Blog - Torah Insights

The Advantage of Touring

Touring. A word that evokes feelings of exploration, beauty, and new horizons. 

The Hebrew word for touring, “Latur”, sounds strikingly similar to the English word, tour.  This word, which appears in our Torah portion regarding the scouts sent to spy, or “tour” the land of Israel, has an additional meaning as well: it is related to the Hebrew word for “Yitaron”, advantage. 

We all heard the story. 

The spies were reluctant to enter the land of Israel because, as Chasidic philosophy explained, they were afraid of the spiritual challenges that come along with the abandonment of desert life. Additionally, they were apprehensive about the necessity of  engaging in the materialistic economy of the land of Israel. “It is a land that consumes its inhabitants” is what they reported back to the Jewish people, alluding to the fear that the “earth”, the materialism of the land, would consume, swallow, and corrupt the spiritual life of the Israelites. 

We can understand the sentiment. Being challenged is not comfortable. But the Hebrew language reminds us that the challenge of “touring”, expanding vistas and entering a new way of life, is precisely what leads to a Yitaron, an advantage, which will lead us to the greatest heights. 

There is a moving Talmudic story that illustrates this point. The great Talmudic sage Rav Yochanan was in profound mourning after his study partner passed away. The sages tried to set him up with another study partner, but that did not work, specifically because Rav Yochanan preferred someone who would challenge him rather than a study partner who would agree with him. As the Talmud relates:  

Reish Lakish died. Rabbi Yoḥanan was sorely pained over losing him. The Rabbis said: Who will go to calm Rabbi Yoḥanan’s mind and comfort him over his loss? They said: Let Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat go, as his statements are sharp, i.e., he is clever and will be able to serve as a substitute for Reish Lakish.

Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat went and sat before Rabbi Yoḥanan. With regard to every matter that Rabbi Yoḥanan would say, Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat would say to him: There is a ruling which is taught in a baraita that supports your opinion. Rabbi Yoḥanan said to him: Are you comparable to the son of Lakish? In my discussions with the son of Lakish, when I would state a matter, he would raise twenty-four difficulties against me in an attempt to disprove my claim, and I would answer him with twenty-four answers, and the halakha by itself would become broadened and clarified. And yet you say to me: There is a ruling which is taught in a baraita that supports your opinion. Do I not know that what I say is good? Being rebutted by Reish Lakish served a purpose; your bringing proof to my statements does not.

Rabbi Yoḥanan went around, rending his clothing, weeping and saying: Where are you, son of Lakish? Where are you, son of Lakish? Talmud, Baba Metzia, 84a

Rav Yochanan understood that a challenge contains within it a "yitaron," an advantage. He understood that the very difficulties we seek to avoid may be the source of our greatest growth.

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Shelach Leacha 5731

The Indestructible Light

Aaron envied the tribal leaders. G-d's response revealed a deeper truth about where holiness resides. 

The opening statement of this week's portion is the commandment to light the Menorah, a commandment that was already stated twice earlier in the Torah. Rashi quotes the Midrash, which explains that the reason the portion of the Menorah was repeated is a direct response to Aaron’s concern. In last week’s portion, we read at great length how the leaders of the tribes each offered offerings for the inauguration of the altar. Aaron was distressed that neither he nor his tribe participated in the inauguration. G-d therefore reiterated the commandment that Aaron should kindle the Menorah, implying, as the Midrash states, that “yours” (the menorah) is greater than “theirs” (the offerings of the leaders). As Rashi says: 

Why is the portion dealing with the menorah juxtaposed to the portion dealing with the chieftains? For when Aaron saw the dedication [offerings] of the chieftains, he felt distressed over not joining them in this dedication, neither he nor his tribe. So God said to him, “By your life, yours is greater than theirs, for you will light and prepare the lamps.” (Rashi, Numbers 8:2) 

But why is the lighting of the Menorah “greater” than the offerings? The Midrash does not explain. 

Nachmanides offers an innovative interpretation. When the Midrash says Aaron lighting the Menorah is greater, the Midrash is referring not to the Menorah in the temple, but rather to the Chanukah menorah, which was established to commemorate the rededication of the temple by the Maccabees, Aaron’s descendants. The Chanukah menorah is “greater” than the offerings, because the offerings can no longer be offered now that there is no temple, whereas the Chanukah Menorah is eternal, and will never cease. 

