Sefer Vayikra
Children are often taught the sefer of Vayikra – focused on korbanot (sacrifices) –before Bereishit. This seems strange given that Vayikra is the third sefer. According to Rav Assi it is taught first because like children, korbanot are pure. So what does this first sedra have to teach us about purity?
A verse reads: “When a ruler [nasi, directly translated as prince] sins and transgresses [or literally ‘does’ from the translation of asseh] one from among all the commandments of G-d, which may not be done unintentionally – and becomes guilty.” First, the language here is a problem; it sounds pretty awkward; why doesn’t it just say ‘when a ruler unintentionally sins’? This question sits comfortably alongside another language query of why it is that the ruler is being specifically referred to whereas in other places in the parsha when it discusses sinning, it just says ‘when they sin’?
Perhaps it is because rulers/princes/those in any kind of position of authority have a much greater responsibility and also higher expectations. The word asher [when] is used and Sforno would have us believe that it is simply inevitable that those people in such high positions will inevitably sin – it’s a case of when (asher) rather than if (im/ki). Well, that doesn’t help us with our ‘purity’ theme.
Rashi offers a different explanation, which sits better with me. He notes that asher actually has the same root as ashrei, meaning fortunate. Thus the idea is that fortunate is the leader who knows and understands that he has sinned/will sin and thus can admit his wrongs and do teshuva. Perhaps the idea is that yes indeed, it is inevitable we will sin – even someone on such a high madreiga as a leader – but what separates the men from the boys, what makes a leader who he is, is knowing and admitting his wrongs and thereafter doing teshuva.
For me, this is the purity Vayikra has, and indeed what we should strive for. While it seems that the sefer dealing with korbanot is going to be boring, the simple, pure essence is that there is a lesson for us all – young and old, pure and impure, leader and lay – and that all we have to do is choose to take it.
A verse reads: “When a ruler [nasi, directly translated as prince] sins and transgresses [or literally ‘does’ from the translation of asseh] one from among all the commandments of G-d, which may not be done unintentionally – and becomes guilty.” First, the language here is a problem; it sounds pretty awkward; why doesn’t it just say ‘when a ruler unintentionally sins’? This question sits comfortably alongside another language query of why it is that the ruler is being specifically referred to whereas in other places in the parsha when it discusses sinning, it just says ‘when they sin’?
Perhaps it is because rulers/princes/those in any kind of position of authority have a much greater responsibility and also higher expectations. The word asher [when] is used and Sforno would have us believe that it is simply inevitable that those people in such high positions will inevitably sin – it’s a case of when (asher) rather than if (im/ki). Well, that doesn’t help us with our ‘purity’ theme.
Rashi offers a different explanation, which sits better with me. He notes that asher actually has the same root as ashrei, meaning fortunate. Thus the idea is that fortunate is the leader who knows and understands that he has sinned/will sin and thus can admit his wrongs and do teshuva. Perhaps the idea is that yes indeed, it is inevitable we will sin – even someone on such a high madreiga as a leader – but what separates the men from the boys, what makes a leader who he is, is knowing and admitting his wrongs and thereafter doing teshuva.
For me, this is the purity Vayikra has, and indeed what we should strive for. While it seems that the sefer dealing with korbanot is going to be boring, the simple, pure essence is that there is a lesson for us all – young and old, pure and impure, leader and lay – and that all we have to do is choose to take it.
In the parsha of “command” (the translation of Tzav), we find a lot of very specific instructions on the clothes the Cohen has to wear as well as very detailed commands as to how he should implement his unique duties.
The pasuk tells us “V’labesh Hacohen Mido Bad…The Cohen shall don his fitted linen tunic.” The language interests me. The use of the word “mido” – fitted – can also be translated as fitting, appropriate, apt. As well, in Hebrew all words come from roots and the root of mido is midah, meaning trait. One can be described as having good, or bad midot. The Torah G-d-fearing Jew strives to develop good midot not just in his/her relationship with G-d, but also with his/her relationship with man. So clearly, even though the parsha of Tzav is very fixated on the specific clothes a Cohen has to wear (as well as his duties), it has a deeper meaning than that. We are being told that the Cohen will put on his clothes – appropriately – wear what he needs to wear to be a Cohen, and then act like one.
I remember having a discussion on dress code with a rabbi once. (I still wear trousers). He said to me, “dress like a beach bum; behave like a beach bum.” Much as I hate to admit, he was right! And I see that I dress the way I want to portray myself and behave.
