PARSHAT MISHPATIM – REPEATED WRONGDOING
Parshat Mishpatim (23:1) contains the halacha (law of the Torah) that the courts do not accept the testimony of a person who had previously testified falsely before a court.
A first reaction to this halacha would likely be: “This is obvious! What could be more elementary and straightforward? A perjurer who lies to a court will likely repeat the wrongdoing. It is like one who kills while in the act of stealing - he will tend to do it again unless imprisoned.”
A classical Talmudic works that offer reasons behind the commandments of the Torah is the “Sefer Hachinuch” (literally, “The Book of Education”). It was published anonymously in 13th century Spain. When it comes to this halacha in Parshat Mishpatim, the Sefer Hachinuch (Mitzvah 75) offers a most unusual explanation. “Anyone who was not compassionate to himself and was not compassionate (to himself) about (stopping) his evil deeds will not be compassionate toward others, and it is thus not appropriate to believe him in this matter.” Undoubtedly, lying creates an inclination to lie again. But the Sefer Hachinuch is saying that mainly, it is the lack of compassion to one’s self that predisposes one to repeat the wrongdoing rather than the mere fact of having lied in this very same courtroom setting. This idea requires further explanation.
It is an accepted premise of Torah that man is a battleground between warring internal drives. The G-dly neshama (human soul) calls upon man to always act in an exalted and spiritual manner. Man also has animalistic drives that mitigate on behalf of physical pleasure-seeking. A third component of the human is the Satan that argues on behalf of physical sin, such as the type of eating and sex that is forbidden by the Torah. But the Satan also argues on behalf of non-physical sin, such as slander and apostasy. The exercise of bechira (free choice), which is unique to man, determines which of these inner urges one will follow. Man, however, does not clearly hear these different and warring internal voices. They operate within the subconscious mind where they go unseen.
The Sefer Hachinuch is saying that on a subconscious level, one who lies, first cruelly turned away from the personal and internal call of the neshama to remain honest. It was act of self-destructive cruelty that will likely be repeated.
Let us now examine two hypothetical situations: The first is that of a compulsive gambler who gambles away his every penny and incurs unpayable and ruinous debt. The second already mentioned example is that of the person who kills in order to steal.
Outwardly, it appears that the two cases are very different. In the first example, gambling confers so much pleasure, that the person seems willing to forego the benefits of financial solvency in order to gamble. For him, it is a tradeoff – it is akin to a person who parts with a sum of money in order to buy a pair of shoes. In the second case though, aside from stealing, the criminal committed a separate and distinct act of cruelty – killing the victim.
Based on the Sefer Hachinuch, it would be more correct to say that the two examples are mostly similar. Like the killer, the gambler commits a separate and distinct act of cruelty – in this case to himself. Albeit in the subconscious mind, he heartlessly ignores the call of the sacred neshama to act properly and instead, inflicts damage upon himself by gambling. Like the one who kills someone else, the gambler savages himself internally. This cruelty to self is what enables the wrongdoing of the excessive gambling, and it is what does most to create the likelihood that destructive wrongdoing will be repeated.
The idea of the Sefer Hachinuch is most relevant to the theoretical understanding human psychology – in particular, the psychology of wrongdoing.
This idea also has much practical application. For example, there are people who have a pattern of acting inconsiderately in the workplace, especially toward those lower down on the corporate ladder. Yet, they feel capable of ‘switching tracks’ and acting with gentleness toward their loved ones. They reason that people at work can be treated this way – almost everyone does the same. Loved ones, however, are different.
Based on the Sefer Hachinuch, it is likely that people are not capable of acting very differently while at home. One who speaks crudely or arrogantly toward underlings at work is, in effect, saying, “I will stomp and trample upon the neshama that tells me to always speak civilly to all people. Instead, I will act in an opposite manner.” The Sefer Hachinuch taught that a person who takes the self-destructive step of lying will be most prone to act in a similar destructive way toward others. Accordingly, the person who hurts himself this way at work will be strongly predisposed to hurt all others in a similar fashion.
The only way one can be somewhat assured of speaking lovingly at home is to always abide by the opening lines of the famous ethical letter of the Ramban (1194-1270), “Accustom yourself to speak gently to all people at all times.”
To help defray the cost (in time) of its production, and as a way of supporting our Jewish outreach organization in Cambridge, we are asking people to consider sponsoring this weekly email Dvar Torah. It is a meaningful way to note an occasion such as a graduation, birthday, anniversary, yahrzeit, etc.
The “cost” is $120, but amounts greater than $120 will of course be gladly accepted. The sponsorship will be noted in the Dvar. Thank you in advance!(Should the situation arise, we consider it acceptable to have more than one sponsor per Dvar.)
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
JHI Dr Torah on Parshat Yitro
This week’s Dvar Torah is being sponsored by Ms. Helen Bauer of Paris in honor of her late father Leib ben Yosef whose Yahrzeit is on the 22nd of Shevat
PARSHAT YITRO – INTRUDING ON SOMEONE’S SPACE
Yitro (Jethro) was the father in law of Moshe (Moses). This came about through a series of events that are related in Parshat Shemot (which was read several weeks ago).