In the words of Nachmanides: 

Therefore, we must say that the Sages of the Midrash were alluding to the lights of the Dedication of the Hasmoneans, which apply [on the festival of Chanukah] even after the destruction of the Sanctuary, in our exile.

This teaching turns the seeming hierarchy of holiness on its head.  

The offerings were offered by the priests, the holiest members of the Jewish community, in the holiest place, the temple in Jerusalem. They represent a person’s ability to experience the intense awareness of the presence of G-d, available in the temple. Yet, the Midrash, viewed through the lens of Nachmanides, teaches that even more profound than that is the ability to light the Chanukah Menorah, where, not just the priests, but every individual Jew brings light to his or her part of the world. The offerings represent the ability to reach the pinnacle of holiness, yet the Chanukah Menorah is far greater because it empowers each person to be an ambassador of light, to turn their home into a miniature temple. The Chanukah Menorah may not be as glamorous as the temple, but it is indestructible, and it can be applied to every time and every place. It represents the ultimate mission of the Jew, to spread transformative light to every part of the world. 

Does G-d Show Favoritism?

Does G-d show favoritism? The Torah says G-d does not. But the Priestly Blessing implies that He does, as the verse states: “May the Lord show favor to you and give you peace”. 

How can both be true?

 The Talmud explains that G-d shows favoritism to the Jewish people because they show it to Him. Although He commands them to recite the grace after meals only when they are fully satisfied, the Jewish people go beyond the letter of the law and recite the blessing even after eating a mere olive-sized piece of bread:

Rav Avira taught, sometimes he said it in the name of Rabbi Ami, and sometimes he said it in the name of Rabbi Asi: The ministering angels said before the Holy One, Blessed be He: Master of the Universe, in Your Torah it is written: “The great, mighty and awesome God who favors no one and takes no bribe” (Deuteronomy 10:17), yet You, nevertheless, show favor to Israel, as it is written: “The Lord shall show favor to you and give you peace” (Numbers 6:26). He replied to them: And how can I not show favor to Israel, as I wrote for them in the Torah: “And you shall eat and be satisfied, and bless the Lord your God” (Deuteronomy 8:10), meaning that there is no obligation to bless the Lord until one is satiated; yet they are exacting with themselves to recite Grace after Meals even if they have eaten as much as an olive-bulk or an egg-bulk. Since they go beyond the requirements of the law, they are worthy of favor. (Tamud, Berachot 20b)

There are two ways to think of a relationship and covenant. The first is as a contract of mutual obligation. But then, there is a deeper form of connection, one which is a commitment not bound by the benefit each party receives in return for what they invest. Rather, it is a relationship of devotion and commitment, where each party invests themselves beyond what is merely their duty. The second relationship is characterized not by a social contract but by the commitment of love. Love emerges from a mutual dedication, where each party “shows favoritism”, giving beyond what is “deserving”

to the other, bestowing more than the requirement of calculated benefit. 

If Sinai was the contractual marriage between the people and G-d, where the people received the Torah, the marriage contract, then the building of the tabernacle represents the building of the home where the relationship plays out. Creating a home is only possible by “showing favoritism” and expressing devotional love. 

The language used in the blessing the priests recite before fulfilling the commandment to bless the people is, “who commanded us to bless his nation Israel with love”. Indeed, the Zohar, the primary work of Jewish mysticism, says that if a priest does not genuinely love the people, he should not recite the priestly blessing. Perhaps the reason is that love and devotion are at the heart of the blessing. The priest blessing the people must experience the unconditional love G-d has for the people in order to be a conduit for this extraordinary blessing. For without love, the priestly blessing is impossible.

Why Are We “Obsessed” with Details? 

We all have dreams. 

We all have aspirations. 

People dream about investing in their relationships, improving their health, expanding their knowledge, exploring ideas, and touring the world. 

The problem, of course, is that dreams and aspirations are not enough. Growth requires specific, concrete action. 

In Jewish life and Jewish law, there is a strong emphasis on specifics. Almost every one of the six hundred and thirteen commandments comes along with dozens, if not hundreds, of specifications which instruct on the precise time and manner in which the commandment is to be performed. For many, the “obsession” with detail is hard to relate to. True, the big ideas are important, true, the underlying values are inspiring, but why is the emphasis on detail so critical?  

To understand the focus on detail, we need to explore and define the core purpose and objective of Judaism. Judaism is not a religion in the conventional sense. Most spiritual disciplines hope to teach a person how to become spiritual, how to escape the lure of material life and connect to the eternal by transcending the physical. The Purpose of Judaism is the opposite: it is to draw the transcendent, infinite presence of G-d, into a specific time and place in this physical world.