Likewise with the Cohen and thus the strong message of Tzav. It’s a command. It’s not daber or laymor; it’s more. If you’re going to be a Cohen, dress like one and act – develop traits – mido – like one. Indeed, no matter what the Cohen is wearing at the time, he is “commanded” to: “remove his garments and don other garments.” He has to rise to the occasion; step up. Even though he is always a Cohen from morning to night, 24 hours a day, during his specific duties, he has to dress like one too (which will thereafter lead to him behaving like one hopefully).
When we get dressed in the morning, we might not think much but subconsciously there is always intention in what we put on (I see it as I often end up wearing the same colours as my son whom I dress). When we dress in a way that quietly expresses self-respect, the day has a better chance to go much better and we’ll be able to carry out our duties in the way we want, maybe even more successfully. Hence the importance of the “command” in Tzav for the Cohen to literally and physically remove his choice of clothing and don specific Cohen-clothes instead.
The pasuk tells us “V’labesh Hacohen Mido Bad…The Cohen shall don his fitted linen tunic.” The language interests me. The use of the word “mido” – fitted – can also be translated as fitting, appropriate, apt. As well, in Hebrew all words come from roots and the root of mido is midah, meaning trait. One can be described as having good, or bad midot. The Torah G-d-fearing Jew strives to develop good midot not just in his/her relationship with G-d, but also with his/her relationship with man. So clearly, even though the parsha of Tzav is very fixated on the specific clothes a Cohen has to wear (as well as his duties), it has a deeper meaning than that. We are being told that the Cohen will put on his clothes – appropriately – wear what he needs to wear to be a Cohen, and then act like one.
I remember having a discussion on dress code with a rabbi once. (I still wear trousers). He said to me, “dress like a beach bum; behave like a beach bum.” Much as I hate to admit, he was right! And I see that I dress the way I want to portray myself and behave.
Likewise with the Cohen and thus the strong message of Tzav. It’s a command. It’s not daber or laymor; it’s more. If you’re going to be a Cohen, dress like one and act – develop traits – mido – like one. Indeed, no matter what the Cohen is wearing at the time, he is “commanded” to: “remove his garments and don other garments.” He has to rise to the occasion; step up. Even though he is always a Cohen from morning to night, 24 hours a day, during his specific duties, he has to dress like one too (which will thereafter lead to him behaving like one hopefully).
When we get dressed in the morning, we might not think much but subconsciously there is always intention in what we put on (I see it as I often end up wearing the same colours as my son whom I dress). When we dress in a way that quietly expresses self-respect, the day has a better chance to go much better and we’ll be able to carry out our duties in the way we want, maybe even more successfully. Hence the importance of the “command” in Tzav for the Cohen to literally and physically remove his choice of clothing and don specific Cohen-clothes instead.
The first thought I had about Shemini was where it appears chronologically in the sefer. We first have Vayikra, then Tzav, and thereafter Shemini. That made me think of the tzav shemoneh issued to soldiers when there is an emergency situation in the country – there’s no choice or thought; you get the tzav shemoneh and you go. So it must be pretty important. The question I then asked myself was why is the number 8 so important in Judaism? Anything to do with the lucky 8 ball? My husband might have us believe that, but perhaps Kabbalah can teach us something grandeur.
According to Kabbalah, the number 8 is indeed a very strong number. It represents that which is infinite and miraculous, G-dly perhaps. This might be one of the reasons why baby boys enter in to the Covenant of G-d on the eighth day. As well, there are 8 days of Chanukah (the festival of lights and miracles). If you proceed that with a command (last week’s parsha of Tzav) then you have something really quite unbelievably strong and miraculous. Yet if we think about it, there aren’t exactly 8 days – at least not 8 days in a week (unless you hold by Beatles logic).
Indeed, in this parsha we are told: “Then it happened that on the eighth [shemini] day, Moshe called for Aharon, his sons and the elders of Israel.” So what’s with this eighth day? It’s the day after the Mishkan was consecrated but this particular eighth day doesn’t really have anything to do with Moshe calling for his brother, sons and the elders of Israel. Those 7 days were based upon the Children of Israel trying to get closer to G-d and the 8th day is when G-d responded as He revealed Himself. That’s what some commentators would have us believe. But I feel that davka it is our efforts (the 7 days) that cause the response (the 8th day). When we make efforts – in whatever way – to come closer to G-d, He responds in kind. And that is why the 8th day was that miracle, was that strength, needed to be termed the 8th day because it was like a reward from G-d. There is strength and something higher in the 8th day (hence that’s why boys enter the Covenant on that day).
