Boulder Aish Kodesh » Torah Archives

Rosh Hashanah

mitten — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 12:33:58 +0000

You’ve probably heard that Rosh Hashanah is the commemoration of the 6^th of creation, when Adam and Eve were created. There is fruitful contemplation to be had in considering this. But there are more stores of what happened on the first day of Tishrei. Rebbe Eliezer says ‘In Tishrei, the world was created. In Tishrei, the avot were born. In Tishrei, the avot died. On Pesach, Yitzhak was born. On Rosh Hashanah, Sarah, Rachel and Hannah were remembered (and they conceived). On Rosh Hashanah, Yosef was left prison. On Rosh Hashanah, our ancestors ceased working in Egypt. In Nissan, they were redeemed. In Tishrei, we will be redeemed in the future.’ That’s all one opinion, the opinion of R’ Eliezer. He and Rebbe Yehoshua disagreed about a lot of things, and they disagreed here as well. R’ Yehoshua said, ‘In Nissan the world was created; in Nisan our avot were born, and in Nissan they died. Yitzhak was born at Pesach time. On Rosh Hashanah, Sarah, Rachel and Hannah were remembered (and they conceived). On Rosh Hashanah, Yosef left the prison. On Rosh Hashanah our fathers ceased working in Egypt. In Nissan they were redeemed, and in Nissan they will be redeemed in the future.’

They actually agree about a few of the dates – everyone agrees that Yitzhak was born at Pesach, and Sarah, Rachel and Hannah conceived on Rosh Hashanah. They also agree that Yosef left prison on Rosh Hashanah, and that our ancestors stopped working as slaves at that time.

There are many ways to approach this passage from the Talmud. One is to try to reconcile all or some it – Rabbeinu Tam, for example, writes that the world was created in thought in Tishrei and in deed in Nissan. This offers food for thought – we conceive of a new world around this time, but we don’t expect to see that vision come to fruition until around Pesach time. This is not a time to actualize. It is a time to vision – to dream, even – about the world we want to see, and to give ourselves ample time to gestate and cultivate that vision before we work toward bringing it out. Along these lines, the sukkah can be seen as a womb of sorts, holding the vision safely as it goes through essential early stages of gestation.

Another approach is to look toward the events mentioned here – creation, the birth of the avot, the birth of Yitzhak (why is he separated from the other avot here?), remembrance/conception, leaving prison, ceasing to be slaves, redemption – as branches of one essential root, and to distill them down to that root. Maybe they are all about new phases – nothing>something, empty>pregnant, imprisoned>free, slaves>free, this world>the next. So, too, at this time, we can look at our current lives as a phase that will ultimately give way to another phase. Maybe we are single and are looking forward to the married phase. Maybe we will conceive or give birth to our first kid, maybe we’ll add another soul to our family. Maybe we are preparing for the passing of a loved one.

A third way to approach this passage is to look at the distinctions and differences between these events. Creation is truly something from nothing. Maybe this near year should be seen as completely unique, completely new and unprecedented. Brand new things will happen this year. It is a new me, a new year, and a brand new set of potentials.

Or maybe the image I can relate to is being freed from prison. I am stuck, limited by real or imagined walls, and I have to break out of them. I can follow Yosef’s story, enormous potential held back by my own character flaws, emerging voraciously to amazing power after a crucial encounter with my own shame.

And I can choose to connect to the birth image – something inside of that I have known about for some time, something that can only develop with time – something beautiful and natural and born of love but subject to time. Unlike Yosef’s emergence from prison, where he hits the road running, birth will yield something small and delicate, something that I will have to continue to nurture even after it emerges.

Or maybe Rosh Hashanah is a stage toward Pesach. Though Pesach celebrates the redemption, Rosh Hashanah honors a particular stage in that process, one where are no longer serving Pharaoh but we are also not yet free. Like creation in thought>creation in action, this is a time of visioning freedom, feeling it but still having to actualizing it.

All of these stories can help us move through the new year experience. Find the one that serves you well and let it carry you there.