This theme is expressed in the beginning of the fourth book of the Torah, where the Torah not only introduces the commandment to take a census, but also describes the precise time of the commandment:   

The Lord spoke to Moses in the Sinai Desert, in the Tent of Meeting on the first day of the second month, in the second year after the exodus from the land of Egypt, saying.

The Chassidic master, the Sfas Emes, explains why these time references  matter so much:

“And therefore time is written in the Torah in terms of month and year. Although the Torah is above time, nevertheless, this is the primary service of the Children of Israel: to draw the light of the Torah and holiness into time and nature.”

When Sinai Meets the Soil

In English, when you want to express that a point is irrelevant to the conversation, you might say: “What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?” In modern Hebrew, it would be very common to say: “What is the connection between the Sabbatical and Mount Sinai?” 

“What is the connection between the Sabbatical and Mount Sinai?” is the resounding question the Midrash asks about the opening statement of our Torah portion, where the Torah introduces the Sabbatical year, the commandment to let the land of Israel lie fallow and rest every seventh year. In the introduction to this commandment, the Torah states that this commandment was given at Mount Sinai:   

And the Lord spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai, saying,

Speak to the children of Israel and you shall say to them: When you come to the land that I am giving you, the land shall rest a Sabbath to the Lord. (Leviticus 25:1-2)

At first glance, Sinai and the land of Israel seem to be polar opposites. At Sinai, the Jewish people were completely separated from civilization, sheltered from the pressure to earn a living and survive in the natural order. In the land of Israel, by contrast, the Jewish people would dedicate most of their time to farming and agriculture, exposed to the pressures to maximize profit, to the extent that the Torah must remind a Jew to stop and take a break. To refrain from taking advantage of the poor, and to ensure that ultimately, every person would return to their land in the Jubilee year. So while Sinai evokes spiritual serenity, the land of Israel represents the challenges of daily life. 

So yes, indeed, the question is sound: “What is the connection between the Sabbatical and Mount Sinai?” 

The answer, of course, is that precisely because they are so different, they are tied together. The entire purpose of Sinai, of spiritual connection to G-d, is not to escape physical reality, but rather to sanctify it. Not to transcend to heaven but rather to bring holiness to earth. The entire purpose of Sinai, then, is expressed by the Sabbatical  year, that the earth itself is sanctified: “The land shall rest a Sabbath to the Lord”. 

Adapted from the Sfas Emes

Holidays - Holy Geometry 

Sometimes when we read the Torah, we wonder, what is the organizing principle of the Parsha? Why are seemingly unrelated laws and events grouped together? 

Toward the end of the weekly Torah portion, we read about the Menorah in the temple and about the table with the showbread. We wonder, why are we discussing these specific aspects of the temple service right here? Why is the lighting of the Menorah reiterated here for the third time in the Torah, and why do we read about the showbread here and not earlier in the narrative when the Torah discusses the laws of the temple service? 

The Ohr Hachaim explains that the holidays, discussed in detail in our Parsha, are organized based on the number seven, and often, differentiating between the number six and seven. Shabbat is the seventh day, following the six days of the week. There are six days of holiday in Israel (first and last days of Pesach, one day of Shavuot, one day of Rosh Hashanah, first day of Sukot and Shmini Atzeret), when most labor is prohibited, and a seventh (Yom Kippur) when all labor, as well as eating and drinking, is prohibited. 

That leads naturally to the Menorah that has seven candles, also divided into six branches and a seventh stem; as well as the table, which had two stacks of six loaves, with the Table itself acting as the unifying seventh element. 

The Maharal of Prague explains that the number six represents physical creation, which is three-dimensional. Three dimensions create six general directions (east, west, north, south, up, and down). The number seven represents holiness, for it is the central point of those six dimensions, building them and allowing them to create a cohesive creation. 

Six represents the physical dimension of a physical object, and seven represents its core purpose and meaning. During the days of the week, we are primarily invested in the physical side of life, seeking to achieve success and effect change and transformation in the world. Shabbat and the holidays are when we return to the essence of life, the number seven, and reconnect with holiness, our purpose, and inner soul. 

ֿSadducees, Rabbis, and the Smoke of Yom Kippur

More than two thousand years ago, in the Second Temple era, the most severe split within the land of Israel was the dispute between the Sadducees, who read the Bible literally, and the Rabbis, who passed on oral traditions, and interpreted the Biblical text. 

