Kirshan, If All the Seas Were Ink: A Memoir (New York, NY, 2017), pg. 71.
[4] Israel Shenker, “A Life in the Talmud,” The New York Times Magazine, Sept. 11, 1977. I
supplemented the narrative with Halivni’s own retelling in The Book and The Sword (New York, NY, 1996), pg. 126-7.
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Friday, February 16, 2018
Parashat Terumah: Mystery
Mystery
A Message for Parashat Terumah 2018
Click here to view as PDF
Parashat Terumah is the
first of several parashot that describe the construction of the Mishkan.
Ramban (R. Moshe b. Nahman) suggested that the Mishkan was meant to
shift the public manifestation of God’s glory at Sinai into the private domain
of a sanctuary. He noted the similar descriptions of Sinai – “And God’s glory
abode on Har Sinai” (24:16), and the Mishkan – “And the glory of God
filled the Mishkan” (40:34), and pointed to the similar restrictions of
entrance and required purity of each.[1]
Why did God shift from an open exposure at
Har Sinai to a hidden presence at the Mishkan? Although the grand
revelation at Sinai would certainly lose its effect if consistently repeated,
the Mishkan seemingly introduced an entirely opposite extreme. It represented
God’s unexplainable “contraction” into an enclosed area where He would now “abide.”
Consider, for example, the fact that the luhot – the very symbol of
God’s covenant with Am Yisrael at Har Sinai – were hidden inside an ark
which was nestled away in a chamber (kodesh ha-kodashim) which was only
entered by a single person (the cohen gadol) on a single day of the year
(Yom Kippur). What was the reason for this extreme shift from revelation
at Har Sinai to concealment at the Mishkan?
The psychoanalyst and author Stephen Mitchell
described a tension that lies at the core of our human needs. He referred to
the dialectic between love and desire. Mitchell wrote:
Love seeks control,
stability, continuity, certainty. Desire seeks surrender adventure, the
unknown. In love we are searching for points of attachment, anchoring,
something we know we can count on. In desire we are searching both for missing,
disowned pieces of ourselves and for something beyond ourselves, outside the
borders of self-recognition that, under ordinary circumstances, we protect so
fiercely.[2]
Psychotherapist and spiritual advisor Estelle
Frankel explained that mystery and knowledge play equal roles in
our relationships with one another. She wrote: “No matter how much we strive to
know those whom we love, we can never fully plumb the depths of their innermost
being, for, at our core, each of us is an unfathomable mystery.” Frankel
posited that the challenge of long-term love is to strike a careful balance
between a sense of mystery and adventure with an emotional intimacy.[3]
Our relationship with God must similarly
exhibit an interplay between knowledge and mystery. HaRambam famously opened
his Mishneh Torah with the fundamental principle to “know that there is
a First Being who brought every existing thing into being.”[4]
R. Hayim Soloveitchik z”l explained that the missvah to “know
God” mandates that we stretch our cognitive capacity to its limits of
understanding. Our cognitive breadth, however, is limited. In contrast to God’s
infinite existence, our minds are confined by space and time, so a complete
knowledge of God is impossible. R. Hayim nonetheless suggested that we are
commanded to stretch beyond the realm of knowledge into that of belief. [5]
He referred to the “unknowable” realm of God’s existence, and described
it too is a necessary component of our relationship with Him. [6]
Prof. David Weiss Halivni introduced a
similar dialectic in his analysis of the philosophical implications of the
Holocaust. He cautioned philosophers and theologians from seeking its root cause
or rationale, and claimed that the question of “Why did the Holocaust happen?”
diminishes the uniqueness of the event by rendering it a basic “answerable
question.”. He likened its reality to a historic encounter between God and
Moshe, following het ha-egel. Moshe then requested to “know God’s ways,”
and God responded, “My presence shall go with you, and I will give you rest”
(Shemot 33:13-14). When Moshe pushed
further and asked, “Show me, pray, your glory” (18), however, God responded,
“You shall not be able to see My face, for no human can see Me and live” (20).
