Sefer Shemot
The pasuk begins: “A new king arose who did not know of Joseph.” Pure semantics (noted by the Zohar) tell us that pshat meaning of this is the “new king” refers to the Pharoah who “arose” only because of his wealth, not because he was actually worthy. If we accept this understanding, we can see the rest of the pasuk to mean that this new (unworthy) king did not know of Joseph’s worthiness.
Others have questioned what the melech chadash actually refers to, some suggesting it might not be a new king per se, but a king with new policies who decided to ignore Yosef (hence he “did not know of Joseph.”). The idea that I like has been presented by Wesley’s notes which tells us that this “new king,” hadn’t considered how G-d had taken care of Egypt because of the existence of Joseph.
Oh, if this were only the case and thus the Children of Israel would be able to live happily ever after. Given our situation today, we know that, nice as Wesley’s ideas, are, this wasn’t the case. It wasn’t like all of a sudden the new king, Pharoah or old king with new ideas was suddenly going to start respecting the Children of Israel.
The Children of Israel were now seen as a threat since they had become strong in number and thus had great capacity and would be quite a team to contend with against the Egyptians, should a war erupt. This bothered the “new king” greatly.
Ultimately what is happening here is that the “new king… lo yadah et Yosef,” simply “did not know,” did not understand, did not have the da’at – the real knowledge – da’at which seeks to secure the bond between the two higher powers of intellect chochmah and binah. Ultimately it is da’at which helps the individual act through his own established utmost truth.
So what do we learn here? This “new king” didn’t understand the strength of will, might and power that Joseph had. He didn’t realize that it was only through Joseph that Egypt was in the good state it was in, because he had no real knowledge of this powerful, truth-seeking, honest, real man Joseph. Why? Because this new Pharoah – like all who proceeded him – was the antithesis of Joseph; Joseph the tosefet – addition – to all of Torah Judaism.
Others have questioned what the melech chadash actually refers to, some suggesting it might not be a new king per se, but a king with new policies who decided to ignore Yosef (hence he “did not know of Joseph.”). The idea that I like has been presented by Wesley’s notes which tells us that this “new king,” hadn’t considered how G-d had taken care of Egypt because of the existence of Joseph.
Oh, if this were only the case and thus the Children of Israel would be able to live happily ever after. Given our situation today, we know that, nice as Wesley’s ideas, are, this wasn’t the case. It wasn’t like all of a sudden the new king, Pharoah or old king with new ideas was suddenly going to start respecting the Children of Israel.
The Children of Israel were now seen as a threat since they had become strong in number and thus had great capacity and would be quite a team to contend with against the Egyptians, should a war erupt. This bothered the “new king” greatly.
Ultimately what is happening here is that the “new king… lo yadah et Yosef,” simply “did not know,” did not understand, did not have the da’at – the real knowledge – da’at which seeks to secure the bond between the two higher powers of intellect chochmah and binah. Ultimately it is da’at which helps the individual act through his own established utmost truth.
So what do we learn here? This “new king” didn’t understand the strength of will, might and power that Joseph had. He didn’t realize that it was only through Joseph that Egypt was in the good state it was in, because he had no real knowledge of this powerful, truth-seeking, honest, real man Joseph. Why? Because this new Pharoah – like all who proceeded him – was the antithesis of Joseph; Joseph the tosefet – addition – to all of Torah Judaism.
G-d has a variety of names scattered throughout Tenach. Here we are told “G-d spoke to Moses and said to him, ‘I am Hashem.’” He approaches different people with different names. Likewise with us: we all have different names to different people; mummy, darling, Emma, whatever. So when G-d speaks to the avot he uses kel shadai and when he speaks to Moshe it’s yud-hey-vav-hey. According to Sforno, kel shadai is basically a higher madreiga and yud-hey-vav-hey needs kel shadai to exist (a bit complicated but we’ll explain later).
Last parsha we see Moshe complaining to G-d that by sending him to Pharoah everything has worsened and the Children of Israel are now complaining much more. What’s G-d’s response? He says: “I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob.” What can this mean? Rashi explains that by the way G-d speaks and approaches Moshe and the avot, He is basically saying to Moshe, look the avot wouldn’t have complained; that’s why I appeared to them the way I did but knowing you would complain, you got a different response (and a different name). For the avot, shadai was sufficient (from the root dai, meaning enough), but Moshe needed more. The avot didn’t complain and kept faith when things were way harder for them and they didn’t even see G-d’s promises being fulfilled. So here G-d is rebuking Moshe by assuring him his oath to the avot would be fulfilled and that Moshe was the messenger G-d needed to implement this.
What does this come to teach us? Basically that we need to treat others the way we want to be treated. If we keep kvetching and criticizing and complaining, then people will speak to us in kind. This is especially true with our partners. If we’re loving and non-judgmental and supportive, then our partners will respond in kind. G-d could count on the avot, but at this point in time it was clear the same was not true for Moshe.
