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.

Parshas Ve’eschanan - Divine Gifts

As Moshe recounts the days after the Jewish people conquered kings Sichon and Og, he recalls a personal moment: “I pleaded (Ve’eschanan) to Adonoy at that time, saying: Adonoy, Elohim, you have begun to show your servant Your greatness and your powerful hand, that there is no power in Heaven or Earth that can perform Your deeds and Your acts of power. Please, let me cross over and see the good land that is across the Jordan, this good mountain and the Lebanon.” (Deuteronomy 3:23-25).

Rashi, noting the use of the uncommon term Ve’eschanan, explains that the root of the word is HeeNoon, which signifies an undeserved gift. Rashi states that while the righteous might seek rewards from God based on their exemplary service and their many good deeds, they don’t try to seek favors from God based on their merits; instead, they see anything they request as an undeserved gift. I believe the patriarch Jacob expresses a similar sentiment, when he prays to God in the hours before he meets up again with Esau: “I am not worthy of all the mercies and of all the truth which Thou hast done with thy servant; for with my staff I passed over this Jordan (river) and now I have become two camps. Deliver me, I pray Thee, from the hand of my brother … ” (Genesis 32:11-12). Despite the fact that God made an explicit promise to Jacob to protect him in his journeys (Genesis 28:15), when Jacob prays for God’s help in his coming encounter he does not invoke God’s prior promise or seek credit for his years of faithfulness despite all the travails he experienced; all Jacob sees is that he is unworthy.

We can learn a great deal from Moshe and Jacob’s approach in prayer. We, who cannot stand on a mountain of merit as did our biblical role models, certainly should not seek God’s gifts based on our inherent goodness. It would serve us well to adopt a similar attitude of humility and recognize that whatever blessings we seek of God fit in the category of Divine gifts. If we take such an approach, our prayers may achieve greater poignancy and our appreciation of God’s beneficence can grow deeper.     

Parshas Devorim - Exasperation

While Moshe recounts the highs and lows of his journey with the Jewish people through the desert over the previous 40 years, he looks back at the episode – in the first year of their travels – when he appointed judges over groups of one thousand, one hundred, fifty, and ten so as to share the burdens of leadership. Moshe recalls the feelings he had that led him to this decision: Eicha EhSaw LehVahDi TorHaChem, OoMaSahAhChem, VehReevChem/How alone can I bear your troublesomeness, your burdensomeness, and your contentiousness? (Deuteronomy 1:12)

Traditionally this parsha is read on the Shabbos right before the mournful fast day of Tisha B’av. Torah commentators have noticed that the uncommon word Moshe used at the start of his recollection – Eicha/How can I – is echoed in the first words of the Book of Lamentations (Megillas Eicha) that we read on Tisha B’av night. In the opening verse of the Book of Lamentations, the prophet Jeremiah asks rhetorically about the city of Jerusalem at the time of the destruction of the first Bais HaMikdash (Holy Temple): “Eicha YashVa BehDod HaEer RahBahTea Am/How is it that the city sits alone, which was (previously) full of people?

Rashi, commenting on Deuteronomy 1:12, states that what led Moshe to exclaim “Eicha!” and then to appoint judges was his exasperation with the Jewish people’s argumentativeness, their tendency to gossip (loshon hara), and their pessimistic outlook. When we consider Jeremiah’s question of Eicha, we need not search far for an answer. The caustic personality traits that sapped our greatest leader, Moshe, appear to have persisted and led centuries later to one of our greatest national tragedies. If we each examine our own character this Tisha B’av, will we find remnants of these divisive traits? By wrestling with this question and resolving to do better in the weeks to come, we have the chance to improve ourselves and to contribute to a larger effort to reverse the dynamics that have contributed to centuries of Jewish suffering.

Parshas Matos/Maasei - flatterers and cynics

In his book Torah Today (B’nai B’rith Books, 1987) Rabbi Pinchas Peli shares an interesting interpretation of a few verses in this week’s parsha that discuss how the Jewish people should treat accidental and deliberate killers, once they establish a sovereign nation in the land of Israel. We are first instructed: “Do not pollute the land in which you live, for the blood that was spilled in it …” (Numbers 35:33), while the next verse tells us: “Do not defile the land in which you live wherein I reside, for I God dwell among the children of Israel.” (35:34).  Rabbi Peli points out that the Hebrew words in the initial phrase in 35:33 can also be correctly translated as: “You should not flatter the land.”

Rabbi Peli suggests that, with the variant translation, we are presented with two dangerous approaches that we may take towards the people residing in the Land of Israel. Some of us may adopt a ‘flattering’ attitude that the Jews in Israel are always correct, justified, and morally upright, thereby ignoring critical failings and shortcomings that are bound to crop up in any group of people  – Jews included. On the other side there will be those of us who are prone to ‘defile’ the land, by unfailingly criticizing the Jewish government or people in Israel and focusing predominantly on any perceived or potential faults, without fair attention to the many redeeming qualities of the Jewish community. In both situations we lose size of the human realities of the Jewish people and their considerable merits.

Our task then is to love the land of Israel and our fellow Jews residing there, while being mindful that every human system is a ‘work in progress.’ We should note the times when our brothers and sisters in Israel fall short of our shared values but, as family members, we should voice our concerns cautiously and with an appreciation of their many merits and the difficult challenges they face.