At the time of Moshe’s birth, the Egyptians were killing all Jewish male newborns. Moshe’s mother attempted to save him by placing him in a tarred basket and setting it afloat on the Nile River. Pharaoh’s daughter found the basket and took the young Moshe to the palace. There he was raised as a member of the Royal Household.
When Moshe matured, he went out among his enslaved brethren where he came upon an Egyptian taskmaster who was attempting to murder a Jewish slave. To save the Jew, Moshe killed the taskmaster and hid the body in the sand. Talebearers then conveyed these events to Pharaoh, and Moshe was forced to flee Egypt in order to save his life. Moshe journeyed to the land of Midyan where Yitro was a prominent person. Eventually, Moshe married Yitro’s daughter Tziporah who bore him two sons.
When Hashem (G-d) later summoned Moshe to liberate the Jewis slaves, he left Midyan for Egypt with his wife and children. On the outskirts of Egypt, Moshe met his brother Ahron (Aaron) who advised that it would be best for the wife and children to remain in Midyan until after the Exodus (Rashi 18, 2). The advice was heeded and Tziporah and their children returned home. After the Jews miraculously crossed the Red Sea and later received the Torah, Yitro brought Tziporah and the children to Moshe so that the family could be reunited.
Parshat Yitro begins by relating that as Yitro neared the encampment of the Jews, he sent word to Moshe to inform him that he would soon arrive. Why did Yitro send this message?
The commentary of Sforno explains that as a son in law, Moshe would be burdened with providing Yitro with suitable lodging. Yitro therefore sent word of his proximity so that Moshe would not be suddenly and unexpectedly saddled with this responsibility. The Sforno continues that Yitro acted in keeping with the Talmudic concept of, “Do not enter your home suddenly, and certainly not the home of your friend” (Talmud Pesachim 112b). In other words, one should not suddenly enter a home without warning, even one’s own home, without first doing something such as knocking.
How this Talmudic ethic is linked to Yitro’s conduct requires some clarification.
Let us first examine the Talmudic idea itself. Seemingly, it means that the person in the home being entered might be dressed in a way or might be doing something that would make being seen an embarrassment. A warning of one’s arrival is a good idea for it enables the one at home to avoid the embarrassment of being seen that way.
Upon reflection though, it is apparent that this could not be what the Talmud meant. The Talmud only enjoins people from suddenly entering the home. But it would be acceptable to first knock and then enter immediately afterward. If the fear is that a sudden intrusion might cause embarrassment - for example if the person in the house was in an unbecoming state, the brief knock on the door will not help. It will not allow the one in the house enough time to get presentable. That might require a 10 or 15 minute warning. What then is accomplished by knocking rather than making a sudden entry?
It must be that the Talmud’s idea is more subtle. It is saying that on some level, all people live within their own personal inner sanctum. And it is as if there is a protective buffer of “respect demanded” around that sanctum. This is one’s personal domain that proclaims, “Do not enter unannounced.” One who enters that sanctum without warning jars and shows disrespect to the other person’s personal space. For this reason, one should first knock on the door, even before entering one’s own home.
Intruding suddenly and unannounced into that sanctum is a violation of the Torah’s ethic of respect. Rather, one should first make it known that the intrusion into that inner area is about to occur. It is proper to first announce that the home is about to be entered - i.e. by knocking or through some other warning, such as a phone call. Afterward, entering the home is appropriate.
This idea has other applications as well. Suddenly speaking to someone who is absorbed in an activity is an instance of the same intrusion. Rather, such talk should be prefaced by words such as, “Excuse me.”
In explaining Yitro’s message to Moshe with this Talmudic concept, the Sforno is thereby carrying the idea yet further. In the Talmudic case of entering a home or when suddenly speaking to someone, all that is required is to first briefly knock or say, “Excuse me.” In the case of Yitro visiting, there was going to be a more complex task thrown upon Moshe – he would suddenly be asked to arrange Yitro’s lodging. In this instance as well, Yitro gave Moshe a more advance warning so that he would have the lead-time necessary to see to this task. Evidently, the failure to do so would have also been the same type of intrusion into Moshe’s ‘inner sanctum,’ and that is what Yitro was avoiding.
Some examples of this second idea come to mind.
Bosses in a workplace who assign a major task should, ideally, first give warning that a big job will soon be put before the employees. The same holds true for teachers giving their students a major assignment.
Think of a spouse who must take a business trip that will leave the other half of the couple with extra duties taking care of the home and the children. The ethic of respect demands that to whatever extent possible, advance warning of the trip should be given.
Consider the example of a family where a child has his or her own bedroom, but when there is sleepover company, they are given that child’s bedroom, and the child doubles up with one of the other children. Respect for the child’s ‘sanctum’ demands that some measure of early notification of the need to move should be given to the child.