Last parsha we see Moshe complaining to G-d that by sending him to Pharoah everything has worsened and the Children of Israel are now complaining much more. What’s G-d’s response? He says: “I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob.” What can this mean? Rashi explains that by the way G-d speaks and approaches Moshe and the avot, He is basically saying to Moshe, look the avot wouldn’t have complained; that’s why I appeared to them the way I did but knowing you would complain, you got a different response (and a different name). For the avot, shadai was sufficient (from the root dai, meaning enough), but Moshe needed more. The avot didn’t complain and kept faith when things were way harder for them and they didn’t even see G-d’s promises being fulfilled. So here G-d is rebuking Moshe by assuring him his oath to the avot would be fulfilled and that Moshe was the messenger G-d needed to implement this.
What does this come to teach us? Basically that we need to treat others the way we want to be treated. If we keep kvetching and criticizing and complaining, then people will speak to us in kind. This is especially true with our partners. If we’re loving and non-judgmental and supportive, then our partners will respond in kind. G-d could count on the avot, but at this point in time it was clear the same was not true for Moshe.
It’s the plagues and we’re now coming to the end of them. “So said Hashem – at about midnight I shall go out in the midst of Egypt.” The question that is asked incessantly, is why does it have to say c’chatzot – at about midnight rather than just midnight? What, G-d didn’t know the exact time he was going to come? Seems very strange.
Rashi in pshat says He said this in case the magicians kept slightly different time they would use this as a further reason to deny G-d’s existence. R Bachai notes that indeed, since the 3rd plague, the Egyptians had been forced to accept Moshe was telling the truth, but if he now somehow “erred” they would deny his existence.
Maybe. That’s not bad. But there’s got to be more. The Lubbavitcher Rebbe asked simply, why give a time at all? No time was allocated to the other plagues; what made this one so different? And also, why did G-d feel the need to give out other instructions – don’t leave your house; put a sign of blood on your doorpost. Further, in this plague it would be G-d “I and no angel,” who would be coming to implement it. Does G-d really need these signs and a time?
First, this plague was different to all the others in that intended to kill (rather than to imbue knowledge and acceptance of G-d). Unfortunately, since the Jews were just as guilty of idol worship (and thus not belief in G-d) as the Egyptians, they were likely to be affected in this plague so they had to be protected (as G-d didn’t want to kill them).
Second, even though it was G-d himself who came, He wasn’t alone; He came with the trait of Judgment who would say but the Jews are just as bad, kill them too. That’s why G-d had to come at around midnight. Midnight is the time that illuminates the physical world, connecting the night in all its aspects. The first part of the night is gevurah and then when it gets lighter – after midnight – it becomes light, chesed. Hence this time – midnight – is the bridge between chesed and gevurah but since G-d is above such a chain of progression and comes from a force higher than the trait of Judgment, He is thus able to ignore it. But during the plague the idea of G-d’s essential love for the Jews being higher than any kind of logic as if He acted via logic he should have killed them and listened to the trait of logic.
Third, regarding the sign on the doorpost, the message for us today is clear: whatever is going on outside (assimilation, drugs, law breaking etc.), we have to make sure it stays outside. By making a sign – donning a kippa, etc. – we remind ourselves what must be kept inside (our modesty) and what should be left outside.
Rashi in pshat says He said this in case the magicians kept slightly different time they would use this as a further reason to deny G-d’s existence. R Bachai notes that indeed, since the 3rd plague, the Egyptians had been forced to accept Moshe was telling the truth, but if he now somehow “erred” they would deny his existence.
Maybe. That’s not bad. But there’s got to be more. The Lubbavitcher Rebbe asked simply, why give a time at all? No time was allocated to the other plagues; what made this one so different? And also, why did G-d feel the need to give out other instructions – don’t leave your house; put a sign of blood on your doorpost. Further, in this plague it would be G-d “I and no angel,” who would be coming to implement it. Does G-d really need these signs and a time?
First, this plague was different to all the others in that intended to kill (rather than to imbue knowledge and acceptance of G-d). Unfortunately, since the Jews were just as guilty of idol worship (and thus not belief in G-d) as the Egyptians, they were likely to be affected in this plague so they had to be protected (as G-d didn’t want to kill them).
Second, even though it was G-d himself who came, He wasn’t alone; He came with the trait of Judgment who would say but the Jews are just as bad, kill them too. That’s why G-d had to come at around midnight. Midnight is the time that illuminates the physical world, connecting the night in all its aspects. The first part of the night is gevurah and then when it gets lighter – after midnight – it becomes light, chesed. Hence this time – midnight – is the bridge between chesed and gevurah but since G-d is above such a chain of progression and comes from a force higher than the trait of Judgment, He is thus able to ignore it. But during the plague the idea of G-d’s essential love for the Jews being higher than any kind of logic as if He acted via logic he should have killed them and listened to the trait of logic.
