Tetsaveh: Holy, Holy, Holy

Tetsaveh contains all the elements of kedusha (holiness) that B'nai Israel needed to become a nation standing in awe of the Almighty.

The Kohen Gadol exuded kedusha, holiness.  It emanated from his being, his carriage.  Robed in a great white tunic he appeared almost as an apparition in the glinting sunlight before the people.  Breastplate splayed over his chest there were twelve stones, one representing each tribe.  Then there was the Urim and Tumim, detectors of truth that glowed bright indicating the direction of the Israelite nation.

“You shall be a Holy Nation, a Nation of Kohanim,” declares God in the sacred text.  It was almost as if the very luminescence that radiated out of the Kohen Gadol attached itself to every Jew standing awed before Him. 

Following God’s mitzvot (commandments) leads to inner and external transformation.  When we act in harmony with God we become sparks of His Holy Essence.  Holiness is catching.

 Question: Whom would you call “kodesh”?

At the center of the world rests a rock.  It is where Abraham nearly drove a knife into the heart of Isaac.  That is the same place where Solomon built his Temple to HaKadosh Baruch Hu, God.  We call it the Beit HaMikdash (note the root word, kodesh).  Massive walls of limestone glow a hue of gold in the sunlight around the Kodesh Kodashim (Holy of Holies).  Only the Kohen Gadol could enter that sacred space, and then, only after purifying himself in the quiescent waters of the Mikveh.

 Question: If places can also be holy, how do they become that way?

God’s gift to His people is Shabbat.  As the Torah declares, Shabbat is called Yom Shabbat l’kodsho (The Day of Shabbat to His Holiness).  When we pray we endow the Shabbat with holiness.  We consider who we are and whom we can become.  Further, we study on Shabbat to craft an even greater crown on this day.  We declare Shabbat holy when we make Kiddush (again, there is that root word, kodesh), studying and praying.  Implicit in these actions is when we ignore Shabbat we strip it of kedusha.  “My children are abandoning My holy gift,” the Master weeps when we turn our backs in favor the mundane.  On the other hand, God says, “When you, My children, light the Shabbat wicks, I will provide the sacred fire for the Holy Altar in Jerusalem.”

Thought: The marriage ceremony is called kedushin, See Leviticus 19:23, 36.  Can you guess why?

Kedusha happens whenever we bind ourselves to HaKadosh Baruch Hu.  Another example is kashrut.  When we eat in accord with His wishes we draw closer to Him.

“If you make yourselves holy, distinct, from other peoples, then you belong to Me.  If not, you belong to Nebuchadnezzar and his lot.”  -Sifra 93D

Bilaam and Change

Midrash, Bamidbar Rabbah asks:

“Why don’t animals speak?”

“If they were able to speak it would be impossible for them to work for humans and no one could stand against them.  For here is this donkey, the most stupid of all creatures, and then there was her master, Balaam, the wisest of all men, and he could not contend with the donkey.”

“Therefore out of consideration for people, the Holy One closed the mouths of beasts.”

Remember the last time an animal spoke in the Torah?  It was in the Garden of Eden.  And that event was so cataclysmic it ended with the first man women disabusing one another ending with their expulsion from Eden.  It all started with a talking snake. 

Such a comment gels with the Torah, which states that “God opened the mouth of the donkey…” (Num. 22:28).  Until now, it was firmly shut along with all the other beasts of the world since the time of Eden. 

According to one Hasidic source, the nations of the world hear that Moshe rabbenu has led the forces of Israel from bondage and through glorious conquests since their liberation.  They further murmured that Moshe’s strength was inimical to him: His speech abilities enabled the Israelites to vanquish all their enemies.  That is why God disproved them by placing the power of speech in the donkey’s mouth.  This would prove the power of God was the source of all true power (imrei kohen)

The donkey also has a past.  According to Midrash he was a gift given by Jacob to pharaoh.  You will remember how Jacob spent his final years in Egypt, brought by his son Joseph, viceroy to the throne.

Jacob gifted the donkey to the Pharaoh with the caveat that the king always treats the Israelites kindly.  Time passed and Bilaam, the prophet-for-hire, bent the ear of the Pharaoh and convinced him that Pharaoh could make better use of the Jews by making them work for him, eventually enslaving them. Bilaam further advised Pharaoh to increase the quota of bricks that the Jews were forced to make.

It is interesting what the Midrash is doing. The Midrash is trying to sew the thread between various stories so that we can get a bigger picture of these narratives.  Everything is connected.  Bilaam’s noxious behavior is consistent throughout the years.  He can spotted throughout the ages advising people on how best to hurt one another.