The following vignette seems like an appropriate closure to this chapter. It was told of Rabbi Yaakov Kaminetsky who, for many years, headed the Yeshiva Torah Vodaat in Brooklyn, NY. He was one of a handful of Torah scholars who studied in the great pre WW II yeshivot of Eastern Europe. After that terrible war, he played a major role in rebuilding traditional Judaism in the USA.
A student of R. Kaminetsky was terribly concerned about properly raising his first child, and he would often question his teacher on this topic. One time while they were discussing the subject, R. Kaminetsky asked his student, “How do you bathe your child?” He answered that he first places several toys in the tub with the child, and allows him to play with them for a while undisturbed. Then he enters the room and removes the toys and washes the child. The rabbi then asked his student if he has any hobbies of his own. He answered that he enjoys working with tools and building things in a small workshop that he built for that purpose. The rabbi then asked him “What would you do if while working with your tools, three large men suddenly entered and took your tools away?” The student answered that he would be devastated.
The rabbi then replied, “Your child’s world at that moment is a tub filled with toys. To the child, your entering and summarily removing his toys is exactly what those three men would be doing to you by suddenly siezing your favorite tools. When you are about to bathe your child you should instead first inform him that it will soon be time to get washed. Then explain lovingly that when this happens, the toys will have to be removed, but at the next bath, he will be able to play with them again. This way you are showing respect for the world that he inhabits.”
To help defray the cost (in time) of its production, and as a way of supporting our Jewish outreach organization in Cambridge, we are asking people to consider sponsoring this weekly email Dvar Torah. It is a meaningful way to note an occasion such as a graduation, birthday, anniversary, yahrzeit, etc.
The “cost” is $120, but amounts greater than $120 will of course be gladly accepted. The sponsorship will be noted in the Dvar. Thank you in advance!
(Should the situation arise, we consider it acceptable to have more than one sponsor per Dvar.)
Thursday, January 13, 2011
JHI Dvar Torah on Parshat Beshalach
PARSHAT BESHALACH:
PART I – DOING GOOD BY ROTE, PART II – THE NARROW BIDGE
BESHALACH 14, 9-11
9) The Egyptians pursued them and overtook them, encamped by the sea - all the horses and chariots of Pharaoh, and his horsemen and army - by Pi Hachirot, before Baal Tzefon.
10) Pharaoh approached, and the children of Israel raised their eyes, and behold, Egypt was journeying after them; and they were very frightened; and the children of Israel cried out to Hashem (G-d).
11) And they said to Moshe (Moses), “Were there no graves in Egypt that you took us to die in the wilderness? What is it that you have done to us to take us out of Egypt?”
COMMENTARY OF RASHI 14, 10 and the children of Israel cried out to Hashem: They seized upon the trait of their forefathers. (i.e. they prayed. Rashi then proceeds to list instances recorded in the Bible where all three of the Forefathers prayed to The Almighty.)
COMMENTARY OF RABBI YITZCHAK ABUHAB ON RASHI They seized upon the trait of their forefathers The meaning of this is that their prayer was not with purity of heart, but a custom of their fathers as a mitzvat anashim melomda, a mitzvah done by rote. For it is not the custom of one who prays and beseeches to be abrasive (critical) and to say “Are there no graves?”
PART I
Pharaoh finally released the Jews from slavery after Egypt was devastated by the plague of the firstborn. The Jews traveled eastward toward the Red Sea and the desert beyond. Pharaoh, however, soon regretted his decision. So, he pursued them with an army, reaching them as they were encamped by the sea. The situation for the Jews was desperate; they were trapped between Pharaoh’s army on one side and the sea on the other.
The Jews cried out in prayer. Rashi explains that they adopted the practice of their three great forefathers who prayed to G-d in times of travail. Yet, immediately following this prayer, they complained to G-d’s emissary, Moshe saying, “Were there no graves in Egypt that you took us to die in the wilderness?”
How could they first turn their hearts in prayer to G-d and at the next moment, accuse Moshe of leading them from Egypt so that they would die? Aren’t these two responses incompatible and contradictory? Could they both sincerely pray to G-d and also level this terrible accusation at Moshe who acted on His behalf?
The Commentary of Rabbi Yitzchak Abohab explains that their prayers were lacking. Rashi’s words, “they seized upon the trait of their forefathers” has a negative connotation. The three Forefathers indeed prayed when threatened – and utterly sincerely. Hence, the Jews who left Egypt were likely conditioned from earliest childhood that prayer is the proper response to difficult and dangerous situations. Their prayer was therefore a mitzvat anashim melomda – a mitzvah done by habit and by rote, without true purity and focus.
It is therefore understandable how they could have first prayed to The Almighty and then shortly afterward, complained bitterly about what His emissary Moshe did. Their prayers were not entirely heartfelt. They adhered to the tradition from their forefathers automatically and out of habit, without fully focusing on what they were actually doing.
That people do mitzvos unthinkingly in everyday scenarios is readily understandable. For example, a man could mechanically don tefillin and pray with a minyan for years on end without hardly ever thinking about what he is doing and saying.