Netzavim

mitten — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 22:00:59 +0000

Rebbe Nachman writes concerning ‘all difficulties and suffering, everything bad that happens to every person, G-d forbid, when one looks toward the ultimate goal, they are certainly not bad at all! Rather they are of great benefit! For certainly all suffering that comes upon a person is intended by G-d for his benefit…’

This is particularly interesting in terms of what is written in Gemarra Shabbat 55a in the name of Rebbe Ami: There is no suffering without iniquity…

Rebbe Nachman’s comment can then be interpreted to read: all suffering, even the suffering that comes from your own iniquities, is intended by G-d for your own good.

This can confuse us deeply – Hashem wanted me to do something wrong? We might even ask: Hashem made me do something wrong? After all, it is written in Gemarra Avodah Zarah 4a/b that the Jews were not fitting to do that act [the making and worshipping of the golden calf] except to teach the possibility of the entire public returning to G-d.

And you might even say: After all, ‘everything is in the hands of heaven except fear of heaven (Brachot 32b)’.

When that undesirable aspect of us comes to light – in a moment when we let down our guard – it comes to teach us about ourselves and how we need to proceed in order to not damage ourselves and the world.

This is true, but can lead a person down an unnecessarily dangerous path: it sounds like permission to release whatever urges are inside of us, because it will inevitably be for the good! But this attitude is forbidden: as the Mishnah in Yoma, page 85b says, ‘one who says I will sin, and then repent, and then sin, and then repent, that person is not afforded the opportunity to repent.’

We are faced with a deep difficulty: we have within us urges whose conscious expression is forbidden – like stealing or eating unkosher food – but if they do come out, then it is for our benefit. What are we to do?

Another manifestation of this paradox is as follows: Almost inevitably, tragedies lead to deep healing and reconciliation. Families are often brought together at funerals, muttering to each other, ‘life is so short. Why do we fight?’ It is rumored that, during the Gulf War, religious and non-religious Israelis were able to overcome their differences.

Similarly, absence makes the heart grow fonder, you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone, etc. etc.

Why is this true? Why do we not learn about ourselves until we blunder? Why do families need funerals to reunite? Is it only absence that makes the heart grow fonder?

The Parsha offers us another way. G-d says, ‘I have brought heaven and earth to testify before you today, I have placed before you life and death, blessing and curse… you shall choose life, in order that you and your progeny shall live (Devarim 30:19)…’

As we have written, death is quite useful! After all, ‘and behold it was very good’: what does it mean very good? This is the angel of death¹! Death is a guarantor of change and growth, but it is not the only path toward change and growth. Life is also a viable option.

We do not have to wait for funerals to bring our families together. We do not have to sin in order to learn hard lessons. For the pain of death and sin and brokenness does not subside when the lesson is learned. The lesson is learned amid scars of broken relationships, loss, and tears.

Choose life – the lessons we need to learn need to be learned one way or another. But G-d tells us that we have a choice before us –we can learn it through death and pain and distance, and we can learn it through life and love and approach.

Ki Teitze

mitten — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 21:45:52 +0000

Ki Tetze – ‘When you go out to war.’ You didn’t know there was a war, did you? But there are so many forces attempting to lull us to sleep – apathy, ignorance, laziness, self-denial, business, media, and vanity, to name but a few. Only a fool thinks there is a moment of rest from the seductive lull of sleep. ‘Every day’, says the Gemarra, ‘countless forces emerge into the world to destroy us…’ Pretending there is no struggle does not eliminate the struggle.

Teshuva – return – is the return to the waking state, the recommitment to the ideals we hold precious but ignore in the all-too-quick flow of time. It is a recommitment to holding at bay those forces that wish to render us weak and inept. And to hold them at bay we must be awake to them. And to be awake to them, we must become conscious of them – we must step outside. ‘When you go out. To war.’ We must be willing to step out, to stop being so enamored with our opinions, to stop pretending we know G-d and we know us and we know what we should be doing and how. Or at least be willing to ask the question.

Ki Tavo

mitten — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 21:46:44 +0000

One of the aspects of our lives that we must do teshuva on is how much of ourselves we invest in what we do – meaning, is there anything positive in our lives that we are able to throw all of ourselves into without regret? This is not so much a function of what I do, but of how I do it. A religious person and a person who is not so religious could be equally absent in their daily lives.

‘Religious’ people should be asking: Could I go to pray minchah or ma’ariv without regard to how much time it will take, or how tired I am? Could I buy an etrog without thought as to how much it will set me back? Or do I always shackle my service of G-d with practical considerations?