Indeed, the Kli Yakar explains that this is precisely why a brit can be performed on Shabbat. It is holier than Shabbat – you have to pass Shabbat to have it – Shabbat is only the 7th day. Why? Because Shabbat was created for us mortals; but 8 – the brit – belongs to something higher of more kedusha.
What we learn therefore from Shemini and the concept of shemoneh following tzav is that once we totally accept the yoke of G-d’s commandments and take them upon ourselves so that they become internalized (the work of 7 days), then we get rewarded with shemoneh – shemini – G-d’s complete revelation and reward to us.
May we be zocheh in our lifetime to reach the special 8.
According to Kabbalah, the number 8 is indeed a very strong number. It represents that which is infinite and miraculous, G-dly perhaps. This might be one of the reasons why baby boys enter in to the Covenant of G-d on the eighth day. As well, there are 8 days of Chanukah (the festival of lights and miracles). If you proceed that with a command (last week’s parsha of Tzav) then you have something really quite unbelievably strong and miraculous. Yet if we think about it, there aren’t exactly 8 days – at least not 8 days in a week (unless you hold by Beatles logic).
Indeed, in this parsha we are told: “Then it happened that on the eighth [shemini] day, Moshe called for Aharon, his sons and the elders of Israel.” So what’s with this eighth day? It’s the day after the Mishkan was consecrated but this particular eighth day doesn’t really have anything to do with Moshe calling for his brother, sons and the elders of Israel. Those 7 days were based upon the Children of Israel trying to get closer to G-d and the 8th day is when G-d responded as He revealed Himself. That’s what some commentators would have us believe. But I feel that davka it is our efforts (the 7 days) that cause the response (the 8th day). When we make efforts – in whatever way – to come closer to G-d, He responds in kind. And that is why the 8th day was that miracle, was that strength, needed to be termed the 8th day because it was like a reward from G-d. There is strength and something higher in the 8th day (hence that’s why boys enter the Covenant on that day).
Indeed, the Kli Yakar explains that this is precisely why a brit can be performed on Shabbat. It is holier than Shabbat – you have to pass Shabbat to have it – Shabbat is only the 7th day. Why? Because Shabbat was created for us mortals; but 8 – the brit – belongs to something higher of more kedusha.
What we learn therefore from Shemini and the concept of shemoneh following tzav is that once we totally accept the yoke of G-d’s commandments and take them upon ourselves so that they become internalized (the work of 7 days), then we get rewarded with shemoneh – shemini – G-d’s complete revelation and reward to us.
May we be zocheh in our lifetime to reach the special 8.
We learn in Tazria about what happens to a metzora (perhaps this is why Tazria and Metzora are often read together – Metzora being the next parsha) and also of the time of impurity a woman endures after giving birth to a male. My question is, why are both ideas included in the same parsha? I don’t think I have an answer.
What’s interesting about the metzora is that it can be seen as motzi ra – which can be translated as “drawing out” or “speaking evil.” In other words, one who speaks badly about others “draws out” the “evil” from its roots. Because, the Besht teaches that everything that exists is created for good – even evil is a stepping stone to good. So we need to be devoted to G-d with our evil as well as our good inclination so that evil can be ‘sweetened’ and infused with good.
Now we come to the line that tells us about the childbearing woman who will be a tazria – contaminated – for 7 days thereafter. Why would a woman – who has just done the most G-dly act by creating a life, be contaminated? Perhaps we can see it in a similar vein to the ideas presented from the Besht vis-à-vis the motsei ra. If everything is created for good (even evil) then ipso facto (I’ve always wanted to use those words) perhaps there is an infusion of evil into everything good. In other words, even though the childbearing woman has just given birth – something so good and so high – there is an element of evil in it. First, there is the pain, the blood, the discomfort, the exhaustion. Then there is the potential for the child to engage in evil. Perhaps therefore she is a tzaarat because she has motzei ra – drawn out (the potential for) evil and thus this time is needed for reflection.