Halivni explained: “One can know God’s ways, but not his reasons…There is no
explanation.”[7]
Ma’amad Har Sinai
introduced Am Yisrael to an integral aspect of their relationship with
God. God then exposed himself in an unprecedentedly open fashion. A
relationship built merely upon revealed knowledge, however, is shallow.
Without the appeal of an “unknown,” the bond will weaken and lose its passion.
God’s transition to the Mishkan therefore set the stage for a
side-by-side world of “belief.” It opened the gates of mystery and adventure, deepening
Am Yisrael’s connection to the incomprehensible “Ein Sof.”
Shabbat shalom!
Rabbi Avi Harari
[1] Commentary of Ramban
to the Torah, Shemot 25:1, and his Introduction to Vayikra and Bemidbar.
See, as well, e.g., Nahum M. Sarna’s Exploring Exodus (New York, 1996), pg. 203-4.
[2] Stephen A. Mitchell, Can Love Last? The Fate of Romance Over Time (New York, NY, 2002), pg. 91-2.
[3] Estelle Frankel, The Wisdom of Not Knowing: Discovering a Life of Wonder by Embracing Uncertainty
(Boulder, CO, 2017), pg. 142-4.
[4] Hil. Yesodei HaTorah
1:1.
[6] The kabbalists often
refer to this “unknowable” realm as the “ayin.” See, e.g., Daniel C. Matt, “Ayin:
The Concept of Nothingness in Jewish Mysticism,” in Essential Papers on Kabbalah (New York, NY, 2000), pg. 67-108.
[7] David Weiss Halivni, The Book and the Sword (New York, NY, 1996), pg. 156.
Thursday, February 15, 2018
Parashat Terumah: A Dynamic Relationship
A Dynamic Relationship
A Message for Parashat Terumah 2017
Click here to view as PDF
Parashat Terumah is the
first of several parashot that describe the Mishkan. What was the
purpose of the Mishkan? R. Moshe b. Nahman (Ramban) suggested that it
was meant to shift the public manifestation of God’s glory at Sinai into the
private domain of a sanctuary. He noted the similar descriptions of Sinai –
“And God’s glory abode on Har Sinai” (24:16), and the Mishkan – “And the
glory of God filled the Mishkan” (40:34),[1]
and pointed to the similar restrictions of entrance and prerequisite
purification of each.[2]
Building upon Ramban’s explanation while
viewing the command to build the Mishkan in its broader context may shed
light on its vital role in the developing relationship of God and Am Yisrael
at that time. Whereas Ma’amad Har Sinai ended with fear and recoil, the
command to build the Mishkan encouraged approach. The end of Parashat
Yitro described the shaken nation’s request of Moshe, “Speak you with us
that we may hear, and let not God speak with us lest we die” (20:19). The
distance then intensified with the description of a cloud-covered mountain, at
the end of Parashat Mishpatim.[3]
But God then turned to Moshe and demanded, “And they shall make Me a Mikdash,
that I may abide in their midst” (25:9). By continuing His presence in the Mishkan,
God was setting the stage for resumption of a forward-moving relationship with
the nation.
Ha-Rambam famously located this “back and
forth” relationship with God in the precepts of love and fear of God. He first
wrote:
And what is the way to the
love of Him and the fear of Him? At the hour that man contemplates His great
and wondrous works and creatures, and from them obtains a glimpse of His wisdom
which is incomparable and infinite, he will straightaway love Him, praise Him,
glorify Him, and desire with an exceeding desire to know His great name, even
as David said, “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God” (Tehillim 42:3).[4]
The approach of God, an appreciation of His
might, and the desire to know His great name was intensely experienced during
the theophany at Sinai.