One significant point of dispute related to the most important service of the most important day of the year: when the high priest would enter the holy of holies to offer the incense. The Sadducees read the verse to mean that he would put the incense on the coals, outside the holy of holies, and then enter the holy of holies while the coals were already creating smoke. The Rabbis, by contrast, understood the verse to mean that while in the holy of holies, the high priest would place the incense on the coals. 

Since the verse states that “no man should be in the tent of meeting when he {the high priest} enters to atone”, there was no way to know whether the high priest would perform according to the rabbinic tradition or whether he was a closet Sadducee. The Mishnah describes how the Rabbis would administer an oath to the high priest, adjuring him to perform the service as they instructed: 

The Elders of the court passed him {the high priest} to the Elders of the priesthood, and they took him up to the House of Avtinas. And they administered him an oath and took leave of him and went on their way. 

When they administered this oath, they said to him: My Master, High Priest. We are agents of the court, and you are our agent and the agent of the court. We administer an oath to you in the name of Him who housed His name in this House, that you will not change even one matter from all that we have said to you with regard to the burning of the incense or any other service that you will perform when alone. 

After this oath, he would leave them and cry, and they would leave him and cry in sorrow that the oath was necessary. (Yoma 1:5)

This dispute was not a mere technicality of how to read a specific verse; but rather, it captured the deep philosophical divide between two notions of what it means to have a relationship with the Divine. In the eyes of the Sadducees, the human being is passive. His role is to accept the Divine wisdom as received from above in the written Torah. The human being is the recipient, whose greatest achievement is the submission to the Divine will. As such, when the high priest enters the holy of holies, expressing the deepest intimacy between human and G-d, he must be passive. 

The Rabbis, by contrast, have a completely different view of what it means to be in a relationship with G-d. The human being is in partnership with G-d, who, in the oral Torah, is called upon to interpret and apply the Divine wisdom. In the beginning of our Parsha, referring to the cloud of smoke produced by the incense, G-d states: “for I appear over the ark cover in a cloud”. Rabbis understood that for G-d to appear in the holy of holies, for the intimacy and connection to be established, human effort and input are required. The ultimate connection to G-d is achieved not through submission alone, but through partnership. 

For in order for the Divine presence to appear in the holy of holies, the high priest must actively create the cloud of smoke.  

Can you Balance Both Perspectives? 

A healthy relationship depends on a difficult skill: holding your own feelings while genuinely making space for someone else’s.

The Kabbalah describes this phenomenon in our relationship with G-d as “higher knowledge”, the Divine perspective, and “lower knowledge”, the human perspective. 

One of the many ramifications of this idea is how we view challenge and pain. From the human perspective, challenge equals disappointment, frustration, and pain. From the Divine perspective, challenge is an invitation to uncover deeper treasures and blessings. 

In this week’s portion, we read about Tzaraat, a biblical form of discoloration, which, when appearing on a home, rendered the home ritually impure. In some cases, some of the stones of the home required removal, while in other cases, the entire home would have to be demolished. 

Rashi explains that the verse describing the Tzaraat of the home uses a joyous tone, as if the appearance was a positive phenomenon. That is because, when the stones were removed, they would discover treasures that were hidden within the walls: 

This is [good] news for them that lesions of tzara’ath will come upon them, because the Amorites had hidden away treasures of gold inside the walls of their houses during the entire forty years that the Israelites were in the desert, and through the lesion, he will demolish the house and find them. 

When a person experiences a challenge or difficulty, he experiences only pain and frustration. From the human perspective, even if something positive will eventually emerge from the challenge, it will come at a future time and is not sensed in the present. From G-d’s perspective, every challenge is an invitation to remove the bricks and discover a treasure. 

A healthy relationship respects both perspectives. We don’t abandon our pain, but we believe that from the Divine perspective, every affliction is just a facade, begging to be pulled away, in order to allow the discovery of a great treasure of opportunity and growth.

Can you be too holy? 

Can you be too holy? 

Can you be too close to the person you love? 

According to the sages, that precisely was the sin of the sons of Aaron, who, on the day of the inauguration of the temple, “brought before the Lord foreign fire, which He had not commanded them.” This was so severe that “fire went forth from before the Lord and consumed them, and they died before the Lord.”

Further in the book of Leviticus, the Torah describes their story as: “they drew near before the Lord, and they died.” Apparently, one can be too close. Drawing too near can be a problem. 