From a personal perspective, I would see the connection between the motsei ra and the childbearing tzaarat as simply life. We shouldn’t be so insular; nor should we see things in black and white. Rather we must understand that everything has the potential for good or evil as everything has a bit of both in it (likewise when we get a shot for chicken pox, some of the virus itself is injected in to us).
May we thus be zocheh to recognize every day the potential for evil, draw it out, accept contamination and change everything to good.
What’s interesting about the metzora is that it can be seen as motzi ra – which can be translated as “drawing out” or “speaking evil.” In other words, one who speaks badly about others “draws out” the “evil” from its roots. Because, the Besht teaches that everything that exists is created for good – even evil is a stepping stone to good. So we need to be devoted to G-d with our evil as well as our good inclination so that evil can be ‘sweetened’ and infused with good.
Now we come to the line that tells us about the childbearing woman who will be a tazria – contaminated – for 7 days thereafter. Why would a woman – who has just done the most G-dly act by creating a life, be contaminated? Perhaps we can see it in a similar vein to the ideas presented from the Besht vis-à-vis the motsei ra. If everything is created for good (even evil) then ipso facto (I’ve always wanted to use those words) perhaps there is an infusion of evil into everything good. In other words, even though the childbearing woman has just given birth – something so good and so high – there is an element of evil in it. First, there is the pain, the blood, the discomfort, the exhaustion. Then there is the potential for the child to engage in evil. Perhaps therefore she is a tzaarat because she has motzei ra – drawn out (the potential for) evil and thus this time is needed for reflection.
From a personal perspective, I would see the connection between the motsei ra and the childbearing tzaarat as simply life. We shouldn’t be so insular; nor should we see things in black and white. Rather we must understand that everything has the potential for good or evil as everything has a bit of both in it (likewise when we get a shot for chicken pox, some of the virus itself is injected in to us).
May we thus be zocheh to recognize every day the potential for evil, draw it out, accept contamination and change everything to good.
This parsha is a continuation of Tazria, dealing with the contaminated, the Cohen and becoming pure. We learn a lot about the affliction of tzaarat (leprosy) which is actually more of a weird and unpleasant looking skin disease than leprosy per se.
We are told: “The Cohen shall go forth to the outside of the camp. “The Cohen shall look and behold, the tzaarat affliction had been healed from the metzorah.” When speaking badly about others (or even showing elements of pride), one gets the tzaarat affliction and can only come back into the community when approached by the Cohen. At that point he can first come back to the tent, and only thereafter, the sanctuary. What can we learn from this?
Healing is never a quick job. Doctors – or even the diseased – who just want to put a band aid on a disease without getting to the root of it, are never going to cure the problem. Taking a pill one day and getting better the next, just doesn’t happen. When something afflicts the soul (like tzaarat) even more so, a recovery has to take time. And it needs deep-seated care, with gentleness and purity, perhaps from someone like a Cohen.
The Cohen is there to help, to comfort, but from a quiet place. The Cohen is the one who isn’t the outspoken, oft-loud prophet shouting about revelation, but the quiet, hardworking guy who is always there after hours doing avodat Hashem. Some affliction like tzaarat – caused by one speaking evil or having too much pride (both of which have at their root, low self-esteem), needs the gentle coaxing and purity of a Cohen to “go forth to the outside of the camp….[to] look…” and to really be there to heal the one who acted in err.
We are told: “The Cohen shall go forth to the outside of the camp. “The Cohen shall look and behold, the tzaarat affliction had been healed from the metzorah.” When speaking badly about others (or even showing elements of pride), one gets the tzaarat affliction and can only come back into the community when approached by the Cohen. At that point he can first come back to the tent, and only thereafter, the sanctuary. What can we learn from this?
Healing is never a quick job. Doctors – or even the diseased – who just want to put a band aid on a disease without getting to the root of it, are never going to cure the problem. Taking a pill one day and getting better the next, just doesn’t happen. When something afflicts the soul (like tzaarat) even more so, a recovery has to take time. And it needs deep-seated care, with gentleness and purity, perhaps from someone like a Cohen.
The Cohen is there to help, to comfort, but from a quiet place. The Cohen is the one who isn’t the outspoken, oft-loud prophet shouting about revelation, but the quiet, hardworking guy who is always there after hours doing avodat Hashem. Some affliction like tzaarat – caused by one speaking evil or having too much pride (both of which have at their root, low self-esteem), needs the gentle coaxing and purity of a Cohen to “go forth to the outside of the camp….[to] look…” and to really be there to heal the one who acted in err.