Third, regarding the sign on the doorpost, the message for us today is clear: whatever is going on outside (assimilation, drugs, law breaking etc.), we have to make sure it stays outside. By making a sign – donning a kippa, etc. – we remind ourselves what must be kept inside (our modesty) and what should be left outside.
I heard something very beautiful yesterday that I wanted to share. It ties in fantastically with an idea of mine on the same parsha.
So what's happening with Benei Yisrael? They've just seen Hashem’s wonders and miracles with the plagues, and then been taken out of mitzrayim in the most incredible way. But all of a sudden things look bleak, and rather than having faith, they panic. There are four groups amongst them offering solutions:
1) The Egyptians are behind us – let’s let them just take us back.
2) The sea is in front of us – let’s just jump in and drown.
3) Let’s fight.
4) Let’s daven.
How does Hashem respond? 1) No; 2) No; 3) No; 4) No. Somewhat surprising one might say. But actually it's extremely powerful. Hashem doesn't need us to do something dramatic. He just tells them "Kadima." Take it easy. Go one step at a time and I'll take care of the rest. We don't need any major panic-induced huge act on your part. We just need you to take one step at a time.
In the parsha we also have shira. What'’ interesting is the language. One might expect it to say "Uz nashir," or "Uz Yashiru," "So we will sing," or “they will sing.” But it doesn't. We know the Torah doesn't waste words so why would it say "Uz Yashir Moshe U'Venei Yisrael” “So Moshe and the Children of Israel will sing"? My idea is that because Hashem knew that everyone has their own song to sing; their own tikun to do and their own way of contributing to the world. Moshe's voice and avodah is largely different to that of Benei Yisrael, so then, as well as now, we have to find our own special way.
And we have to find this way in our own pace, at our own time. Kadima indeed, but slowly. No crazy dramatic panic ridden huge act that doesn't sit right with us anyway, just find your own voice, your own step and do it in your own time.
So what's happening with Benei Yisrael? They've just seen Hashem’s wonders and miracles with the plagues, and then been taken out of mitzrayim in the most incredible way. But all of a sudden things look bleak, and rather than having faith, they panic. There are four groups amongst them offering solutions:
1) The Egyptians are behind us – let’s let them just take us back.
2) The sea is in front of us – let’s just jump in and drown.
3) Let’s fight.
4) Let’s daven.
How does Hashem respond? 1) No; 2) No; 3) No; 4) No. Somewhat surprising one might say. But actually it's extremely powerful. Hashem doesn't need us to do something dramatic. He just tells them "Kadima." Take it easy. Go one step at a time and I'll take care of the rest. We don't need any major panic-induced huge act on your part. We just need you to take one step at a time.
In the parsha we also have shira. What'’ interesting is the language. One might expect it to say "Uz nashir," or "Uz Yashiru," "So we will sing," or “they will sing.” But it doesn't. We know the Torah doesn't waste words so why would it say "Uz Yashir Moshe U'Venei Yisrael” “So Moshe and the Children of Israel will sing"? My idea is that because Hashem knew that everyone has their own song to sing; their own tikun to do and their own way of contributing to the world. Moshe's voice and avodah is largely different to that of Benei Yisrael, so then, as well as now, we have to find our own special way.
And we have to find this way in our own pace, at our own time. Kadima indeed, but slowly. No crazy dramatic panic ridden huge act that doesn't sit right with us anyway, just find your own voice, your own step and do it in your own time.
Seems kinda strange that one of the most central parshiot is named after Yitro – a non-Jew. Why is this? A lot of explanations are offered. One is that Yitro was really passionate about G-d, perhaps more so than the Jews themselves! Sure, the Jews went through all the miracles, blah, blah, but then they kinda forgot about that and started complaining. Not so with Yitro. He literally (the pasuk tells us in 18:9), got “gooosebumps.” He showed more passion and dedication than pretty much all of the Jews, which kinda puts us to shame.
Moshe’s not stupid either. He knows which side his bread is buttered. He really digs his father in law. In fact we’re told that Moshe “did everything that he had said.” He’s not fighting with him, like he often did with G-d.
So what do we learn from this? Personally I think it’s another lesson in human nature. I’ll give an example: We bought a big house in Efrat a few years ago. I found the whole thing extremely overwhelming. I didn’t think it was fun or nice or enjoyable. I didn't appreciate the miracle of it. Part of me wanted to stay in a little rented apartment forever and not worry about mortgages and kids and stuff like that. Others however – friends of mine – were really happy for me. They just saw the miracle and the wonderment of it all. They didn’t see the potential problems or anything like that. And then I realized that’s how I am with THEIR house purchases too. I am very excited. But they probably also see the problems or potential problems (BH we've had none with ours). I guess I just found it hard to really accept the miracle of G-d’s huge work. I KNEW logically, intellectually it was a miracle, but I couldn't quite FEEL it like I do for others. And thus so the Benei Yisrael and Yitro. Sure, the Benei Yisrael KNEW they'd been the recipients of G-d's tremendous miracles, but did they really FEEL it at all times? No, it took an outsider; it took Yitro to really see it from the outer workings to be able to appreciate it. Likewise with any momentous occasion in life. You’re right in the situation, analyzing the nitty gritty, but those outside can really see the big picture and thus feel much more shalem with the wonderousness of it all.