Ha-Rambam then continued:
And when he ponders these
very matters, he will straightaway recoil and be frightened, and realize that
he is a small creature, lowly and obscure, endowed with slight and slender
intelligence, standing in the presence of Him who is perfect in knowledge. And
so David said, “When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers – what
is man that You are mindful of him?” (Tehillim 8:4-5)[5]
The fear of God and recoil from His
overwhelming presence was Am Yisrael’s immediate reaction to Ma’amad
Har Sinai.
Seeking God’s presence in the Mishkan
represented the next step in a relationship best defined as a continuous
“approach and recoil.” Ha-Rambam later delineated this condition, and wrote:
When
one reflects on these things and comes to know all created beings…and sees His
wisdom in all created things – his love for God will increase, his sould will
thirst, his very flesh will yearn to love God. He will be filled with fear and
trembling because of his lowly condition, his poverty, his insignificance…[6]
The Torah’s description of Ma’amad Har
Sinai, its aftermath, and the Mishkan are representative of our own
relationships with God. They are far more complicated than a one-word
description and instead exist as a constant flux between love and fear, back
and forth, and approach and recoil.
[1] Commentary of Ramban
to the Torah, Shemot 25:1.
[2] Ibid.,
Introduction to Vayikra and Introduction to Bemidbar. See, as well, e.g., Nahum
M. Sarna’s Exploring Exodus (New
York, 1996), 203-4.
[3] See last week’s devar
Torah, “Boundaries.”
[4] Mishneh Torah, Hil. Yesodei ha-Torah 2:1.
Tuesday, February 13, 2018
Sunday, February 11, 2018
Sept. 11th in Halakhah
Listen to Friday's class, "Sept. 11th in Halakhah," here.
Follow along with the sources here.
For further research:
a) R. Yisshak Zilberstein's essay on this issue, in אסון מגדלי התאומים לאור ההלכה
b) R. J. David Bleich's "Saving the Few to Save the Many."
a) R. Yisshak Zilberstein's essay on this issue, in אסון מגדלי התאומים לאור ההלכה
b) R. J. David Bleich's "Saving the Few to Save the Many."
Friday, February 9, 2018
Parashat Mishpatim: Relationship
Relationship
A Message for Parashat Mishpatim 2018
Click here to view as PDF
Following an elaborate list of laws in Parashat
Mishpatim, God informed Am Yisrael of His future plans. He told
them:
Look, I am about to send a messenger before you to guard you
on the way and to bring you to the place that I made ready. Watch yourself with
him and heed his voice, do not defy him, for he will not pardon your trespass,
for My name is within Him… (Shemot 23:20-21)
The Hakhamim sensed a negative
motivation in this change. They noticed an implied shift from God’s direct
leadership of the nation to the guidance of a “messenger,” or “angel,” in his
place.[1]
What was the cause of this change? Am Yisrael seemed dedicated to missvot
ha-Torah with their famous exclamation that, “Everything that God has
spoken we shall do” (19:8). And that impressive response was mentioned again at
the end of Parashat Mishpatim (24:7). What, then, caused the rift in
their relationship with God?
In the days and hours leading up to Matan
Torah, God repeatedly commanded Moshe to caution the people from stepping
onto Har Sinai. Fearing that the awe-inspiring experience would drive them to
trespass the boundaries of the mountain, God time and again warned of its
potentially fatal consequences. As the ceremony progressed, the people
obediently listened to the Ten Commandments, but their reaction was entirely
different than expected:
And all the people were seeing the thunder and the flashes and
the sound of the shofar and the mountain in smoke, and the people saw and they
drew back and stood at a distance. And they said to Moshe, “Speak you with us
that we may hear, and let not God speak with us lest we die.”
(20:18-19)
Contrary to the fear that they might race
forward in an attempt to “cling” to God, the people instead turned away
from the mountain in fear! They readily accepted God’s laws, but hastily
dismissed the potential of a relationship.