People who are not ‘religious’ should be asking, along with ‘religious’ people: How about when I talk to my children? Do I make infinite time for them, or do I give it five minutes, or even an hour? Do I read the paper while I hang out with them, or do I give it all of my attention? Do I put everything I have into talking to my spouse? Cleaning the house? My job?

In terms of this essential ingredient, it almost does not matter what a person does; what matters is a person’s capacity to invest in whatever he or she is doing. This Parsha teaches us about doing something fully, and how rewarding that can be. Every three years, says the Torah, a person is required to give all the charity they were supposed to give but did not. When they do that, they declare, ‘I have removed all the designated items from my house… [Now you, G-d], look down from Your place of holiness and bless your people Israel, and the land that You gave us, and you promised our ancestors that you would do, the land of flowing milk and honey.’

The Torah knows that, in order to say to g-d, ‘I did my job; now you do yours!’ a person must feel like they did their job. So our work this week is to focus on doing whatever we do in a complete and satisfying way. This has profound effect on our everyday lives, because when we finish something, we can leave it behind entirely and invest fully in the next thing we do. But if we do not do it in a complete way, then it will nag us and hold us back as we try to move toward our next task.

Shoftim

mitten — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 18:32:03 +0000

At the beginning of Parshat Shoftim, the Torah gives us a simple and logical commandment: You shall give for yourselves judges and policemen at your gates. It is essential that each locality have a system whereby legal decisions can be made and enforced.

Many Hassidic masters – particular those of the line of Pschischa – give an interpretation that focuses on one’s responsibility to govern one’s self. ‘Give to yourself’ is read as the necessity to be one’s own law enforcement.

Is this interpretive move straying from the pshat – the simple meaning of the verse? It must rather be understood as preclusion to the pshat: if everyone is capable of governing himself, there will be very little need for an external system of judgment, of punishment and reward.

These Rebbes remind us that, ultimately, to need an external reference to remind us of our responsibilities to G-d is b’dieved – not ideal. It can be compared to a person who drives too fast, and only slows down to avoid getting a ticket. Rather than use the possibility of financial liability as a deterrent, that person should internalize the danger to himself and to others and have the self-discipline to maintain that ideal.

We are, in most cases, quite capable of being our own judges and our own police. Our Torah is open and available to everyone. Our history is replete with stories of illiterates – like Rebbe Akiva – who became great sages. We are entitled – commanded – to learn; to know for ourselves. And, as Elie Wiesel emphasizes about the school of Pschischa, we are encouraged to relate to G-d directly, without an intermediary.

Understanding full well that there are limits to self-discipline, Parshat Shoftim provides several layers of external reference points: if a matter shall be beyond you concerning the adjudication of a cases between one blood and another, between one law and another, between one wound and another – any matter of strife within your gates – you shall get up and go up to the place that G-d shall choose. And you shall come to the Priestly Levites and to the judge who will be in those days, and you shall ask and they will tell you the solution of the matter (Dev. 17:8-9).

This verse, according to Sifrei on the Parsha, actually refers to the judges at the gates who do not know how to solve a case. They are commanded to go to Jerusalem to seek aid in resolving the matter. It would certainly take a deep humility for the local judge to admit he does not know, and to go to Jerusalem for council.

But there is no imposed standard as to what cases may be decided locally and what cases must be taken to Jerusalem. When the idea of local judges is first introduced, by Yitro to Moshe in Parshat Yitro, Yitro tells Moshe in Shemot 18:22 that the local judges shall bring to him ‘every important matter’. When Moshe implements Yitro’s plan, however, h changes one important detail: ‘and they would bring the difficult matters to Moshe…’

In some cases, an external reference point provides security in the eventuality that one’s internal system of judgment and self-monitoring breaks down. In some cases, however, reference to that external source is required. The Parsha tells us, for example, about the Jewish king who must write his personal Torah before the Cohanim. He is commanded to study the Torah daily. Similarly, a prophet’s reference point is Hashem, who confirms him/her or denies him/her as a prophet by bringing promised signs to fruition.

