Prose or Poetry? On the final day of his life, Moses received the final commandment of the six hundred and thirteen commandments, the commandment to write a Torah scroll: And now, write for yourselves this song, and teach it to the Children of Israel. Place it into their mouths, in order that this song will be for Me as a witness for the children of Israel. (Deuteronomy 31:19) In this verse, as well as in later verses in the portion, the Torah is referred to as Shirah, which means “song” or poem. Considering that an overwhelming majority of the Torah is written in prose and not poetry, why would the G-d refer to the Torah as a song? Over the ages, multiple explanations have been presented: Torah is like a poem because, unlike prose, which seeks to communicate in clear, straightforward, unambiguous language, poetry always has a deeper meaning; the images and descriptions are invitations to uncover deeper insights hidden within the poem. The Torah is referred to as a “song” because the Torah contains multiple layers of interpretation, from the literal to the allegorical, homiletical, and mystical. There are multiple interpretations for every word of the Torah. Our sages debate every law and every nuance of the Torah. The mystics teach that every individual has a unique share in the Torah, a perspective that only they can contribute and articulate. Yet the Talmud states, “Both these and those are the words of the living God”. The Torah is a “song” because the multiple opinions and perspectives combine to create a harmony, which, taken together, creates its true intention and music. When we study Torah, we are not just considering the voices of interpretation of the past, but we are also seeking to add our own voice to the choir. The Chassidic masters explain that the commandment to write down the “song”, follows immediately after the description of G-d “hiding his face“ during the exile: And I will hide My face on that day, because of all the evil they have committed, when they turned to other deities. (31:18) During the bitter exile, when G-d tells us that his face would be hidden, he tells us to write down the song, because reading the Torah helps us discover the hidden presence of G-d. The Torah is a song because it helps us experience the joy that comes from knowing that even when we cannot see Him, even when his countenance is hidden, He is very much present with us. When we study Torah, we are not merely seeking guidance or wisdom, we are seeking connection. The Torah is not just law, but also a love song. Just as a song can uplift the soul even in moments of sorrow, the Torah sustains the Jewish people with faith, meaning, and connection throughout their most challenging times. Its melody continues to inspire, guiding us to find light even in the deepest darkness.
Blog - Torah Insights
Prose or Poetry? - וילך
Why a Second Covenant? - נצבים
Why a Second Covenant? On the final day of his life, Moses gathers all the Jewish people and told them: You are all standing this day before the Lord your God the leaders of your tribes, your elders and your officers, every man of Israel, your young children, your women, and your convert who is within your camp both your woodcutters and your water drawers. (Deuteronomy 29:9-10) What was the purpose of this gathering? Moses continues: That you may enter the covenant of the Lord, your God, and His oath, which the Lord, your God, is making with you this day. (Deuteronomy 29:11) Why would the Jewish people need to accept another covenant, in addition to the covenant they accepted at Sinai? Our sages explain that the covenant at Sinai was a covenant between each individual and G-d, whereas forty years later, at the bank of the Jordan River, the covenant was established between G-d and the entire Jewish people. The second covenant established a community, where every individual becomes part of a collective and therefore responsible for one another. As the Talmud states, "all Jews are guarantors {meaning responsible} for one another". The principle that all Jews are guarantors for each other is not merely a mystical teaching; it is expressed practically in Jewish law. Although it is prohibited to say G-d’s name in vain, we are nevertheless permitted to evoke G-d’s name in a blessing for a Mitzvah on behalf of someone else, even if we have already fulfilled our personal obligation. For example, if one has already heard the Shofar on Rosh Hashanah, he may recite the blessing, describing the commandment to hear the shofar, on behalf of someone who has not yet heard the Shofar. But how can he imply that he is about to fulfil the commandment, if he has already fulfilled his obligation? The reason is that since another Jew has not yet heard the Shofar he is the “gaurentour” and therefore obligated to help facilitate the commandment for his fellow! Only at the bank of the Jordan River, only as they approached the land of Israel, did the Jewish people receive this extraordinary second covenant that united them not only with God but also with each other. That is because for people to see their unique individual self as being interconnected and part of a greater whole, there had to be a greater concept, a shared vision, a unifying purpose, that they were each a part of. The physical land of Israel served as the greater project, the greater land, that encompassed every individual. Chassidic philosophy adds that upon entry to the land of Israel, the Jewish people accessed a far superior intensity of holy light, which was granted to them in order to enable them to fulfill their mission of transforming the material soil into a holy land. The encompassing light, the intensity of the holiness, flows through each individual binding them together to create a greater whole. The Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chassidic movement, would say that the verse “You are all standing this day before the Lord, your God” applies also to the holiday of Rosh Hashanah. At the beginning of each year, we stand before G-d not alone but interconnected to a larger community. Each year on Rosh Hashanah, we celebrate not only our personal, individual connection to God but also our collective mission. As we stand in the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah, hearing the sound of the shofar, we sense that we are indeed part of a greater community, interconnected with a common purpose of transforming the world, making it a home for the Divine, a place of goodness and kindness, a mission we can only fulfill together. Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichos vol. 4, Nitzavim
The Joy of the First Fruit - כי תבוא
The Joy of the First Fruit
Beginnings are exciting.
The first year of a marriage.
The birth of a first child.
Beginning a new project.
Moving into a new home.
The challenge, of course, is that after a while, the novelty wears off, the excitement subsides and we begin to take the blessing for granted.
Judaism invites us to return to that original sense of joy and gratitude, not just once, but on an ongoing basis.
