B'haalotkha

We are called Israel.

Our name is taken from the patriarch, Jacob, who refused to relinquish his hold on the Angel that assaulted him in the night. Jacob fought him. Who among us would do the same? Who would have the temerity to contest a Messenger of God? The name Israel is descriptive. It means he who has struggled with God and has prevailed. Genesis 32:29

Why not just leave well enough alone? Why wrestle the angel? Why grip him until dawn? Why refuse to relinquish hold on him until Jacob received his blessing?
Idea: Had Jacob not had this chutzpah, the Jewish people would not exist today.

Much later, in Numbers 36, the unthinkable happens. Zelophad dies. Zelophad? While he was a man who might have been swiftly forgotten by time, circumstances changed this. Zelophad left behind several unmarried daughters. The rules of inheritance of the Israelite nation stated that only males could be heirs. What did this mean for Zelophad’s daughters? That they would lose their rightful inheritance when they reached the Promised Land. They took their case to Moses. Moses heard their pleas and changed the law so that they would receive their family allotment when they finally arrived.

It is remarkable that the chutzpah of these woman changed law of Israel. They lived up to the real inner meaning of the name of Israel. They fought for what they believed they deserved like their forebear.

In this Torah portion, those who attended to the dead were denied participation in the celebration of Passover. At that time only people in a state of ritual purity could eat the Paschal sacrifice. Since the Angel of Death did not take time off for the Exodus holiday some Jews were going to be excluded. The Talmud states that the real complaint came from the people that were carrying coffin of Joseph from Egypt. Here they were involved in doing a great mitzvah…and prevented from doing another.

These impure folks took their case to Moses. Feeling deprived of participation in the community celebration they asked him if there was a way they could also be part of the mitzvah of Passover. Because they made the request, a second Passover was given to them one month later, Pesach Sheni. Like the daughters of Zelophad, they sought justice and received it. Like Jacob, they were willing to take a risk, and wrestle God, if necessary to be a part of the community. From just a few people, Israelite law was changed.

Why not remain silent? These men and woman did not want to be deprived of the mitzvah of the Paschal sacrifice. Still, why not be silent? Perhaps that is not what God wants from us. Maybe God wants from us a total and silent acquiescence. In fact, the Sages, of blessed memory tell us, this whole Torah portion only comes as a result of the merit, their holy chutzpah! God does not want out silence. He wants our voice. God wants our involvement. He yearns for us to be partners in a universe that continues to grow.

There is so much loneliness in everyone. In the Torah, Adam is so lonely he feels he might die without companionship. Moses is often spoken of the lonely man of deep faith. The solitude of Abraham is well known. Moshe Hayyim Luzzatto declares that even God is lonely.

Can it be that the initial question of God in the Garden of Eden – “Where are you?” never had a response. When Adam and Havvah hid among the trees of the Garden after eating the fruit God asked them the same question that has parsed the universe since that time. In reading the holy Torah we have heard the response to the hanging question, heneni, --Here am I-- several times. The giants among us answer: the Abrahams, Jacobs, Moses, bearers of the tomb of Joseph, the daughters of Zelophad and…..






Haftarah Insight:
There is a vision of a Golden menorah; the same one spoken of the the Torah reading. There is a noticeable difference, though. Here, the Kohen Gadol, High Priest, is wearing filthy garments - not the kind the Kohen Gadol ought to wear. That is because he symbolizes exile and suffering. Yet, God Himself demands that the adversaries of the Jews remove the filthy clothes from the Kohen Gadol and restore him to his glory. That redemption was demonstrated in the Hanukka story and will come again promises Zechariah.

A Matter of Law:
Under no conditions may we ever utter words of lashon ha-ra, gossip. See what happened to Miriam when she came to say some unkind - perhaps even true - words about Moses' wife? We are told to curb our instincts for gossip.

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D'var Acher

We are known by many different names; each name depicts a part of our personality or the relationship to the person who is referencing us.  It name might describe our temper, knowledge or any number of personality qualities.  Aaron is the paragon of modesty and peace-maker.  He was renowned for his ability to restore harmony when there was discord.  Though his determinedly kind disposition he invariably found ways to soothe fits of anger or jealousy.

Aaron spoke up for his brother Moses when Moses was too shy to speak with Pharaoh.  Aaron interceded when the Jews threatened one another during the building of the golden calf.  He patched up couples that were on the brink of divorce.

The Medzibozer Rebbe commented that when Aaron passed away, he was “gathered unto his people.” (Bamidbar 20)  This means, said the Rebbe, that he was so beloved that when Aaron died the entire people mourned, as the man of peace was no longer among them.