This is all well and good but perhaps a little disappointing? Fear not...I have another idea. Later on in the parsha, it specifically says (and I'm sorry I don't yet have a Hebrew font on my computer) “Moshe heard THE VOICE of his father-in-law.” Why does it have to specify the voice? Why couldn't it just have said 'Moshe heard his father-in-law'? Because true, it was indeed THE VOICE of Yitro, but I’d like to suggest that the words, the ikkur, the meaning, came from Hakadosh Baruch Hu and that is indeed why the parsha is given the prominent title of Yitro because of his pivotal role in bringing G-d’s words down to the Benei Yisrael.
Moshe’s not stupid either. He knows which side his bread is buttered. He really digs his father in law. In fact we’re told that Moshe “did everything that he had said.” He’s not fighting with him, like he often did with G-d.
So what do we learn from this? Personally I think it’s another lesson in human nature. I’ll give an example: We bought a big house in Efrat a few years ago. I found the whole thing extremely overwhelming. I didn’t think it was fun or nice or enjoyable. I didn't appreciate the miracle of it. Part of me wanted to stay in a little rented apartment forever and not worry about mortgages and kids and stuff like that. Others however – friends of mine – were really happy for me. They just saw the miracle and the wonderment of it all. They didn’t see the potential problems or anything like that. And then I realized that’s how I am with THEIR house purchases too. I am very excited. But they probably also see the problems or potential problems (BH we've had none with ours). I guess I just found it hard to really accept the miracle of G-d’s huge work. I KNEW logically, intellectually it was a miracle, but I couldn't quite FEEL it like I do for others. And thus so the Benei Yisrael and Yitro. Sure, the Benei Yisrael KNEW they'd been the recipients of G-d's tremendous miracles, but did they really FEEL it at all times? No, it took an outsider; it took Yitro to really see it from the outer workings to be able to appreciate it. Likewise with any momentous occasion in life. You’re right in the situation, analyzing the nitty gritty, but those outside can really see the big picture and thus feel much more shalem with the wonderousness of it all.
This is all well and good but perhaps a little disappointing? Fear not...I have another idea. Later on in the parsha, it specifically says (and I'm sorry I don't yet have a Hebrew font on my computer) “Moshe heard THE VOICE of his father-in-law.” Why does it have to specify the voice? Why couldn't it just have said 'Moshe heard his father-in-law'? Because true, it was indeed THE VOICE of Yitro, but I’d like to suggest that the words, the ikkur, the meaning, came from Hakadosh Baruch Hu and that is indeed why the parsha is given the prominent title of Yitro because of his pivotal role in bringing G-d’s words down to the Benei Yisrael.
There are 3 types of Torah laws: chukim (the laws we don't really understand at all, e.g., para aduma); mishpatim (those that are more comprehensible – seen as civil laws) and then eidut (those laws that require our behaviour to act as testimony – witness – to acts of G-dliness, such as keeping shabbat or kashrut, wearing tzitzit).
In this parsha we deal with the somewhat [allegedly] easier laws: the mishpatim. We’re presented with a whole load of laws now but what is should be noted is that they are just as important as the 10 commandments. How do we know this? Because of the way they are listed. The pasuk says “Ve’eleh Mishpatim Asher Tasim Lifneyhem” which means “And these are the laws that you shall put before them.” Rashi comments on “Ve’eleh” saying that rather than use “Eleh” this specific terminology means they are part of the 10 commandments (which have just been listed). In other words, they’re not separate; they are an integral part; they could be seen as commentary if you like, but either way, they are part and parcel – just as important – as the 10 commandments.
The language then gets even more interesting. We’re being told not just to follow the mitzvot but to “Medaber Sheker Tirchak” which means, “distance yourself from falsehood,” because rather than just doing something positive, it is important to not do something negative. Indeed, so important is this idea that it is the only law in the whole Torah where an active negative – to distance oneself – is used. Ultimately this is because it is stronger. Telling someone to tell the truth isn’t as powerful as not to lie. When we’re being forbidden something it seems to have way more of an effect than if we’re being told to do something.
Further analysis of this part of the pasuk comes from the wisdom of one of my favourite Rabbinical characters, Rebbe Zusia. He looks at the word “medaber” and says it can be translated as “from a word” which would mean that if you speak one false word, you have already distanced yourself from G-d Whose symbol is truth. In our everyday lives we’re so often faced with falsehood....in everything, from what we see to what we do, to how we speak to each other and even how we dress.