What would happen though if that same person would suddenly find himself praying for his own life? Seemingly, at that moment those prayers would anything but automatic. Instead, they would be altogether heartfelt. The secular wisdom on such moments is that, “There are no atheists in a foxhole.” When facing possibly imminent death, most people turn to the Almighty, and with absolute sincerity, they beg Him for their lives.
That was the situation of the Jews at that time. There appeared to be no possible escape. Their only recourse was to pray to Hashem, and that is what they did. Yet, their prayers were deficient. The dynamic of mitzvat anashim melomda prevented them from properly beseeching G-d for their own lives.
This illustrates the incredibly destructive power of mitzvat anashim melomda. Once doing things by rote is one’s modus operandi, the pattern might very well continue – even when one’s life is at stake. It can “glue up the works” of virtually any good deed done at any time. People must constantly refresh and rededicate their attitude to the observance of Torah. Otherwise, enthusiasm can wane, and performance of even the most important of mitzvot can become mostly automatic and unthinking.
Presumably, the psychodynamic of mitzvat anashim melomda can also rob many other daily human interactions of their integrity and meaning. Constantly utilized pleasantries such as, “How are you?” or, can be repeated many times for many days to many different people without hardly ever giving a thought to what is being said.
The Ramban (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman 1194-1270) begins his famous ethical letter with the advice, "Be constantly careful to speak all of your words to all people with gentleness/sweetness." Ramban then explains the supreme importance of speaking this way. Even the tone with which everyday words are spoken is enormously significant.
Similarly, saying “Have a good day” by rote and saying those same words with heartfelt emotion and kindness are two entirely different events. They also impact upon the person being spoken to very differently.
PART II
This idea of this Dvar highlights a very challenging paradox.
Sincere Torah observant Jews consider it important to live and raise children in an environment where Torah values are paramount. Such parents also seek to inculcate their children with the principles of Torah Judaism from the earliest moment possible.
In fact, the halachah (Torah law) stipulates that when children begin to speak, they should be taught to say “Shema Yisroel…” and the Hebrew words for, “The Torah that Moshe commanded us is the heritage of the Congregation of Jacob” (Yoreh Deah 245, 5). Such parents also attempt to teach very young children to recite blessings over food before it is eaten. Thus, from early life and onward, many Jewish children are enveloped by a Torah environment and by training to observe Torah.
However, a serious problem can arise out of this “early intervention” on behalf of Yiddishkeit. Children with this background know no other way and will observe the Torah almost automatically as they mature. That pattern, in turn, can continue into adulthood. Hence, the same exemplary Torah upbringing can create a lifelong attitude to Torah observance of mitzvat anashim melomda. Being at least aware of this challenge to sincere Torah observance should inspire one to try to counteract this harmful tendency.
This calls to mind the phrase that was popular in the great yeshivot of pre-WW II Eastern Europe, “Haolam hazeh gesher tzar meod (The world is like a very narrow bridge).” One who traverses a very narrow bridge is in constant peril of falling, either to one side or the other. In the context of this Dvar, if one does not inculcate children with Yiddishkeit from early on, they are not being raised in accordance with halacha and its master-plan for the well-being of the child. Yet, a halachically exemplary upbringing creates the danger that for the rest of their lives, those children will perform mitzvos automatically and without proper focus. A conscientious parent must try to prevent the children from gravitating to this natural tendency.
There is no quick and easy solution to this dilemma. It is a circumstance of life – both in this instance and in numerous others. One must always be wary of erring – to either one side or the other - i.e. “falling off the bridge.”
To help defray the cost (in time) of its production, and as a way of supporting our Jewish outreach organization in Cambridge, we are asking people to consider sponsoring this weekly email Dvar Torah. It is a meaningful way to note an occasion such as a graduation, birthday, anniversary, yahrzeit, etc.
The “cost” is $120, but amounts greater than $120 will of course be gladly accepted. The sponsorship will be noted in the Dvar. Thank you in advance! (Should the situation arise, we consider it acceptable to have more than one sponsor per Dvar.)
PART I – DOING GOOD BY ROTE, PART II – THE NARROW BIDGE
BESHALACH 14, 9-11
9) The Egyptians pursued them and overtook them, encamped by the sea - all the horses and chariots of Pharaoh, and his horsemen and army - by Pi Hachirot, before Baal Tzefon.
10) Pharaoh approached, and the children of Israel raised their eyes, and behold, Egypt was journeying after them; and they were very frightened; and the children of Israel cried out to Hashem (G-d).
11) And they said to Moshe (Moses), “Were there no graves in Egypt that you took us to die in the wilderness? What is it that you have done to us to take us out of Egypt?”
COMMENTARY OF RASHI 14, 10 and the children of Israel cried out to Hashem: They seized upon the trait of their forefathers. (i.e. they prayed. Rashi then proceeds to list instances recorded in the Bible where all three of the Forefathers prayed to The Almighty.)