What was so wrong about what Aharon’s sons did that caused their death? How can it be that just because they seemed to have acted enthusiastically and done more than the law, they were to be killed? How can that be?
The pasuk tells us explicitly: “he shall not come at all times into the Sanctuary.” Only on Yom Kippur is the Cohen Gadol commanded to enter the Holy of Holies, but even then it is only at very specific times. According to Ramban this is why they died; they entered at an unspecified time.
Another explanation as to why they died was because “They brought before G-d a strange fire which they had not been commanded to bring.” Again the punishment doesn’t seem to fit the crime. Death for entering the Holy of Holies at not quite the right time, or bringing in a fire that they weren’t told to?
What does this teach us? I think it’s quite simple. I think the lessons of the death of Nadav and Avihu have at least taught me two things: first, timing is everything. It’s all very well doing something great, but if your timing sucks – in other words, if your timing is just to benefit you – then you’re really not doing what you’re supposed to be doing (as you’ve messed up on one element of it; the timing).
Second, if you’re not commanded to do something, don’t do it! Think about it any partnership: work, home, kids, spouses, friends. Don’t just take something on that you may presume the other person wants. It’s obnoxious. Find out first. Do your research; do some homework, but keep it simple and don’t try and outdo yourself.
In this case though there’s a little more. G-d tells US what to do, not the other way round. Sometimes with prayer, it seems like we think we are G-d’s advisors; his counselors as such. How wrong we are. We can ask, we can plead, we can even beg but at the end of the day we have to hope that He will bestow kindness on us but understand that He will do it in His way. We can’t go around telling Him what to do; He has to make the decision. So when Nadav and Avihu took on this ‘strange fire’ that they bought, it wasn’t what G-d wanted or asked for.
Perhaps in life we can understand that we’re not always in charge. We must ask first before we do something, even if on some level we feel like we are doing it for the other person. G-d knows what He’s doing; He doesn’t need us to offer advice.
The pasuk tells us explicitly: “he shall not come at all times into the Sanctuary.” Only on Yom Kippur is the Cohen Gadol commanded to enter the Holy of Holies, but even then it is only at very specific times. According to Ramban this is why they died; they entered at an unspecified time.
Another explanation as to why they died was because “They brought before G-d a strange fire which they had not been commanded to bring.” Again the punishment doesn’t seem to fit the crime. Death for entering the Holy of Holies at not quite the right time, or bringing in a fire that they weren’t told to?
What does this teach us? I think it’s quite simple. I think the lessons of the death of Nadav and Avihu have at least taught me two things: first, timing is everything. It’s all very well doing something great, but if your timing sucks – in other words, if your timing is just to benefit you – then you’re really not doing what you’re supposed to be doing (as you’ve messed up on one element of it; the timing).
Second, if you’re not commanded to do something, don’t do it! Think about it any partnership: work, home, kids, spouses, friends. Don’t just take something on that you may presume the other person wants. It’s obnoxious. Find out first. Do your research; do some homework, but keep it simple and don’t try and outdo yourself.
In this case though there’s a little more. G-d tells US what to do, not the other way round. Sometimes with prayer, it seems like we think we are G-d’s advisors; his counselors as such. How wrong we are. We can ask, we can plead, we can even beg but at the end of the day we have to hope that He will bestow kindness on us but understand that He will do it in His way. We can’t go around telling Him what to do; He has to make the decision. So when Nadav and Avihu took on this ‘strange fire’ that they bought, it wasn’t what G-d wanted or asked for.
Perhaps in life we can understand that we’re not always in charge. We must ask first before we do something, even if on some level we feel like we are doing it for the other person. G-d knows what He’s doing; He doesn’t need us to offer advice.
We are told in this parsha quite simply, to “be holy…for holy am I, Hashem your G-d.” We know anyway that we are meant to mimic G-d as much as we can, but surely holiness is something for the angels, for G-d himself, but not for us. And the instruction is very clear in it’s direction at every single Jew.
The pasuk begins with G-d saying to Moses, “Speak to the entire assembly of the Children of Israel and say to them…” In other words, the whole community, everyone, all those who were at Sinai have to know that this is what G-d is requiring of them, of us! We have to be holy. This isn’t just a command for the rabbis and the teachers, the dayanim and the Cohanim, no it’s for us all, for “col adat benei yisrael,” not one of us is excluded.