Do people change?  Of course they do but it does not come easily or without effort.  Most times, the effort comes from elsewhere, from the unconsidered aspects of life.  There often needs to be an “emergency” or an unavoidable conflict that forces us to bend. In Bilaam’s instance change does not come until God decides that He will intervene. 

That is where the donkey comes in.  Apparently, Bilaam refuses change until he hears it from an unlikely source, one that has remained silent since Eden.

Shlach Lecha

Faith

The Midrash states that nothing can compare with the person who risks his life to fulfill a mitzvah.  Let the truth be told; we are here only because someone risked their life to escape the clutches of people who were bent on destroying them.  It is just like the powerful and prescient narrative of the Passover Haggadda, “A wandering Aramean tried to destroy my father.”  That is how Jacob wound up living in Egypt.  He ran from Laban who was intent on murdering him.  Is your family’s story very different?  Probably not. 

         Although prior generations were reluctant to share their painful journeys, we know the truth of it.  They were running from terror.  That is how most Jews in the world arrived where they are today.  Some edict, pogrom, a threat or Holocaust pushed them toward an opaque, unknown future.  We are alive today because of they left their roots.

Emunah is the Hebrew word for “faith.”  Emunah is connected to another word that is familiar to everyone, “Amen.”   Both have the same Hebrew base.  Whenever we utter “Amen” we are affirming our faith in what has been stated.

This week’s Torah reading, Shlach Lecha, is about both elements, making journey to an unknown place and having faith.

God did not command Moshe to send out people to spy the Land of Israel; the people demanded it.  So Moshe, according to Sforno, deliberately handed over the task of determining the viability of the Land to the chiefs of the tribes, knowing they would be fearless and honest.  Yet, his trust was misplaced. The chiefs and nation as a whole lacked the “emunah” in God’s word and hence they had forty years of exile and wandering.

Rashi later observed that if the Israelites had faith in God’s promise to deliver them safely, not only would they have been spared a generation in the desert but many wars when they subsequently encountered hostile tribes along the way.

In a more personal sense, we are commanded to follow God’s mitzvot, whether we understand their meaning or not.  Such is an act of “emunah.”  To do a mitzvah is by definition an act of faith.  Implicit in the action, doing the mitzvah, is the idea of God (if there is law, there must be a Lawgiver).  When we follow God’s dicta we are acknowledging it, as well as Him.

In this way each of us is on a life-long journey.  We do not know the destination but we have all the necessary provisions to keep us on the right path.  Essentially, teaches the Safat Emet, in following the mitzvot we are faithfully (maintaining our emunah) adhering to a journey that will keep us safe and end in the promised land of our future.   In his commentary, the Safat Emet reminds us of the phrase from Ecclesiastes, “There is a time for every purpose under heaven.”  The way he understands this statement is to underscore the words “under heaven.”  Tread the path of God and all else will make sense, even the parts that we do not understand.

According to our sages, the date when the tribal chiefs returned with their faithless report was Tisha B’Av, the generational night of tragedy and weeping.  This date, which we mark yearly by fasting, reading Lamentations and recalling the terrible events of the past, is less about history and tragedy and more about faith moving forward.

Going back to the narrative in the Torah, when the people heard that the land of Israel was too great and overwhelming for them they responded, “Let us appoint a new leader that will take us back to Egypt!”  What was in front of the people was unfathomable whereas the past was known.  Despite the fact that Egypt represented their tortured past, it was preferable for them to go backward instead of forward. 

We know that was a dreadful mistake in reading this ancient story.  We know how it turned out.  Is our present day lives all that different?  Isn’t having faith, moving into an uncertain future, less palatable than moving backward?  Even if moving backward brings us into the arms of diminution of character or will bring us pain?

Emunah is the hallmark of this week’s parasha and what ought to be the hallmark of our lives.

Do not look over your shoulder at what was: Look forward towards what can be.

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D'var Aher

Dialogue from the 2,000 year-old man:

Carl Reiner: "What was the means of transportation then?"
Mel Brooks: "Mostly fear."
Reiner: "Fear transported you?"
Brooks: "Fear, yes. An animal would growl — you would go two miles in a minute. Fear would be the main propulsion."

Fear is a great force for movement.  Instincts allow us to save ourselves from potential threats.  Fear also diminishes us.

In the week’s Torah portion we read of how the fear kept the generation of the desert from transcending to a higher level of life.