The book of formation, the earliest Kabbalistic written work, states, “if your heart runs, return to one”. The later mystics explain that one must “run and return”. An intense desire to transcend and become close to G-d must be followed with a “return”, a commitment to fulfill the will of G-d, within the limited confines of time and space. The soul may push to “run”, with passion and ecstasy, toward her beloved G-d, but she must ask herself: what does my beloved want? The soul may want to be in heaven, but G-d wants her to be right here on earth, in this specific place at this specific time.   

The idea of "running and returning”, can be applied to so many areas of life. 

When we find something or someone we love, we are full of enthusiasm; a new idea, a new relationship, a new opportunity. We feel the pulsing energy of the “running”, nothing can stop us. But whether the passion will create something sustainable in our life depends not on the intensity of the excitement but rather on whether we can “return”, implement it in our daily lives, through specific, ongoing, seemingly mundane actions. 

The day after the Exodus from Egypt, the Jewish people understood that a single event, even an event as profound as the Exodus, would not have a lasting impact unless it affected their daily routine. They therefore began counting forty-nine days as preparation for Sinai, representing their effort to apply themselves to internal refinement and personal growth. 

Passover is the holiday that allows us to experience the energy of freedom from internal negativity that holds us back. Now is the time to “return”, to ask ourselves what specific actions we are going to take to allow us to live a life of liberation, focused on our values and priorities. 

The Jewish Way of Telling Time

While the secular date changes at midnight, in Judaism the new date begins at sunset. Therefore, for example, Shabbat begins on Friday evening. 

The biblical source for considering the evening to be the beginning of the new day, is right at the beginning of Genesis, on the very first day of creation, when the Torah says “and there was evening, and there was morning, one day”, implying that the evening precedes the morning.

This pattern, “first darkness and then light”, mirrors creation itself. The world in its natural state, is in a state of spiritual darkness; the natural tendency is for each creature to seek self-preservation above all, and the fittest are the ones who will survive. G-d places the human being into a world of spiritual darkness in order for the human being to create spiritual light and refinement; to introduce morality, ethics, goodness and kindness. The way we count a new day reminds man of his purpose, to help the world transition from darkness to light. 

There is, however, a notable exception to the way we think about time. The Talmud states that “regarding the holy {temple offerings}, the night follows the day”. As described in this week’s portion, the portion of Tzav, the portions of the offerings that were burned on the altar could be burned the night following the day. 

The pattern of “night following the day” offers a profound lesson for our relationship with “holiness”, our spiritual life. When we are engaged in connection to G-d, we are in a state of spiritual light and “day”. But the danger of being in the “holy” space is that one can become complacent and satisfied with their spiritual circumstance. The Torah reminds us that the “night”, the darkness which represents the distance, the yearning and the longing follows the “day”. Because the closer we come to holiness, the more we yearn and long to draw nearer. The closer we come the more we sense the infinity of G-d, and how we can always continue to rise higher and higher in our spiritual journey. 

Adapted from Ohr Hatorah, Tzav page 13 

The Shift to Man

Adam - Man. 

This is the first word of the first commandment in the book of Leviticus, the third book of the Torah, and it represents a dramatic shift of focus. 

The second book of the Torah, the book of Exodus, focuses on Divine revelation. G-d descending to Egypt to liberate his people; the revelation at Sinai, and the commandment to build the tabernacle, a place where “I {G-d} will dwell amongst them”. 

Indeed, the final verses of Exodus highlight how G-d’s presence was manifest in the tabernacle: 

And the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the Mishkan…

For the cloud of the Lord was upon the Mishkan by day, and there was fire within it at night, before the eyes of the entire house of Israel in all their journeys. (Exodus 40:34-38)

And then, in the third book, the focus shifts.

When a man from {among} you brings an offering to the Lord; from animals, from cattle or from the flock you shall bring your offering. (Leviticus 1:2)

In the third book, the focus is not about G-d coming close to man, but rather the focus shifts to the actions a human being takes to bring himself closer to G-d. 

Indeed, as the Chasidic masters explain, the Torah understands the limitation of the "awakening from above”, when G-d initiates the relationship, which does not create a lasting impact unless it is followed by an "awakening from below”, the effort and investment of man to get close to G-d. 