So what is this trying to tell us? What can we learn from this? Quite simply that because G-d is holy, we must be holy. And being holy means – if we look at the root of the word kedoshim – that we must make everything in our lives holy. In other words, it is our task on this earth to mekadesh everything that we come in to contact with. True, we are no angels. True, a lot of us are not priests or rabbis either, but that doesn’t matter. G-d is not interested in that. He put each and every one of us here on the earth for the same purpose: to, in our own, individual, unique way, with all our talents and shortcomings, kedoshim tihiyu – become holy.
The pasuk begins with G-d saying to Moses, “Speak to the entire assembly of the Children of Israel and say to them…” In other words, the whole community, everyone, all those who were at Sinai have to know that this is what G-d is requiring of them, of us! We have to be holy. This isn’t just a command for the rabbis and the teachers, the dayanim and the Cohanim, no it’s for us all, for “col adat benei yisrael,” not one of us is excluded.
So what is this trying to tell us? What can we learn from this? Quite simply that because G-d is holy, we must be holy. And being holy means – if we look at the root of the word kedoshim – that we must make everything in our lives holy. In other words, it is our task on this earth to mekadesh everything that we come in to contact with. True, we are no angels. True, a lot of us are not priests or rabbis either, but that doesn’t matter. G-d is not interested in that. He put each and every one of us here on the earth for the same purpose: to, in our own, individual, unique way, with all our talents and shortcomings, kedoshim tihiyu – become holy.
We are told in this parsha that we mustn’t desecrate G-d’s name and He will rest His shechina amongst the Children of Israel. Then we’re told that: “I am the one who took you out of Egypt to be your G-d; I am G-d.” Rashi explains that G-d took the Children of Israel out of Egypt on condition that they sanctify Him.
How can this be? Isn’t it a bit strange that we are taken out of one slavery (Egypt) just to be placed in another one (Torah law)? It’s like someone kidnapping us, and then a rescuer saying I’ll take you out of this and then you’ll follow my laws. Or is it?
When we are at peace, we are usually following a schedule, or have some routine in place. We have a set rules. Whether they are self-imposed, given to us by parents or teachers, or as part of a community in which we live. We often – especially as adults – choose to live within a set of rules. And this helps us get perspective, which, in a Jewish way, can lead to kedusha, or to us mekadeshing the most basic parts of our lives.
This is why we are told about the shechina and straight after, that it was G-d who took us out of Egypt to follow His commands. We bring holiness and peace in to our lives, and simultaneously follow laws. The difference between the laws in Egypt and those which G-d is commanding us, is that the former were just “befarech” for no reason. The latter – the Torah laws – are to build a holy life. And when we build a life that is holy, we enable the shechina to rest among us and to live a peaceful, good life, full of positive energy.
How can this be? Isn’t it a bit strange that we are taken out of one slavery (Egypt) just to be placed in another one (Torah law)? It’s like someone kidnapping us, and then a rescuer saying I’ll take you out of this and then you’ll follow my laws. Or is it?
When we are at peace, we are usually following a schedule, or have some routine in place. We have a set rules. Whether they are self-imposed, given to us by parents or teachers, or as part of a community in which we live. We often – especially as adults – choose to live within a set of rules. And this helps us get perspective, which, in a Jewish way, can lead to kedusha, or to us mekadeshing the most basic parts of our lives.
This is why we are told about the shechina and straight after, that it was G-d who took us out of Egypt to follow His commands. We bring holiness and peace in to our lives, and simultaneously follow laws. The difference between the laws in Egypt and those which G-d is commanding us, is that the former were just “befarech” for no reason. The latter – the Torah laws – are to build a holy life. And when we build a life that is holy, we enable the shechina to rest among us and to live a peaceful, good life, full of positive energy.
Parshat Behar contains a whole array of commandments, from Shemita (during which we have to let our land rest), to Yovel (49 years of regular work; 50th year we must free our slaves); redeem our brothers from poverty; the law of the Levite cities (laws applying to the towns they were given instead of the provinces the other tribes received); the law on non-Jewish slaves; idol worshipping.