The Israelites, still newly sprung from the Egyptian slavery were on the verge of entering into the land which God promised. Yet they could not bring themselves to summon the courage to engage their destiny.  They saw a land filled with unknown terrors, giants that would squash them, a land which they were undeserving of entering, and strange people who might be friends or foes.

God granted their wish.  They would not come into Israel for another generation, when they would have hopefully grown out of their self-imposed limitations.

We are those Jews, still wrestling against the tide of fear; afraid to speak up when immigrants are abused, afraid to stand up for ourselves when virulent anti-Semitism arises and personally daunted to take on new challenges.

We read the story of the Shlach Lecha and the fears faced by our ancestors as a personal trial to speak up and stand up when it matters most.

Vayikra

In the week’s Torah reading, called Vayikra, there is an oddity.  The word Vayikra is written with a tiny aleph as the last letter.  It is actually written that way in the holy Torah.

Why?  Without the aleph the word Vayikra become Vayikar, changing the meaning from “And He called….” to “And he was dear…”

Perhaps it could indicate two meanings at once.  God “called” to Moses and spoke to him the next words.  At the same, time, it is implicit that Moses was very “dear” to God.  Why would there be a need to state both?  Maybe God always holds us very dear when He calls to us….even when we are oblivious to the call.  This is a powerful idea because with other people we want them to respond to us for we connect with them.  It is not so with God.   He reaches out even when we do not reciprocate.

Could this be the lesson we are being taught?  That God wants us to always think the best of one another.  When someone does not acknowledge our efforts or our presence we become offended and want to strike back at them.  Yet, we know the truth: there are times when a person is so self-absorbed they do not see what is happening around them.  Other times they are nursing a wound, which may have nothing to do with us.  And by our misinterpretation of their action we can destroy this relationship.

It is a mitzvah to forgive and judge people kindly.  May we do so.  With all the comments made, especially with which we do not agree, may kindness prevail over bitterness.

Healing Waters

When, at the beginning of the parasha (18:4) three angels approach Avram, the ailing patariarch runs out to greet them.  It is a powerful moment as the reader marvels at this man’s ability to run with alacrity three days after having undergone a circumcision!  He exclaimes, “Let some water be brought to wash your feet before you rest under a tree.”

Avram then gathers a magnificent feast for his guests.  One cannot help but wonder why it seems Avram was so stingy with water and so effusive about serving the travelers every possible food.  Midrash Lekach Tov noted that Avram was tight with the water because he asked his servants to do this task and did not want to overburden them.  Regarding the food, he went to prepare that alongside his wife so he was more giving.

Contrast that story with the scene that occurs when two of those same angels came to Lot in Sodom.  Lot tells the visitors, “Spend the night here, wash your feet, then get up early and be on your way” (19:1).  Unlike Avram, Lot does not assist his guests with their washing at all.  Further, he makes it clear they are not wanted in his home any longer than they have to be there.  Is it any wonder then that the angels decline to stay with Lot altogether prefering to spend the night in the street?

Soon afterward, the angels warn Lot to flee Sodom with his family.  One angel advises them "Flee for your life!  Do not look behind you, nor step anywhere in the Plain; flee to the hills, lest you be swept away" (19:17).  Why shouldn't they look back?  What difference could it possibily make? Rashi comments, "let it suffice you to save your lives; do not give a thought to your possessions."  In other words, these messengers of God knew the character of Lot and his family.  They understood their deep attachment to physical things.  Lot and company were miserly to their core.

Avram and Lot are a study in human behavior.  One is giving without out thought to his persoanl wealth.  Avram understands the essential mission of life as stated by Winston Churchill, “We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.” In the Midrash we are taught that this is the reason why Avram was elected to be the progenitor of this new people.  God saw inside this man a willingness to share whatever he had with others. God does not make us into saints or villains.  We choose those roads for ourselves.  Yet, we understand that God keenly watches how we behave toward one another because that is the determinant of character. 
And what did God see?  He saw that Avram believed that “to do is to be” and not vice versa.  The Holy One, blessed be He, witnessed in Avram that the power of tzedaka is the bonding force that heals the world. 
And what is tzedaka as defined by our text? It is the way we treat people not as fortunate as ourselves (think of the servant with the water); it is the way we respond to strangers who are in need of food or companionship; it is the genuine “givingness” that comes from the heart; it is valuing people over things.
Perhaps no other message is more fitting for this day when we honor a man who takes his cues from Avram in the way he nurtures all souls in this community, how Aaron protects us from threats, how he has served this community as well as congregation in a way that would make Avram proud.