I am reminded in this context of an anecdote
regarding R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik z”l. At the onset of a summer
several decades ago, R. Soloveitchik decided to break from his regular schedule
of strict Talmudic instruction, to introduce his students to the world of
Hasidic thought and philosophy. He began teaching Likutei Torah, a
compilation of Hasidic treatises by the first Habad Rebbe, R. Shneur Zalman of
Liadi. Shortly after beginning, however, R. Soloveitchik unexpectedly cancelled
the classes. Asked why he had changed his plans, the rabbi explained that he
had sensed his students’ disinterest in the material. He sadly remarked, “They
are only interested in the contents of my mind, but not of those
in my heart.”[2]
On another occasion, R. Soloveitchik bemoaned
the delinquent “shomrei Shabbat of America.” He explained:
There are Shabbat-observing Jews in America,
but there are not “eve-of-the-Shabbat” Jews who go out to greet the Shabbat
with beating hearts and pulsating souls. There are many who observe the
precepts with their hands, with their feet, and/or with their mouths – but
there are few, indeed, who truly know the meaning of service of the heart![3]
Reading in between the lines of the Torah, I
sense a similar reality regarding Am Yisrael’s spiritual state at Ma’amad
Har Sinai. The people excitedly accepted the missvot ha-Torah
with a definitive declaration of “We shall do!” And although they were in fact committed
with their minds and bodies to the words of God, they lacked the passion
and commitment of their heart. Fearing a deeper connection to God, they
instead turned to Moshe for guidance and instruction.
God’s decision to send a messenger in His
place, then, matched the people’s approach. Instead of seeking out a
relationship with Him, Am Yisrael simply wanted a competent messenger to
relay His laws. And that was exactly what they got.
The positioning of God’s messenger in
relation to the nation is reminiscent of an earlier occurrence, which took
place directly prior to crossing Yam Suf:
And the messenger of God that was going before the camp of
Yisrael moved and went behind them, and the pillar of cloud moved from before
them and stood behind them. (14:19)
In contrast to the previous accompaniment
“from behind” the people, however, the messenger had now shifted to “the front”
of their march. I believe that this change was similarly motivated by the deficient
spiritual state of Am Yisrael at that time. Consider, for example, the Hakhamim’s
well-known contrast of Noah to Avraham:
“Noah walked with God” (Bereshit 6:9). And regarding
Avraham it says, “Walk before Me” (Bereshit 17:1). Noah needed support to bear
him up, but Abraham would strengthen himself and walk in his righteousness.[4]
By contrasting these two figures to each
other, the Hakhamim highlighted Noah’s failure to independently locate and act upon his admirable traits. They
realized that his inability to “walk before God” indicated a deficient
relationship with Him. Am Yisrael’s spiritual status at the time of Matan
Torah resembled that of Noah. Although they were committed to God in
thought and action, they lacked the depth of an emotional relationship. Realizing
that the people were not yet prepared to “walk in front of Him,” God sent a
law-teaching messenger “before them.”
Our own exclamations of “Everything that God
has spoken we shall do,” is commendable. It represents our commitment to His
word and commands. We must be cautious, however, to understand it as a mere stride
on the journey. It begins our walk “behind His messenger,” but must proceed to the
march “in front of Him.” Our commitment to God through thought and action
are not a means in themselves, but rather the stepping stone into a
relationship with Him that is bonded by our hearts.
If a man studies Torah in order to know, to feel, to live –
then for him Torah study is not simply an intellectual accomplishment, but a
many-faceted undertaking, rich in spiritual and psychological meanings.
(R. Joseph B. Solovetichik)[5]
Shabbat shalom!
Rabbi Avi Harari
[1] Commentary of Rashi to
Shemot 23:20 s.v. hineh.
[2] As related by R. Herschel
Schachter, Nefesh HaRav (Brooklyn, NY, 1994), pg. 39 fn. 5.
[3] R. Joseph B.
Soloveitchik, On Repentance (New Milford, CT, 2017), pg. 32 fn.
1.
[5] On Repentance, pg.
76.