COMMENTARY OF RABBI YITZCHAK ABUHAB ON RASHI They seized upon the trait of their forefathers The meaning of this is that their prayer was not with purity of heart, but a custom of their fathers as a mitzvat anashim melomda, a mitzvah done by rote. For it is not the custom of one who prays and beseeches to be abrasive (critical) and to say “Are there no graves?”
PART I
Pharaoh finally released the Jews from slavery after Egypt was devastated by the plague of the firstborn. The Jews traveled eastward toward the Red Sea and the desert beyond. Pharaoh, however, soon regretted his decision. So, he pursued them with an army, reaching them as they were encamped by the sea. The situation for the Jews was desperate; they were trapped between Pharaoh’s army on one side and the sea on the other.
The Jews cried out in prayer. Rashi explains that they adopted the practice of their three great forefathers who prayed to G-d in times of travail. Yet, immediately following this prayer, they complained to G-d’s emissary, Moshe saying, “Were there no graves in Egypt that you took us to die in the wilderness?”
How could they first turn their hearts in prayer to G-d and at the next moment, accuse Moshe of leading them from Egypt so that they would die? Aren’t these two responses incompatible and contradictory? Could they both sincerely pray to G-d and also level this terrible accusation at Moshe who acted on His behalf?
The Commentary of Rabbi Yitzchak Abohab explains that their prayers were lacking. Rashi’s words, “they seized upon the trait of their forefathers” has a negative connotation. The three Forefathers indeed prayed when threatened – and utterly sincerely. Hence, the Jews who left Egypt were likely conditioned from earliest childhood that prayer is the proper response to difficult and dangerous situations. Their prayer was therefore a mitzvat anashim melomda – a mitzvah done by habit and by rote, without true purity and focus.
It is therefore understandable how they could have first prayed to The Almighty and then shortly afterward, complained bitterly about what His emissary Moshe did. Their prayers were not entirely heartfelt. They adhered to the tradition from their forefathers automatically and out of habit, without fully focusing on what they were actually doing.
That people do mitzvos unthinkingly in everyday scenarios is readily understandable. For example, a man could mechanically don tefillin and pray with a minyan for years on end without hardly ever thinking about what he is doing and saying.
What would happen though if that same person would suddenly find himself praying for his own life? Seemingly, at that moment those prayers would anything but automatic. Instead, they would be altogether heartfelt. The secular wisdom on such moments is that, “There are no atheists in a foxhole.” When facing possibly imminent death, most people turn to the Almighty, and with absolute sincerity, they beg Him for their lives.
That was the situation of the Jews at that time. There appeared to be no possible escape. Their only recourse was to pray to Hashem, and that is what they did. Yet, their prayers were deficient. The dynamic of mitzvat anashim melomda prevented them from properly beseeching G-d for their own lives.
This illustrates the incredibly destructive power of mitzvat anashim melomda. Once doing things by rote is one’s modus operandi, the pattern might very well continue – even when one’s life is at stake. It can “glue up the works” of virtually any good deed done at any time. People must constantly refresh and rededicate their attitude to the observance of Torah. Otherwise, enthusiasm can wane, and performance of even the most important of mitzvot can become mostly automatic and unthinking.
Presumably, the psychodynamic of mitzvat anashim melomda can also rob many other daily human interactions of their integrity and meaning. Constantly utilized pleasantries such as, “How are you?” or, can be repeated many times for many days to many different people without hardly ever giving a thought to what is being said.
The Ramban (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman 1194-1270) begins his famous ethical letter with the advice, "Be constantly careful to speak all of your words to all people with gentleness/sweetness." Ramban then explains the supreme importance of speaking this way. Even the tone with which everyday words are spoken is enormously significant.
Similarly, saying “Have a good day” by rote and saying those same words with heartfelt emotion and kindness are two entirely different events. They also impact upon the person being spoken to very differently.
PART II
This idea of this Dvar highlights a very challenging paradox.
Sincere Torah observant Jews consider it important to live and raise children in an environment where Torah values are paramount. Such parents also seek to inculcate their children with the principles of Torah Judaism from the earliest moment possible.
In fact, the halachah (Torah law) stipulates that when children begin to speak, they should be taught to say “Shema Yisroel…” and the Hebrew words for, “The Torah that Moshe commanded us is the heritage of the Congregation of Jacob” (Yoreh Deah 245, 5). Such parents also attempt to teach very young children to recite blessings over food before it is eaten. Thus, from early life and onward, many Jewish children are enveloped by a Torah environment and by training to observe Torah.
However, a serious problem can arise out of this “early intervention” on behalf of Yiddishkeit. Children with this background know no other way and will observe the Torah almost automatically as they mature. That pattern, in turn, can continue into adulthood. Hence, the same exemplary Torah upbringing can create a lifelong attitude to Torah observance of mitzvat anashim melomda. Being at least aware of this challenge to sincere Torah observance should inspire one to try to counteract this harmful tendency.