We might say that the more absolute the person’s power over others, the more that person is responsible to an external authority. A person in his private life is fully entitled to learn the Law and to monitor his own behavior, with judges and policemen available to enforce the law only if his internal discipline breaks down. We have judges who are empowered to decide the law for others but must be willing to go to higher judges to gain insight or information that they lack. When they do go to higher judges, they do not have the option of not listening. We have a king whose will is in most cases immediately implemented throughout his kingdom, but must be immersed in Torah as his outer reference point. And we have the prophet who speaks basically by his own authority, and his word is the ‘word of G-d’ to the entire nation, but whose ‘superior’ is G-d. And each of these figures will have strong temptation to ignore that authority in the form of bribes.

The Torah tells us to pursue justice, and not to take bribes. To take a bribe is to take something of relative value in place of the continued pursuit of that which has absolute value. When a judge takes money, he is willing to pervert justice for the sake of money. So, too, when we sacrifice our ultimate ideals for the satisfaction of a lower ideal – money, recognition, honor, pride – we have taken a bribe.

Each one of these four types of people has a bribe dangling before him, tempting him. The individual is always tempted to rely too much on self-sufficiency. While we are empowered to be our own judges and policemen, we are also told that we are beholden to external judges and policemen. It may be anathema to listen to someone else’s interpretation of law, but there are many times when we are incapable or unwilling to the proper disciplinary steps for ourselves. Being caught doing something wrong can bring a deep shame whereas if a person wasn’t caught, they would not feel that shame.

Similarly, the judge at the gates must know when to admit that he does not know. Being that the judge at the gate is possibly the most esteemed position in the community (see Efron, Lot, Boaz) it would take great humility to seek guidance from his own superiors. The bribe would be to sacrifice that deeper knowledge for the sake of honor or standing within the community.

The king is tempted to realize that he is the G-d-chosen leader of the G-d-chosen people. He might be tempted to seek horses, wives, and money in order to emphasize the power of his position – as the Torah says, ‘lest his heart become haughty among his brothers’ (Dev. 16:20). This is certainly a bribe in light of the higher ideal, which is to selflessly lead the people toward healthy relationship to G-d.

The prophet, too, may be tempted by the height of his station and the near-absolute nature of his authority. No human being can show – at least at the moment of the revelation of his prophecy- that he is not speaking in the name of G-d. The prophet might choose to say what he wants to say or what he thinks people want to hear in order to achieve certain ends, or even for monetary gain, as it says in Michah 3: ‘And the prophets charm for money.’

Each of these figures, therefore, combines the ideal of personal autonomy with a potentially insufficient means of maintaining that autonomy. We are similarly challenged to work toward the ideal of policing ourselves, of learning for ourselves, of being capable of disciplining ourselves without need of outside help. But we are also charged with admitting when we cannot do it by ourselves. The courage to admit that we need help – that we do not know, that we may be wrong, that we cannot control ourselves – and to resist the bribe of self-glorification is our task.

This tension is brought to light when the Jewish people go to war. The priest who accompanies them tells them that if any of them has recently built a house, planted a vineyard, or engaged a woman to be married, he must turn around and return home, as his ambiguous commitment to the war effort might prevent him from acting valiantly in war. But there is another reason a person should turn around: ‘Let all who are afraid, or soft of heart, return to their home…’ This cannot be decided objectively from outside. Every soldier must resist the bribe of avoiding shame, and back down if he is afraid.

It is essential to know that the individual who manages to humble himself enough to truly seek help is not afforded the privilege of rejecting that help. Just as a local judge who seeks a ruling from the central court in Jerusalem is not allowed to stray from that ruling by punishment of death, and a king must write his Torah in the presence of the priests, and a prophet is liable to death if he misreports a prophecy he has received, we must be capable of receiving guidance from without ‘even if they tell you left is right and right is left¹.’

This is because, when we seek guidance from others, it is usually true that we lack more than a piece of information: we lack a perspective. Put another way, we are often seeking a new level of spiritual maturity. It could be that on our current level, left is left and right is right. But as we move forward, our right is actually left and our left is actually right.

For as we move deeper into our perception of reality, as we move closer to truly understanding G-d and G-d’s will for us in the world, we cannot testify about that reality on our own. For we are each but one witness, and one witness’ testimony, as the parsha tells us, cannot establish reality. And we are each, in a way, conspiring witnesses, seeking to establish our own perceptions as reality, and to make others subject to the implications of that perception. And the punishment, of course, is that we are also subject to the limited reality we create – ‘and you shall do to him as he conspired to do²’.