Thursday, February 8, 2018
Wednesday, February 7, 2018
Parashat Mishpatim: Boundaries
Boundaries
A Message for Parashat Mishpatim 2017
Click here to view as PDF
Parashat Yitro
presented Ma’amad Har Sinai as a scene of illuminated clarity:
All of Har Sinai was
smoking, because God had descended upon it in the fire (19:18).
And all the people were seeing the thunder and the flashes and
the sound of the ram’s horn and the mountain in smoke (20:15).
The Har Sinai of Parashat Mishpatim
was markedly different:
And Moshe went up, and the cloud covered the mountain. And
God’s glory abode on Har Sinai, and the cloud covered it six days. And on the
sixth day He called out to Moshe from the midst of the cloud…And Moshe entered
within the cloud and went up the mountain. (24:15-18)
In stark contrast to the previous display of
a radiant fire, clouds now obstructed a clear vision of the mountain. Indeed,
it was the pillar of cloud that had once before served as a blinding
veil, shielding Am Yisrael from the Egyptians upon the exodus from Egypt
(14:19). This time it was Am Yisrael who could not see clearly.
From the specific descriptions of Har Sinai
at these two different points of time emerge two sight-specific experiences
that were practically opposite in nature.
Whereas the “fire-consumed” Har Sinai of Parashat
Yitro served the purpose of clarity, the “cloud-covered” mountain of Parashat
Mishpatim established the necessary boundaries between Am Yisrael
and God. The described “elect of Yisrael,” who were barely spared punishment at
that time, fittingly sinned by means of an optical transgression: But
against the elect of Yisrael He did not send forth His hand, and they looked at
God and ate and drank (24:12). Failing to appropriately set limits for
themselves, these individuals overstepped their designated boundaries.[1]
God’s unprecedented revelation to the people brought with it a simultaneous
call for hesitancy and caution.
I believe that God had actually already begun
to hint at the importance of an appropriate distance when he spoke at Har
Sinai. In contrast to His initial encounter with Moshe – when He denied a
revelation of His name (3:14), God then introduced Himself by means of his
personal name: I am YHVH your God, Who freed you from the land of Egypt
(20:2). Michael Wyschogrod underscored the significance of this revelation:
The
God of Israel is not just a Thou. The God of Israel has a proper name.
There is no fact in Jewish theology more significant than this.[2]
Several statements later, however, God issued
a strict warning regarding an over-familiarity with His name: “You shall not
take up (tisa) the name of Hashem your God in vain.” Leon Kass noted the
verb “take up” in this instance, explaining that by treating anyone’s name as
something that can be “taken up” is to take him up, as if by his handle.
He further explained:
Like
making images of the divine, trafficking in the divine name evinces a
presumption of familiarity and knowledge. To handle the name of the Lord risks
treating Him as a finite thing known through and through. Even if uttered in
innocence, the use of the Lord’s name invites the all-too-human error that
attends all acts of naming: the belief that one thereby knows the essence.[3]
God, then, set forth a delicate message to
the people at Har Sinai. He urged them to come forth and learn His name – but do
so with caution.
In The Art Of Loving, Erich Fromm
described a common misconception regarding love. We tend to idealize “symbiotic
love,” and desire a fusion with another wherein we know them as deeply as we
know ourselves. Fromm explained that mature love of both man and God is instead
achieved through the retention of the individual self, in the paradoxical state
of both “belonging” and “not belonging” to the union.[4]
The contrast between the “revealed fire” and “concealed cloud” scenes at Har
Sinai remind us of the sensitive balance inherent in a healthy relationship. Mature
love is only achieved together along the guidelines of appropriate limits and
boundaries.
[1] See Moreh Nevukhim 1:5.
[2] Michael Wyschogrod, The
Body of Faith (Plymouth, UK, 1996), pg. 91.
[3] Leon Kass, “The Ten
Commandments: Why the Decalogue Matters,” Mosaic Magazine, June 1, 2013.
Available at: https://mosaicmagazine.com/essay/2013/06/the-ten-commandments.
[4] Erich Fromm, The Art
of Loving (New York, 2006). See specifically pg. 67-72.
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