Thus the message of Mishpatim is to not just seek truth (which seems to be the fashion these days – everyone’s ‘looking for the truth’) but to really steer clear from falsehood. G-d doesn’t need big, massive strides from us, but rather to just do the right thing, steer clear of falsehood and be a mentsch. And that by doing that – by physically, emotionally and spiritually taking strides to move away from that which is false – we will be zocheh to gain help from Hakadosh Baruch Hu that truth will just naturally come in its stead.
In this parsha we deal with the somewhat [allegedly] easier laws: the mishpatim. We’re presented with a whole load of laws now but what is should be noted is that they are just as important as the 10 commandments. How do we know this? Because of the way they are listed. The pasuk says “Ve’eleh Mishpatim Asher Tasim Lifneyhem” which means “And these are the laws that you shall put before them.” Rashi comments on “Ve’eleh” saying that rather than use “Eleh” this specific terminology means they are part of the 10 commandments (which have just been listed). In other words, they’re not separate; they are an integral part; they could be seen as commentary if you like, but either way, they are part and parcel – just as important – as the 10 commandments.
The language then gets even more interesting. We’re being told not just to follow the mitzvot but to “Medaber Sheker Tirchak” which means, “distance yourself from falsehood,” because rather than just doing something positive, it is important to not do something negative. Indeed, so important is this idea that it is the only law in the whole Torah where an active negative – to distance oneself – is used. Ultimately this is because it is stronger. Telling someone to tell the truth isn’t as powerful as not to lie. When we’re being forbidden something it seems to have way more of an effect than if we’re being told to do something.
Further analysis of this part of the pasuk comes from the wisdom of one of my favourite Rabbinical characters, Rebbe Zusia. He looks at the word “medaber” and says it can be translated as “from a word” which would mean that if you speak one false word, you have already distanced yourself from G-d Whose symbol is truth. In our everyday lives we’re so often faced with falsehood....in everything, from what we see to what we do, to how we speak to each other and even how we dress.
Thus the message of Mishpatim is to not just seek truth (which seems to be the fashion these days – everyone’s ‘looking for the truth’) but to really steer clear from falsehood. G-d doesn’t need big, massive strides from us, but rather to just do the right thing, steer clear of falsehood and be a mentsch. And that by doing that – by physically, emotionally and spiritually taking strides to move away from that which is false – we will be zocheh to gain help from Hakadosh Baruch Hu that truth will just naturally come in its stead.
At first glance, Teruma gets a bad rep for being that starting parsha in a series that deals with the allegedly “boring” mishkan building. But, after closer inspection, there is actually significant meaning to be gleaned just from the language. One pasuk says: “G-d spoke to Moses, saying, ‘Speak to the Children of Israel and take for me a portion, from every man whose heart motivates him you shall take my portion.’” It seems repetitive at first: First, G-d needs to speak to Moses saying (that’s the first seemingly unnecessary repetition) and then take for me a portion…take my portion (that’s the second repetition).
What can this mean? G-d is speaking to two parts of Benei Yisrael here (or even two types of people within each individual – the good inclination and the evil inclination). The first type have to be told twice; cajoled, encouraged, etc. The second type, not only don’t have to be told twice, but are so in tune with G-d, that they see the portion as “terumati” my portion, as in G-d’s portion. (The second time the verb teruma is used in this pasuk terumati rather than teruma is used, indicating that My portion – as in G-d’s portion – is one and the same).
Delving into the meaning of the name of the parsha, further expands this idea. The root of the word Teruma is Rum which means to uplift. Those who really want to work for Hashem – even if they are not quite there and still have to be told twice – will do their utmost to uplift themselves out of themselves so that they can reach the level of being true avdei Hashem.
When we have complete faith in G-d and we are serious about being avdei Hashem – servants of G-d – then we see our portion and His portion as one and the same. Not only do we not need to be told twice (Rashi explains that whenever it says ‘daber…laymor – speak…saying’ this is a repetition), but we don’t see any separation between our possessions and those of Hashem; we are that integrally connected to Him.
Why is this so helpful in life and indeed in our serving of Hashem? Because then we don’t need to get jealous or have expectations like “well she got married; why can’t I? or he has a ton of money; why am I struggling?” Whatever we are given is anyway Hashem’s so we should be grateful that it is currently on loan and give it back as soon as the rightful owner – Hashem – asks for it. That is what these pasukim are really telling us. Decide what camp you’re going to be in: do you need to be told twice, and then pushed even further or do you understand that every portion you have been given is rightly Hashem’s?
Wherever we are, whatever camp we are in (and maybe we have one foot in both), parshat Teruma is telling us that there is always the option to “rum” uplift ourselves in to true disciples of Hashem.