This calls to mind the phrase that was popular in the great yeshivot of pre-WW II Eastern Europe, “Haolam hazeh gesher tzar meod (The world is like a very narrow bridge).” One who traverses a very narrow bridge is in constant peril of falling, either to one side or the other. In the context of this Dvar, if one does not inculcate children with Yiddishkeit from early on, they are not being raised in accordance with halacha and its master-plan for the well-being of the child. Yet, a halachically exemplary upbringing creates the danger that for the rest of their lives, those children will perform mitzvos automatically and without proper focus. A conscientious parent must try to prevent the children from gravitating to this natural tendency.
There is no quick and easy solution to this dilemma. It is a circumstance of life – both in this instance and in numerous others. One must always be wary of erring – to either one side or the other - i.e. “falling off the bridge.”
To help defray the cost (in time) of its production, and as a way of supporting our Jewish outreach organization in Cambridge, we are asking people to consider sponsoring this weekly email Dvar Torah. It is a meaningful way to note an occasion such as a graduation, birthday, anniversary, yahrzeit, etc.
The “cost” is $120, but amounts greater than $120 will of course be gladly accepted. The sponsorship will be noted in the Dvar. Thank you in advance! (Should the situation arise, we consider it acceptable to have more than one sponsor per Dvar.)
Friday, January 7, 2011
JHI Dvar Torah on Parshat Bo
INTRODUCTION (The relevance of these introductory words will later be apparent.)
There are references in the Talmud to the fact that biological parents feel a special measure of love for their own children.
Rabbi Yisroel Salanter (1810-1883 - see Even Yisroel, Maamar B’inyan Chizuk Lomdei Torah) taught that the love of a natural parent to his child is an inescapable biological component of the human psyche. He proves this from the Midrash that discusses Avraham (Abraham) as he was about to sacrifice his son Yitzchok (Isaac). Avraham was absolutely committed to fulfilling Hashem’s (G-d’s) command to sacrifice his son. His devotion to Hashem was so all-embracing that to this day, Jews invoke the merit of that act as part of the daily prayers. Yet, the Midrash relates that as he was about to sacrifice Yitzchak, rivers of tears were flowing from Avraham’s eyes.
Why was Avraham’s service of Hashem deemed so impeccable if he was crying so bitterly? Rabbi Salanter explained that even Avraham’s supreme devotion to Hashem could not eradicate the pain of the anticipated loss of a beloved natural child. This is because parental love can never be eradicated. Thus, Avraham’s tears over the loss of Yitzchak were not seen as a being evidence of an imperfect service of G-d.
The Talmud teaches that the phenomenon of parental love extends as far as one’s children and grandchildren. Certainly, people generally love their great-grandchildren as well. Many also love members of their extended family. However, the love for one’s natural children and grandchildren greatly exceeds what is felt for all other relatives and descendents.
PARSHAT BO – TRANSMITTING TORAH AND THE PRINCIPLES OF FAITH
Parshat Bo begins with these two sentences:
1) And Hashem (G-d) said to Moshe (Moses), “Come to Pharaoh for I have hardened his heart and the heart of his servants so I can put these signs of Mine in his midst.
2) And so you may relate in the ears of your son and your son’s son that I made a mockery of Egypt and My signs that I placed among them – that you may know that I am Hashem.”
Parshat Bo continues the story of the Exodus of the Jews from Egypt. It begins after Egypt had already been stricken with seven devastating plagues. Hashem then instructed Moshe to advise Pharaoh that if he would release the Jews, the suffering would end. Otherwise, he and his country would be stricken by an eighth plague.
Prior to this moment, despite repeated warnings of plagues, Pharaoh steadfastly refused to free the Jews. The Commentary of Sforno (by Rabbi Ovadia ben Yaakov Sforno 14675-1550) explains that Moshe therefore reasoned that this and any other further warnings were pointless - Pharaoh would simply ignore them. Nevertheless, Hashem instructed Moshe to once again warn Pharaoh because of two different reasons, both of which are mentioned in the words of the Torah.
The second reason for the warning (found in Sentence 2 above) was “so you may relate in the ears of your son and your son’s son that I made a mockery of Egypt…”
These words are saying that at that first Seder, which took place on the night before the Jews left Egypt, Hashem wanted the events of the Exodus related to children and grandchildren. Not included in that group were siblings, cousins or progeny that were further removed, such as great-grandchildren (even if such were feasible in a family). If the verse included other relatives as well, it should have written, “So that you may relate to your relatives” - all relatives, however distantly removed.
Why was retelling the story limited to children and grandchildren? The Commentary of the Baal Haturim (By Rabbi Yaakov ben Asher, 1269-1343) explains that the supreme love of a parent for a natural child was required for retelling the story of the Exodus. This special love, however, only extends to two subsequent generations. Therefore, one could only retell the story to children and grandchildren, but not to more distant offspring or other relatives.