We each experience moments of “revelation”, an extraordinary experience, or sudden inspiration. It can be a holiday, a beautiful spring day, or an anniversary. We are inspired to be more focused on our values and more connected to the people we love. Yet, the inspiration will pass. In order for the inspiration to endure, we need to realize that it depends on us. On the word in the beginning of Leviticus. On “man”. The inspiration will only continue if we invest our own self, our own contribution.

The book of Leviticus reminds us of the limits of inspiration and the power of small daily actions. The limits of an extraordinary event, and the power of daily habit.  

The Final Word of Exodus 

We have come a long way. 

The book of Exodus began with the story of the enslavement of the Jewish people in Egypt, continued with the burning bush, ten plagues, exodus, Sinai, and the final third of the book, the story of the construction of the Mishkan, the temple in the desert. 

We have come a long way, and we finally expect to read about rest.

Yet, the final verses of the book describe not resting but rather journeying: 

When the cloud rose up from over the Mishkan, the children of Israel set out in all their journeys.

But if the cloud did not rise up, they did not set out until the day that it rose.

For the cloud of the Lord was upon the Mishkan by day, and there was fire within it at night, before the eyes of the entire house of Israel in all their journeys. (Exodus 40:36-38)

In fact, the very last word of the book is “journeys”. 

The theme of the book of Exodus is redemption. In the very last word of the Book, the Torah explains that the essence of redemption is in fact the drive to journey forward. Redemption is the rejection of Mitzrayim, Hebrew for Egypt, which is etymologically related to the words straights, limitation, and boundary. To be free is to cultivate the desire to keep moving forward, to keep uncovering additional layers of Divine potential within each of our souls. 

Rashi points out that the Torah refers to the places that the Jewish people camped as “journeys”, since the encampments were all part of the greater journey:  

Before the eyes of the entire house of Israel in all their journeys. On every journey (מַסָּע) that they were traveling, the cloud would rest in that place where they encamped. The place of their encampment is also called a journey... Since from the place of their encampment they resumed their journeys, they are all called “journeys”.

This teaches us a profound lesson. The book of Exodus is no stranger to setback, pain, and suffering. Yet, the word “journeys” reminds us that when we choose to view reality from a state of inner freedom, the "encampment" - the obstacle and challenge - itself is part of the journey of growth. Because “from the place of their encampment they resumed their journeys”, the obstacle itself generates motivation and commitment. The encampment actually intensified the journey to freedom and liberation.  

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likutei Sichos 6, Pekudei 2

The True You

It is one of the most dramatic scenes in the Torah. Moses descended from Mount Sinai holding the tablets of the testimony. Seeing the Jewish people dancing around the golden calf, he shatters the tablets. 

This portion, however, is not merely about the tragic sin; rather, it is about repentance, repairing the relationship with G-d, and the introduction of the second tablets. This is a story of how the relationship between G-d and the Jewish people is not dependent on specific behavior and how it survives and is even strengthened by the pain of betrayal. and hurt. 

In this portion, we read about the “thirteen attributes of mercy”, the formula that G-d taught us to evoke whenever we need to elicit Divine forgiveness. The thirteen attributes are incorporated in our prayers throughout the year and recited multiple times on Yom Kippur, the day of atonement. As the Torah states:  

And the Lord passed before him and proclaimed: Lord, Lord, benevolent God, Who is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abundant in loving kindness and truth, 

preserving loving kindness for thousands, forgiving iniquity and rebellion and sin; and cleanses. (Exodus 34:6-7)

Perhaps the most intriguing of the list of attributes evoked here is the attribute of truth. After all, truth seems the opposite of forgiveness. The attribute of truth is usually associated with justice, when each person receives what they deserve. Forgiveness seems to be the “bending” of rules, “ignoring” shortcomings and introducing second chances, seemingly inconsistent with the attribute of truth, associated with discipline and consistency.  

Yet, the attribute of truth does not contradict forgiveness; it is precisely what makes forgiveness possible.

G-d taught Moses, and we evoke this truth when we recite the thirteen attributes, that the sin, the shortcoming, the weakness, does not define the real person. The negativity that produced the sin is merely an external layer of the human consciousness. G-d proclaims that His Divine attribute of truth senses the deeper truth, that the core of the human being is positive and holy. That beneath the layers of conflicting inclinations is the true essence of the person, a spark of G-d Himself. 

The thirteen attributes invite us to discover the deeper layer within ourselves. It is an invitation to uncover the truth of our soul, in ourselves  and in the people around us. 

Inspired by Rabbi Shlomo Yaffe, “True Mercy” Chabad.org