All of these laws share a common theme: G-d is in charge. G-d rules the world. Yes, you have land, but remember (Shemita) that it was G-d Who gave it to you. Yes, you are a master, but remember, your “slaves” also have rights (Yovel). Just because you’re not in poverty right now, doesn’t mean you can let your brother suffer – give some of your money over to him, not because you feel like it, but because your G-d is commanding you to. And finally, idol worshipping – as clear as day – there are no idols worth anything; it is G-d from beginning to end in all cases.
The beauty of Shabbat is that – if we observe it properly – we get a glimpse in to this idea. We run around like crazy lunatics the whole week; we’re distracted by all sorts of mod cons and gadgets that are meant to “make our lives simpler” but really only end up achieving the opposite. Shabbat comes – once a week – to teach us, that we’re not in control; we don’t rule the world and that it is due to G-d that we are still here on this earth. Take Shabbat and enjoy it; let it happen, let it be and while you’re doing that, remember Who is ultimately in charge of everything you do in your life.
All of these laws share a common theme: G-d is in charge. G-d rules the world. Yes, you have land, but remember (Shemita) that it was G-d Who gave it to you. Yes, you are a master, but remember, your “slaves” also have rights (Yovel). Just because you’re not in poverty right now, doesn’t mean you can let your brother suffer – give some of your money over to him, not because you feel like it, but because your G-d is commanding you to. And finally, idol worshipping – as clear as day – there are no idols worth anything; it is G-d from beginning to end in all cases.
The beauty of Shabbat is that – if we observe it properly – we get a glimpse in to this idea. We run around like crazy lunatics the whole week; we’re distracted by all sorts of mod cons and gadgets that are meant to “make our lives simpler” but really only end up achieving the opposite. Shabbat comes – once a week – to teach us, that we’re not in control; we don’t rule the world and that it is due to G-d that we are still here on this earth. Take Shabbat and enjoy it; let it happen, let it be and while you’re doing that, remember Who is ultimately in charge of everything you do in your life.
The parsha begins with a seeming anomaly. We are told that: “If you will follow my decrees and keep my commandments, then I will give you rains in their time.” Like, if we keep G-d’s laws, our lands and produce will flourish. But, we’ve always learnt that we do not get rewards for keeping commandments in this world. So what can this mean?
Rambam gets around this. He says that we are not being told that we will be rewarded as such, more that we are given these tools so that we can fulfill G-d’s will in this world within a spirit of tranquility.
In my opinion, this is more than just a nice idea for a parsha dilemma. This answers the question of ‘for this we came out of Egypt?’ In other words, how is it, that we were slaves in Egypt but then G-d brought us out to ‘freedom,’ yet with all His Torah laws, we feel just as enslaved.
Western society misuses the terms slavery and freedom on a regular basis. Freedom is not just doing what the hec you want whenever you want (because when you do that, someone else probably gets hurt and thus loses their freedom). Slavery is not working for a living or for the family either. What the Rambam is trying to say and what we can see from yetziyat mitsrayim is that (as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks once put it) “freedom is the opportunity to do what you are obligated to do.” We are not doing work befarech – for no reason – as the Egyptians made the Jews do, but for the greater good, to make the world in to a better place, to engage on some miniscule level in tikun olam.
This is what the parsha and Rambam’s explanation is coming to teach us – find a way so that you can carry out G-d’s commandments in the best, most comfortable and most efficient way possible.
Rambam gets around this. He says that we are not being told that we will be rewarded as such, more that we are given these tools so that we can fulfill G-d’s will in this world within a spirit of tranquility.
In my opinion, this is more than just a nice idea for a parsha dilemma. This answers the question of ‘for this we came out of Egypt?’ In other words, how is it, that we were slaves in Egypt but then G-d brought us out to ‘freedom,’ yet with all His Torah laws, we feel just as enslaved.
Western society misuses the terms slavery and freedom on a regular basis. Freedom is not just doing what the hec you want whenever you want (because when you do that, someone else probably gets hurt and thus loses their freedom). Slavery is not working for a living or for the family either. What the Rambam is trying to say and what we can see from yetziyat mitsrayim is that (as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks once put it) “freedom is the opportunity to do what you are obligated to do.” We are not doing work befarech – for no reason – as the Egyptians made the Jews do, but for the greater good, to make the world in to a better place, to engage on some miniscule level in tikun olam.
This is what the parsha and Rambam’s explanation is coming to teach us – find a way so that you can carry out G-d’s commandments in the best, most comfortable and most efficient way possible.