Those Jews were being asked to relate the story of the 10 plagues and their impending and miraculous liberation from slavery. Seemingly, any reasonably intelligent observer of those great events could have related their first hand experiences to anyone; it was simply a matter of conveying facts. Nevertheless, the component of love at its most intense level was a necessary precondition. A mere faithful eye-witness accounting of the Exodus would have been insufficient. Rather, a “job requirement” for this task was a profound parental love for those being inspired. Hashem evidently considered this deep love necessary for the first person recounting of the Exodus.
The belief that G-d revealed Himself Openly at the time of the Exodus is a basic foundation of Judaism. It reminds people that The Almighty runs the world. In fact, it remains a commandment of the Torah to mention the Exodus twice daily. (As a practical matter, this obligation is fulfilled during the morning and evening prayers when reciting the Shema, which mentions the Exodus).
The words of the Baal Haturim teach that ideally, transmitting the principles of faith to future generations must take place in an environment of overwhelming love.
Obviously, the Baal Haturim’s words do not imply that one should be limited to immediate family when it comes to conveying the beliefs of faith. Avraham (Abraham), who converted many (who were not family) to monotheism, demonstrated that this is not the case. But the Baal Haturim does teach us that at the very least, when communicating these ideas, to whatever extent possible, one should act in a spirit of utmost affection.
The Baal Haturim discusses the personal friendliness and love required to successfully transmit the story of the Exodus. Those events instilled the lesson of faith in Hashem. Is this requirement also necessary when teaching Torah to others? Does teaching Torah require the same friendliness and love that is essential to the transmission of faith? One could argue that the belief in G-d involves many subtleties of emotion and soul. But the academic teaching of Torah is different, for it involves a greater rational component. If so, for teaching Torah, might the factor of a warm personal relationship be less critical than when communicating faith?
The author’s Rebbe (primary teacher of Torah), Rabbi Henach Liebowitz z”l often said that for the academic teaching of Torah as well, there should be a profound and mutual affection between rebbe and student. (He proved this point from another Torah source. Relating it here would make this Dvar overly lengthy.)
Accordingly, if a community rabbi or kiruv worker is transmitting Torah to others, the dynamics normally associated with the parent-child relationship should be present. For example, as with one’s offspring, one should feel the urge to see to every need of the students, be it spiritual or material. Parents seeing their child wearing torn clothing will act to rectify the matter. Optimally, a teacher of Torah should be one who acts the same way upon seeing the torn clothing of his student.
The spectacular growth of yeshiva system in recent times (especially in heavily Orthodox areas) is certainly a great blessing. However, this growth also represents a challenge. Bigger schools and larger class sizes can beget a depersonalizing of the Torah educational system. The Baal Haturim is teaching that this could significantly compromise the school’s ability to instill faith in Hashem and knowledge of Torah. Ideally such schools should compensate by doubling their efforts to encourage warm personal relationships between teachers and students.
To help defray the cost (in time) of its production, and as a way of supporting our Jewish outreach organization in Cambridge, we are asking people to consider sponsoring this weekly email Dvar Torah. It is a meaningful way to note an occasion such as a graduation, birthday, anniversary, yahrzeit, etc.
The “cost” is $120, but amounts greater than $120 will of course be gladly accepted. The sponsorship will be noted in the Dvar. Thank you in advance!(Should the situation arise, we consider it acceptable to have more than one sponsor per Dvar.)
There are references in the Talmud to the fact that biological parents feel a special measure of love for their own children.
Rabbi Yisroel Salanter (1810-1883 - see Even Yisroel, Maamar B’inyan Chizuk Lomdei Torah) taught that the love of a natural parent to his child is an inescapable biological component of the human psyche. He proves this from the Midrash that discusses Avraham (Abraham) as he was about to sacrifice his son Yitzchok (Isaac). Avraham was absolutely committed to fulfilling Hashem’s (G-d’s) command to sacrifice his son. His devotion to Hashem was so all-embracing that to this day, Jews invoke the merit of that act as part of the daily prayers. Yet, the Midrash relates that as he was about to sacrifice Yitzchak, rivers of tears were flowing from Avraham’s eyes.
Why was Avraham’s service of Hashem deemed so impeccable if he was crying so bitterly? Rabbi Salanter explained that even Avraham’s supreme devotion to Hashem could not eradicate the pain of the anticipated loss of a beloved natural child. This is because parental love can never be eradicated. Thus, Avraham’s tears over the loss of Yitzchak were not seen as a being evidence of an imperfect service of G-d.
The Talmud teaches that the phenomenon of parental love extends as far as one’s children and grandchildren. Certainly, people generally love their great-grandchildren as well. Many also love members of their extended family. However, the love for one’s natural children and grandchildren greatly exceeds what is felt for all other relatives and descendents.
PARSHAT BO – TRANSMITTING TORAH AND THE PRINCIPLES OF FAITH
Parshat Bo begins with these two sentences:
1) And Hashem (G-d) said to Moshe (Moses), “Come to Pharaoh for I have hardened his heart and the heart of his servants so I can put these signs of Mine in his midst.
2) And so you may relate in the ears of your son and your son’s son that I made a mockery of Egypt and My signs that I placed among them – that you may know that I am Hashem.”