This week’s Torah portion begins with the detailed description of the commandment of Bikurim, bringing the first fruit to the temple, and declaring thanksgiving to G-d. The Bikurim were brought to the temple in a joyous ceremony, as described in the Mishnah:
The flute would continue playing before them until they arrived at the Temple Mount. Once they arrived at the Temple Mount, even Agripas the King would carry his basket on his shoulder and enter until he reached the courtyard. Once they got to the courtyard, the Levites would speak in song (Psalms 30:2), "I will extol you, O Lord, because you have raised me and not allowed my enemies to rejoice over me." (Bikurim 3:4)
It is relatively easy to experience joy in the beginning of the spring, after months of plowing, planting, and waiting for the weather to brighten and for the earth to yield its bounty. But how can we maintain that feeling of elation, gratitude, and delight all year long?
Later in the portion, Moses tells the Jewish people:
This day, the Lord, your God, is commanding you to fulfill these statutes and ordinances, and you will observe and fulfill them with all your heart and with all your soul.
The statement “this day” seems incorrect; the Jewish people received the commandment forty years earlier at Sinai, how then can Moses refer to the Torah as being given “this day”?
Rashi quotes the Midrash that explains that indeed, Moses is empowering us to experience the Torah as new each and every day:
Every day, you shall regard the commandments as brand new, as though you are just today being commanded regarding them!
Rashi explains the meaning of the words “this day”, but does not explain how we can indeed experience the Torah as being given today.
The Midrash teaches that Moses foresaw that when the temple would be destroyed the Bikurim would cease, he therefore instituted that we pray three times a day, in place of the Bikurim.
The Chasidic masters explain that prayer is the mechanism and the tool through which we can experience the novelty and joy that the Bikurim capture.
A foundation of Chassidic philosophy is the doctrine of perpetual creation. That creation was not merely an event in the past, but rather, it is ongoing every moment. As we say in the morning prayer: “Who in His goodness renews each day, continuously, the work of creation”. Every breath, every heartbeat, is a testament to this ongoing process. The Divine power of creation creates us anew at every moment, the blessings we have in our life, are renewed at every moment. Prayer is the meditation that allows us to experience the Divine energy that constantly renews us. Prayer is the time when we cultivate the feeling of renewal and its by-product - gratitude and joy.
Lost or Found? - כי תצא
Lost or Found? In the final days of his life, Moses repeated and reiterated many commandments of the Torah. Yet, upon careful examination, we discover that they are not merely a repetition but rather a restatement that emphasizes a unique aspect of the law. One example is the law of returning lost objects, first stated in the second book of the Torah, in the book of Exodus: If you come upon your enemy's bull or his stray donkey, you shall surely return it to him. If you see your enemy's donkey lying under its burden would you refrain from helping him? You shall surely help along with him. (Exodus 23:4-6) In Exodus, the context, and therefore the justification for the obligation, is being fair in judgment, as the next verse states: "You shall not pervert the judgment of your poor man in his lawsuit." In this week's portion, the Torah reiterates the commandment in different words: You shall not see your brother's ox or sheep straying, and ignore them. [Rather,] you shall return them to your brother. But if your brother is not near you, or if you do not know him, you shall bring it into your house, and it shall be with you until your brother seeks it out, whereupon you shall return it to him. So shall you do with his donkey, and so shall you do with his garment, and so shall you do with any lost article of your brother which he has lost and you have found. You shall not ignore [it]. (Deuteronomy 22:1-3) In this week's portion, the focus is not on the legal obligation but on the fact that our fellow Jew is our brother and we should therefore go beyond the minimum in order to help him. Indeed, in this very short paragraph, the word "brother" is mentioned no less than five times! These two perspectives are expressed in the Talmud in the chapter “Elu Metziot”, often the very first chapter which children study. The first half of the chapter discusses the "Metzia", the item which was found. Perhaps one of the most famous statements of the Talmud is "Elu Metziot Shelo", "These found items belong to him (to the finder)". The word Metzia, “found item”, in its various forms, appears again and again in the first half of the chapter. [“Which found items belong to him”, “These found items belong to him: If one found scattered produce”, “If he found a round cake of pressed figs”, “if one found produce inside a vessel”, "If one found, behind a wooden fence or behind a stone fence", "If one found items in a store"]. In the second half of the chapter, however, while discussing the same commandment to return the object, the Talmud drops the word Metzia, found object, and adopts the word "Avaidah", lost item. ["If one stated what type of lost item", "Which is the item that is considered lost?", "If one finds his lost item and his father's lost item", "if one finds his lost item and his teacher's lost item", "If one finds his father's lost item and his teacher's lost item"]. The difference between referring to it as a "found item" or "lost item" is profound. The "found item" draws attention to the finder, who then asks himself the legal question of whether he may keep the item. The word "found item" directs the attention to the finder, not to the person who is experiencing the loss. The first half of the chapter captures the spirit of the commandment in the book of Exodus, where the person is enjoined to ensure that he does not take something that does not belong to him. As we progress in the study of the chapter, the Talmud introduces the verses from our portion, emphasizing the brotherhood aspect of the commandment. As a result, the person's perspective shifts; he is no longer thinking of it as something that he found, but instead he senses the loss of his brother. At this point, it is no longer a "found item"; it becomes a "lost item", an item that reminds him that there is someone, a brother, who is experiencing loss. Focusing on the brotherhood introduces additional laws of how far one must go to care for one's brother's lost object. As we near the conclusion of the five Books of Moses, as we read how Moses prepares the people to enter the land, the Torah emphasizes that the way to live the Torah's values is not only by being devoted to law and justice, but rather to go beyond the letter of the law, to care for a fellow. To care for our brother. Adapted from Bepardes Hamishnah