The Torah challenges us to ask, “What do I stand for?”  “How do people think of me?”  “What is the name by which I am known?”

The answer will depend on how we treat one another.   Torah tells us how to act but it is up to us to follow its teachings.

Shmini, Silence

We do not know what we do not know.

Sometimes we even do not know what we do know.

Man was endowed with reason. When the first being was cast into life in the Garden, the Torah teaches that Adam was created in the “image” and “likeness” of his Creator. Rashi commented that the first description means that the first man was cast into a certain mold. The second description, likeness, points to the man having the power of reason. It is our gift of understanding.

From the time when God took the golem-form from the earth and breathed into the Breath of Life to the moment of overwhelming lust to have open eyes to the universe we became people in search of ourselves.

We fervently desire to understand what life means. We want to know why we live. What is our purpose? That is why stories such as the one told here is Shmini are so vexing. They raise more question than provide answers.

Here, Nadav and Avihu, sons of Aaron, die. Near the holy altar of God they are enveloped by a conflagration that excoriated their inner being while leaving their body/husk intact. A pitiful father has watched his sons die. What does this passage mean?

Some scholars tell that Nadav and Avihu were drunk. Intoxicated, they approached the holy of holies and were punished by a burst of heavenly fire.

Others tell that Nadav and Avihu were presumptuous. They came into the holy of holies unbidden. For the trespass they died.

Another commentator expresses the belief that they offered up incense out of their zealousness rather than follow the instructions of their father.

What is the truth? The Midrash and Talmud are littered with numerous ideas about the death of the two young kohanim. Some make sense while others leave us incredulous.
God comes to father Aaron to have a word with him after the inferno that left his sons dead. Through Moses, He tells him, “I will be honored in front of all the people.”

B’krovai ekadesh. “The ones whom I love will be made holy,” said the Holy One.

At these words Aaron was silent. Vayidom.

Did Aaron understand what God meant? Was his silence the response to hearing the explanation of God? Mute acceptance?

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Many, many years later a great Sage, Rabbi Yehudah, lay dying. His disciples arranged themselves around his bed and prayed for their teacher. They looked into the holy books, fasted and begged God to listen to their prayers and grant their leader life.

The servant of Rabbi Yehudah left the group and opened her heart before God. She prayed, “In the upper world they want our master. They call him. In the lower world the rabbis keep Rabbi Yehudah with their prayers. Listen, Lord, to the voice from Above. Let them be the stronger.”

She then took a jug and hurled it onto the ground so that all the holy men were momentarily distracted from their prayers. In that instance the Angel of Death kissed the venerable leader.

What did the maid servant do? Was she guilty of killing the holy rabbi? In distracting the Sages from their prayers she lifted the protective veil keeping Rabbi Yehudah alive. Was she to be blamed for his death?

One the Sages, Bar Kappara, investigated and found the girl. He saw what she had done and then commented, “Both angels and human beings were clinging to the holy Ark. The angels overpowered the humans and the Ark has been taken from us.”

Bar Kappara told his contemporaries that Rabbi Yehuda was like the holy Ark. They were both gone. What is gone is gone.

Yet, Bar Kappara did not blame the servant. He did not rail against the heavens. The end of the story closes abruptly.

Vayidom. And he was silent.
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Rabban Yohanan ben Zakki was in mourning for his son. His colleague and friend came to console him. Elazar ben Azariah said, “A long time ago a king gave a subject a precious gem to care for and watch. Each day the man guarded the jewel and fretted when the king would one day return to reclaim his property.

“The same is true for you, dear friend. You had a son who was rich in learning, steeped in lore and law. Now you have retuned the loan.”

Vayidom.

One commentary elevates Aaron for his silence. It was not just a silence in the face of the judgment of God, although that would be enough. Before an event we must take precautions to avoid mishap. After such an occurrence what can we do?
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The son of the Gerer Rebbe died just before the sun set on a Friday afternoon, before Shabbat. No one wanted to tell the great leader of the loss. No one wanted to deliver the message on the sacred day until one follower, a devout and meek hasid offered his condolences to the rebbe. The rebbe listened and then said, “Shh. Nu? It is Shabbos.”

The day continued and until the sun set on Saturday the rebbe still sang and taught with great joy. When Havdalah came the rebbe ripped his clothes, sank to the floor and cried and mourned for the shiva. Silent until Shabbat had ended, the pain of the Gerer Rebbe seemed to now hold no bounds.

Could this be real? Did this actually happen?
Whether or not it did happen perhaps the rays of light that are expelled from the story tale teach a lesson about our life.

The Zohar says that whoever weeps at the fate of Nadav and Avihu when they read this story will not suffer the same fate. Perhaps the lesson of silence is about acceptance.