Parshas Ki Seitzei - Wicked until ...

This week’s parsha offers us a powerful message, encapsulated in the change of one word.

“If a quarrel should occur among men and they bring it to court and a decision is issued and (the judges) determine who is righteous and they convict the wicked. Should the wicked man deserve to be flogged, the judge shall have him lie down and have him flogged in front of him in the amount befitting his crime, in its number (of lashes required for the crime). Forty lashes is the judge to have him (the guilty party) flogged, he may not add; lest he flog him further, to excess, then your brother will be slighted before you. (Devarim 25:1-3).

Rashi notices that the individual identified as a ‘wicked man’ in the first and second verse is suddenly referred to as ‘your brother’ after he is flogged the requisite amount required by law. Rashi comments succinctly: He is constantly described as a criminal but after the flogging he is called “your brother.” The lesson we are to take from this word change is a pointed one. Someone may fall into error and become contentious, even destructive (initiating the “quarrel” of our verse). But once his error is publicly identified and some form of suitable corrective is meted out, we are no longer entitled to refer to him as ‘wicked’; instead, we must consider him again as our brother.

This lesson, simple as it seems, is not so easily followed. The situation that comes most readily to mind, for me, is in family life. Too often in memory, I have pointed out a problem to my daughter and then allowed my impression of her in that unfortunate moment to linger for a long while in my mind. The same holds true after having a heated dispute with one of my brothers. The verses in the Torah portion indicate, to me, that once the ‘punishment’ is dealt (be it a reprimand to a child or heated words with a relative), then we are urged to move on – as quickly as we can – and work towards seeing that person in a loving and compassionate manner.

Parshas Shoftim - Altar awareness

As I’ve observed, many of the seemingly arcane ritual practices delineated in the Torah for the Jewish people are predicated on some potent symbolism, which is readily apparent if we look for it. A case in point is the injunction: “Do not erect for yourself a matzeivah (an idolatrous pillar) which the Lord your God hates.” (Devarim 16:22). Rashi explains that the verse is prohibiting the use of a single pillar of stone as an altar for religious sacrifices. Altars may be constructed of many stones or of earth but not of one single large stone, since the latter was the practice of the pagan nations.

Rabbi Shmuel Bornstein, the rebbe of Sochaczev, Poland in the early 20^th century and author of the Torah commentary Shem MiShmuel, suggests that the multi stone pillar is preferred because it symbolizes that an individual needs a community to live a complete Jewish life. He points to a verse in Kings I as a proof text: “Elijah took twelve stones, according to the number of tribes of the sons of Yaakov, to whom the word of God came, saying: “Yisrael shall be your name” He built from the stones an altar in the name of God …” (18:31). Rabbi Bornstein asserts that effective worship, in the form of animal sacrifice, can only be predicated on an implicit understanding of the importance of community.

We don’t use altars or offer animal sacrifices in our day. But an awareness of the vital importance of community is still essential to our worship of God, embodied both in the wording of our prayers (which are often phrased in plural language) and in the imperative to pray, whenever possible, with a minyan. What is not codified, however, and may present a challenge to us is to carry this awareness into the private thoughts and intimate personal appeals we articulate while we recite our prayers. The question we should ask ourselves: We gain so much from the presence of an active, vibrant, and supportive Jewish community. Do we regularly offer thanks for and pray for the health and success of that community?

Parshas Re'eh - an iffy proposition

This week’s Torah portion opens with a straightforward proposition: “See, I have set before you this day a blessing and a curse. A blessing, if you obey the commandments of the Lord your God, which I command you this day. And a curse, if you will not obey the commandments of the Lord your God but turn aside from the way which I command you this day, to go after other gods, which you have not known.” (Devarim 11:26-28).

Nehama Leibowitz points out that this balanced proposition includes an anomaly that is evident only in the Hebrew text – the word for “if,” that follows the words “A blessing” is asher whereas the word for “if” that follows the words “A curse” is im. What should we make of these differing clauses? Mrs. Leibowitz offers three possible answers.

The Malbim suggests that the word asher after the words “A blessing” can also be translated as “that” and this implies that the fulfilling the commandments is a reward into itself. In secular terms, this corresponds to the axiom that “virtue is its own reward.” Rashi, elucidated by Mrs. Leibowitz, suggests that the term asher informs us that the blessing in the verse refers actually to the expansive world we’ve already been granted, which offers us tremendous opportunities. Rabbeinu Bahya suggests that the word im (after the words “And a curse”) is a more ambivalent and less certain term, to subtly communicate the idea that adherence to the Torah is the more reliable path.

All three answers offer encouraging perspectives to each of us whenever we struggle to fulfill a particular mitzvah or avoid a poor course of action. We can focus on the reward of virtue, the inherent uncertainty of life outside Torah, or the foundation of blessing we’ve already received. None of these ideas will ward off a challenging passage but may serve as a useful beacon to help us get to the other side of the bridge. 

Parshas Eikev - out of the box thinking

As Moshe continues his recounting of the Jewish people’s 40 year journey through the wilderness, he takes note of a number of miracles that God enacted for their benefit. Among them, he states: “Your garment did not wear out from upon you” (8:4). Rashi elaborates on this statement, citing a midrash in Shir HaShirim Rabbah (4:11) that explains that not only did the Jew’s clothing last for extraordinarily long time but it also grew with them!  The one exception to this miraculous phenomenon, according to the Yalkut Shimoni, was clothes that were stored in boxes, which did wear out.

Rabbi Raphael Pelcovitz, in his book Table Talk: Shabbos and Yom Tov Divrei Torah, considers these two commentaries and suggests (based on baalei mussar) that there is a parallel between the metaphor of the everlasting clothes and our own intellectual pursuits, especially in Torah. Rabbi Pelcovitz states that when we continually wrestle with, apply, and add to an area of intellectual interest (we 'wear' it), our exposure to that area grows with us. But if we allow our exposure to an area of knowledge to remain static (to ‘stay in a box’), then the knowledge and inspiration we may have gained quickly begins to fade.

If an area of knowledge is important to you, the lesson from our parsha is simple – use it or lose it.