What can this mean? G-d is speaking to two parts of Benei Yisrael here (or even two types of people within each individual – the good inclination and the evil inclination). The first type have to be told twice; cajoled, encouraged, etc. The second type, not only don’t have to be told twice, but are so in tune with G-d, that they see the portion as “terumati” my portion, as in G-d’s portion. (The second time the verb teruma is used in this pasuk terumati rather than teruma is used, indicating that My portion – as in G-d’s portion – is one and the same).
Delving into the meaning of the name of the parsha, further expands this idea. The root of the word Teruma is Rum which means to uplift. Those who really want to work for Hashem – even if they are not quite there and still have to be told twice – will do their utmost to uplift themselves out of themselves so that they can reach the level of being true avdei Hashem.
When we have complete faith in G-d and we are serious about being avdei Hashem – servants of G-d – then we see our portion and His portion as one and the same. Not only do we not need to be told twice (Rashi explains that whenever it says ‘daber…laymor – speak…saying’ this is a repetition), but we don’t see any separation between our possessions and those of Hashem; we are that integrally connected to Him.
Why is this so helpful in life and indeed in our serving of Hashem? Because then we don’t need to get jealous or have expectations like “well she got married; why can’t I? or he has a ton of money; why am I struggling?” Whatever we are given is anyway Hashem’s so we should be grateful that it is currently on loan and give it back as soon as the rightful owner – Hashem – asks for it. That is what these pasukim are really telling us. Decide what camp you’re going to be in: do you need to be told twice, and then pushed even further or do you understand that every portion you have been given is rightly Hashem’s?
Wherever we are, whatever camp we are in (and maybe we have one foot in both), parshat Teruma is telling us that there is always the option to “rum” uplift ourselves in to true disciples of Hashem.
The big debate in this week’s parsha is why – from all the parshiot spanning the beginning of Shemot to the end of Bamidbar – is this the only one where Moshe’s name is missing. Seemingly even more insultingly, Moshe is actually in this parsha, but he’s just being spoken to, addressed as “you.” As in any big debate, many different explanations are offered. The most classic one is that it is because we usually end up reading this parsha around 7th Adar, the death of Moshe. Another idea put forward by the Baal HaTurim is that it is because Moshe asked to be left out over the whole debacle of the Golden Calf, saying ‘if You won’t forgive my people, blot me from the book You have written.’ Maybe. These are pretty nice explanations and serve well for pshat ideas.
But there is perhaps another idea. Pretty much the main theme of this parsha is the detailed description of the clothes worn by the Cohen Gadol. The Cohen Gadol is Moshe’s brother, Aaron. So the clothes – nay the whole parsha – doesn’t really apply to Moshe. Moshe may have been a prophet but he wasn’t a priest. And there is a difference between the two roles. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks points out that while the prophet may be out there, powerful, dramatic and attract a lot of attention, his words are just the words of G-d for now, whereas the priest, while he is seemingly less important with all his work in the background, actually speaks the word of G-d for all times. Ultimately, the priest is needed more than the prophet. This is highlighted in the beginning of the parsha: “In the tent of meeting, outside the curtain that is in front of the Testimony, Aaron and his sons shall keep the lamps burning before the Lord from evening to morning.” That’s what priests do; they’re there all the time, doing the hard graft, keeping the lamps burning, not igniting them, but keeping them burning, being there through all the hard stuff. So in this parsha, finally Aaron gets some recognition and Moshe doesn’t and rather than embarrass him his name is just not mentioned.
Well maybe. But could it also be that Moshe isn’t mentioned because of the second explanation, that he asked to be left out? According to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, this was indeed Moshe’s finest hour. When he stood up for the Children of Israel like he did and said, if you don’t forgive them, I’m outta here, he showed more courage and backbone and strength than perhaps he’d ever done. This was his reward. G-d listened to him. And G-d also said, okay we’ll make this parsha about Aaron and won’t embarrass you by mentioning you; we’ll leave you out, and make it like it was because you requested it. We’ll give you the typical dramatic exit prophets are known for and we’ll focus on all the things that are important for the Cohen Gadol, so that you’ll still be spoken about (as we are doing now) but Aaron will get his rightly due and be discussed in intricate details, down to the specifics of his clothes.
But there is perhaps another idea. Pretty much the main theme of this parsha is the detailed description of the clothes worn by the Cohen Gadol. The Cohen Gadol is Moshe’s brother, Aaron. So the clothes – nay the whole parsha – doesn’t really apply to Moshe. Moshe may have been a prophet but he wasn’t a priest. And there is a difference between the two roles. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks points out that while the prophet may be out there, powerful, dramatic and attract a lot of attention, his words are just the words of G-d for now, whereas the priest, while he is seemingly less important with all his work in the background, actually speaks the word of G-d for all times. Ultimately, the priest is needed more than the prophet. This is highlighted in the beginning of the parsha: “In the tent of meeting, outside the curtain that is in front of the Testimony, Aaron and his sons shall keep the lamps burning before the Lord from evening to morning.” That’s what priests do; they’re there all the time, doing the hard graft, keeping the lamps burning, not igniting them, but keeping them burning, being there through all the hard stuff. So in this parsha, finally Aaron gets some recognition and Moshe doesn’t and rather than embarrass him his name is just not mentioned.