Parshat Bo continues the story of the Exodus of the Jews from Egypt. It begins after Egypt had already been stricken with seven devastating plagues. Hashem then instructed Moshe to advise Pharaoh that if he would release the Jews, the suffering would end. Otherwise, he and his country would be stricken by an eighth plague.
Prior to this moment, despite repeated warnings of plagues, Pharaoh steadfastly refused to free the Jews. The Commentary of Sforno (by Rabbi Ovadia ben Yaakov Sforno 14675-1550) explains that Moshe therefore reasoned that this and any other further warnings were pointless - Pharaoh would simply ignore them. Nevertheless, Hashem instructed Moshe to once again warn Pharaoh because of two different reasons, both of which are mentioned in the words of the Torah.
The second reason for the warning (found in Sentence 2 above) was “so you may relate in the ears of your son and your son’s son that I made a mockery of Egypt…”
These words are saying that at that first Seder, which took place on the night before the Jews left Egypt, Hashem wanted the events of the Exodus related to children and grandchildren. Not included in that group were siblings, cousins or progeny that were further removed, such as great-grandchildren (even if such were feasible in a family). If the verse included other relatives as well, it should have written, “So that you may relate to your relatives” - all relatives, however distantly removed.
Why was retelling the story limited to children and grandchildren? The Commentary of the Baal Haturim (By Rabbi Yaakov ben Asher, 1269-1343) explains that the supreme love of a parent for a natural child was required for retelling the story of the Exodus. This special love, however, only extends to two subsequent generations. Therefore, one could only retell the story to children and grandchildren, but not to more distant offspring or other relatives.
Those Jews were being asked to relate the story of the 10 plagues and their impending and miraculous liberation from slavery. Seemingly, any reasonably intelligent observer of those great events could have related their first hand experiences to anyone; it was simply a matter of conveying facts. Nevertheless, the component of love at its most intense level was a necessary precondition. A mere faithful eye-witness accounting of the Exodus would have been insufficient. Rather, a “job requirement” for this task was a profound parental love for those being inspired. Hashem evidently considered this deep love necessary for the first person recounting of the Exodus.
The belief that G-d revealed Himself Openly at the time of the Exodus is a basic foundation of Judaism. It reminds people that The Almighty runs the world. In fact, it remains a commandment of the Torah to mention the Exodus twice daily. (As a practical matter, this obligation is fulfilled during the morning and evening prayers when reciting the Shema, which mentions the Exodus).
The words of the Baal Haturim teach that ideally, transmitting the principles of faith to future generations must take place in an environment of overwhelming love.
Obviously, the Baal Haturim’s words do not imply that one should be limited to immediate family when it comes to conveying the beliefs of faith. Avraham (Abraham), who converted many (who were not family) to monotheism, demonstrated that this is not the case. But the Baal Haturim does teach us that at the very least, when communicating these ideas, to whatever extent possible, one should act in a spirit of utmost affection.
The Baal Haturim discusses the personal friendliness and love required to successfully transmit the story of the Exodus. Those events instilled the lesson of faith in Hashem. Is this requirement also necessary when teaching Torah to others? Does teaching Torah require the same friendliness and love that is essential to the transmission of faith? One could argue that the belief in G-d involves many subtleties of emotion and soul. But the academic teaching of Torah is different, for it involves a greater rational component. If so, for teaching Torah, might the factor of a warm personal relationship be less critical than when communicating faith?
The author’s Rebbe (primary teacher of Torah), Rabbi Henach Liebowitz z”l often said that for the academic teaching of Torah as well, there should be a profound and mutual affection between rebbe and student. (He proved this point from another Torah source. Relating it here would make this Dvar overly lengthy.)
Accordingly, if a community rabbi or kiruv worker is transmitting Torah to others, the dynamics normally associated with the parent-child relationship should be present. For example, as with one’s offspring, one should feel the urge to see to every need of the students, be it spiritual or material. Parents seeing their child wearing torn clothing will act to rectify the matter. Optimally, a teacher of Torah should be one who acts the same way upon seeing the torn clothing of his student.
The spectacular growth of yeshiva system in recent times (especially in heavily Orthodox areas) is certainly a great blessing. However, this growth also represents a challenge. Bigger schools and larger class sizes can beget a depersonalizing of the Torah educational system. The Baal Haturim is teaching that this could significantly compromise the school’s ability to instill faith in Hashem and knowledge of Torah. Ideally such schools should compensate by doubling their efforts to encourage warm personal relationships between teachers and students.
To help defray the cost (in time) of its production, and as a way of supporting our Jewish outreach organization in Cambridge, we are asking people to consider sponsoring this weekly email Dvar Torah. It is a meaningful way to note an occasion such as a graduation, birthday, anniversary, yahrzeit, etc.
The “cost” is $120, but amounts greater than $120 will of course be gladly accepted. The sponsorship will be noted in the Dvar. Thank you in advance!(Should the situation arise, we consider it acceptable to have more than one sponsor per Dvar.)
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