Well maybe. But could it also be that Moshe isn’t mentioned because of the second explanation, that he asked to be left out? According to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, this was indeed Moshe’s finest hour. When he stood up for the Children of Israel like he did and said, if you don’t forgive them, I’m outta here, he showed more courage and backbone and strength than perhaps he’d ever done. This was his reward. G-d listened to him. And G-d also said, okay we’ll make this parsha about Aaron and won’t embarrass you by mentioning you; we’ll leave you out, and make it like it was because you requested it. We’ll give you the typical dramatic exit prophets are known for and we’ll focus on all the things that are important for the Cohen Gadol, so that you’ll still be spoken about (as we are doing now) but Aaron will get his rightly due and be discussed in intricate details, down to the specifics of his clothes.
This is the Golden Calf parsha, as well as the commandment to keep the Sabbath. It’s pretty harsh towards Moshe. The pasuk reads: “Rise up, make for us gods that will go before us, for this man Moses who brought us up from the land of Egypt – we do not know what became of him.” After all that Moshe has done for them, when things don’t seem to be going as they wished, all of a sudden, his “loyal” supporters diss him? They refer to him as “this man Moshe [zeh Moshe ha’ish]” not “our leader” or just simply Moshe. They want nothing to do with them. There is absolutely no sense of loyalty. But it’s more than that. They’re not just dissing Moshe; they’re completely rejecting Hashem. They’ve literally just said “na’asseh v’nishma” (we will do and we will listen); they have been astounded by G-d’s miracles, and now all of a sudden everything is terrible and they’re basically on the first boat out of here. How can we understand this?
Actually perhaps we – or at least I – can understand this all too easily. When everything is wonderful, happy and gay, and there are abundant, open miracles for us to witness and enjoy, great. But literally moments later that can end and the day to day drudgery of it all becomes too much. Then we get mad. Even for myself, one minute I’m loving and adoring of Daniel and the next minute he does something that I don’t expect and I’m ready to run for the hills. What kind of loyalty do I show?
Well, rather than beat ourselves up about it, we have to accept that this is human nature. True, it was a terrible thing the Children of Israel did vis-à-vis the Golden Calf, Moshe and Hashem. And they needed to do teshuva for that. But they’re not melachim (angels), they’re human mortals. And when G-d created the world He understood this when He said “na’aseh adam,” (let us make man). Yes, let us make man, together, in this imperfect world, with all his/her imperfections and let us together strive, step by step, moment by moment, day by day to move forward in tikun olam (repairing the world). True, we’ll have days when there will be one step forward and three steps back and other days when there won’t be any steps forward at all, but when we go back to the Tenach and see that this was the case as well with our forefathers (and even the great Aharon to all intents and purposes) then we can gain the strength needed to say “okay, I messed up, but I can try again.”
So when we read parshat Ki Tissa, we can glean a deeper understanding in to its title: “When you take” and perhaps understand it as When you take a step back and mess up (ie the Golden Calf) G-d will always be there for you if you make the effort to take a step forward.
This learning was done in 2009 in the zechut of my loving husband, father to my child, that he has a good, happy and healthy week.
Actually perhaps we – or at least I – can understand this all too easily. When everything is wonderful, happy and gay, and there are abundant, open miracles for us to witness and enjoy, great. But literally moments later that can end and the day to day drudgery of it all becomes too much. Then we get mad. Even for myself, one minute I’m loving and adoring of Daniel and the next minute he does something that I don’t expect and I’m ready to run for the hills. What kind of loyalty do I show?
Well, rather than beat ourselves up about it, we have to accept that this is human nature. True, it was a terrible thing the Children of Israel did vis-à-vis the Golden Calf, Moshe and Hashem. And they needed to do teshuva for that. But they’re not melachim (angels), they’re human mortals. And when G-d created the world He understood this when He said “na’aseh adam,” (let us make man). Yes, let us make man, together, in this imperfect world, with all his/her imperfections and let us together strive, step by step, moment by moment, day by day to move forward in tikun olam (repairing the world). True, we’ll have days when there will be one step forward and three steps back and other days when there won’t be any steps forward at all, but when we go back to the Tenach and see that this was the case as well with our forefathers (and even the great Aharon to all intents and purposes) then we can gain the strength needed to say “okay, I messed up, but I can try again.”
So when we read parshat Ki Tissa, we can glean a deeper understanding in to its title: “When you take” and perhaps understand it as When you take a step back and mess up (ie the Golden Calf) G-d will always be there for you if you make the effort to take a step forward.
This learning was done in 2009 in the zechut of my loving husband, father to my child, that he has a good, happy and healthy week.
In this parsha there is a lot of focus on the detail of the building of the Mishkan – again. But then at the crux of the parsha we find the commandment to keep the Sabbath day. “These are the things that Hashem commanded, to do them: On six days work may be done, but the seventh day shall be holy for you, a day of complete rest – a Sabbath of Sabbaths – for Hashem, whoever does work on it shall be put to death.” The law is very clear about the importance of the Sabbath day.
The language is noteworthy. “Ta’aseh melacha” can be translated in the passive form: “work can be done,” as opposed to “you shall work.” So we can see this as we are not being commanded to work; i.e., it’s not a Torah law, but if we want we can and if we do decide to work, then we shouldn’t make it the be-all and end-all. The keeping of the Sabbath day however is something very different; with that, it is a clear commandment; you must rest and you must make the day holy.
What’s also interesting language-wise is that with the working days the singular is used: ta’aseh but when it comes to the Sabbath, the plural is employed: lachem. This teaches us that when it comes to our workday, the secular, it’s okay to do it by ourselves, or with just about anyone who is involved in it. But when it comes to the Sabbath – that which was commanded by Hashem – we must seek to involve ourselves in a community and be a part of something larger. By doing so, we will be able to achieve greater heights of kedusha.
Moving on to “Shabbat shabbaton” – “a Sabbath of Sabbaths” tells us that we should view the weekdays – the six days leading up to Shabbat – as mini Sabbaths. That is why I would like to suggest that while it’s true we need not make our work everything (holiness should always come first), our work should on some level be infused with G-dliness, making it holy, making it a small Shabbat of sorts.
The language is noteworthy. “Ta’aseh melacha” can be translated in the passive form: “work can be done,” as opposed to “you shall work.” So we can see this as we are not being commanded to work; i.e., it’s not a Torah law, but if we want we can and if we do decide to work, then we shouldn’t make it the be-all and end-all. The keeping of the Sabbath day however is something very different; with that, it is a clear commandment; you must rest and you must make the day holy.
What’s also interesting language-wise is that with the working days the singular is used: ta’aseh but when it comes to the Sabbath, the plural is employed: lachem. This teaches us that when it comes to our workday, the secular, it’s okay to do it by ourselves, or with just about anyone who is involved in it. But when it comes to the Sabbath – that which was commanded by Hashem – we must seek to involve ourselves in a community and be a part of something larger. By doing so, we will be able to achieve greater heights of kedusha.
Moving on to “Shabbat shabbaton” – “a Sabbath of Sabbaths” tells us that we should view the weekdays – the six days leading up to Shabbat – as mini Sabbaths. That is why I would like to suggest that while it’s true we need not make our work everything (holiness should always come first), our work should on some level be infused with G-dliness, making it holy, making it a small Shabbat of sorts.
The parsha begins “These are the accounts of the Tabernacle, the Tabernacle of Testimony, which were taken at Moses’ bidding.” The question asked is, why, after all Israel gave so generously and voluntarily (only ½ shekel was compulsory but they gave way above and beyond that) did Moses feel the need to make an accounting? The children of Israel so wanted to be a part of this mitzvah – a mishkan which would bring the shechina into their midst. No one was threatened by him or concerned that he was taking it for himself. So why did he do this?
This comes to teach us that we all have to do the same. No matter how secure we are in what we have done; we know that it is correct and right and true and that our client doesn’t even want a receipt, it is our duty to do the paperwork, to ensure that no time in the future does it become an issue (and we see this at other points in Tenach for example when Avraham insisted on paying for Maarat Hamachpela). It is our Torah obligation to put ourselves beyond any potential for suspicion. Even someone as great as Moses – trusted by G-d – needs to live by this accounting.
It has been further suggested that such an accounting was one of the reasons that this mishkan actually stayed intact, unlike the previous 2 that were destroyed. Maybe. Or perhaps there was some learning put in practice from the discussion (in Vayekel) on Shabbat Shabbaton and “six days you must work,” and that because the Children of Israel made their work so G-dly and like a small Shabbat, that was why this mishkan survived.
This comes to teach us that we all have to do the same. No matter how secure we are in what we have done; we know that it is correct and right and true and that our client doesn’t even want a receipt, it is our duty to do the paperwork, to ensure that no time in the future does it become an issue (and we see this at other points in Tenach for example when Avraham insisted on paying for Maarat Hamachpela). It is our Torah obligation to put ourselves beyond any potential for suspicion. Even someone as great as Moses – trusted by G-d – needs to live by this accounting.
It has been further suggested that such an accounting was one of the reasons that this mishkan actually stayed intact, unlike the previous 2 that were destroyed. Maybe. Or perhaps there was some learning put in practice from the discussion (in Vayekel) on Shabbat Shabbaton and “six days you must work,” and that because the Children of Israel made their work so G-dly and like a small Shabbat, that was why this mishkan survived.