Blog - Torah Insights

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 

Beyond the Honeymoon

Pursuing a relationship is exciting. The heart races, adrenaline flows, and you are invested and present in every detail. You plan an extraordinary trip, you shop for gifts, and you experience tremendous excitement. 

Then, time passes, and you realize that maintaining a relationship requires an additional set of skills that perhaps you underestimated. A relationship requires consistency; it must be nourished with small, ordinary acts of kindness on an ongoing basis. When the pressures of life build up, you must still check in and connect on a daily basis. 

Just as human love requires both passion and consistency, so too our relationship with G-d requires both occasional inspiration as well as daily devotion.”

In last week's Torah portion, we read about the commandment to build a Mishkan, a tabernacle, a home for G-d in the desert. The people were enthused like a young couple in love. Overjoyed to participate, excited to donate, and exhilarated by the awesome experience of G-d desiring a relationship with them. 

Indeed, immediately at the beginning of the Parsha, the Torah emphasizes the inspiration and the excitement: 

The Lord spoke to Moses saying:

Speak to the children of Israel, and have them take for Me an offering; from every person whose heart inspires him to generosity, you shall take My offering. (25:1-2) 

In contrast to the inspiration and generosity we read about in last week’s portion, this week’s portion highlights the other critical component of a relationship. The consistent connection even on ordinary days. This week’s portion introduces the service of the priests and highlights again and again the word “Tamid“, which means “always”, and emphasizes consistency: 

And you shall command the children of Israel, and they shall take to you pure olive oil, crushed for lighting, to kindle the lamps continually.

In the Tent of Meeting, outside the dividing curtain that is in front of the testimony, Aaron and his sons shall set it up before the Lord from evening to morning; [it shall be] an everlasting statute for their generations, from the children of Israel. (27:20-21)

The combination of the portions, the novel excitement and the consistent application, allow for a deep relationship to flourish and grow. 

Is it an Act of Giving or Receiving?  

What is the greatest gift that we can receive? It is the ability to give. 

To give is to reflect the creator. 

Creation, by definition, is an act of receiving; we receive our very existence from our creator. 

To the extent that we receive, we are creations; to the extent that we share with others, we experience the Divine. 

This realization alters the usual hierarchy between giver and recipient. On the surface, the giver is giving; upon deeper reflection, by being vulnerable and being open to accepting, the recipient is giving the giver the opportunity to give, to escape the trappings of creation and partner with the creator. 

In the opening statement of this week’s Torah portion, G-d tells Moses to speak to the Jewish people and ask them to give, to donate, materials for the construction of the temple. Yet, when we look at the verse, we discover that instead of G-d saying “they shall give”, the verse states, not once but twice, “(let them) take”, “(you shall take)”: 

The Lord spoke to Moses saying: Speak to the children of Israel, and have them take for Me an offering; from every person whose heart inspires him to generosity, you shall take My offering.

Are the Jewish people giving or taking?

The great commentator and kabbalist, Rabbi Mose Alshich, explains that indeed, the act of giving is indeed an act of “taking”-receiving. 

For the greatest gift we can receive from G-d, is Him telling us that he needs something from us. That our existence and our choices matter to him. 

As Rabbi Manis Friedman explained when he visited Greenwich a few weeks ago: “A person would much rather be needed than be loved”. When you tell me you love me, you are telling me something about yourself, something about your preferences that may or may not resonate with me. When you tell me I am needed, you are telling me about myself. You are telling me that I matter.  

What Is Your Big Idea?

In order to succeed, you need to have a vision, a big idea, that animates you. You want to make the world a better place. You want a masters degree. You want to start a business.

The problem with big ideas, however, is that they can be abstract. Big ideas will not succeed, unless one is willing to take on the many specific, often menial tasks and actions, over a long period of time. To be successful, one must ask: “What does “getting a master’s degree” actually look like on a Tuesday afternoon?” “What does “starting a business” look like in the next fifteen minutes?

The problem with the specific tasks, however, is that the passion evaporates. It is relatively easy to be inspired by a big idea, it is much harder to maintain that inspiration when engaged in a specific action at a specific moment, because this moment does not seem to be able to capture the intensity of the big idea, the big vision. 

To succeed we need to harness the passion of the big idea, even while engaged in the detail. We must focus our attention on how this detail is part of a bigger picture. I am not calling a client, I am creating a business. I am not shopping for groceries, I am creating a shabbat meal where I will experience connection with my family and with G-d.   

This pattern explains the Torah's description of the story of the giving of the Torah at SInai. At first, in last week’s portion we read the story of the revelation, the general description of the story, and the ten commandments. Following the ten commandments we read, in this week’s portion, how to bring the vision of the Torah into the specifics of daily life, in the specifics of civil law, regulating the daily interactions between people. At the end of our portion, the Torah returns to describe the story of the preparation and the experience of Sinai. Because the Torah is teaching us not to lose the vision in the details. To remember that the purpose of the specific laws and regulations is to experience the greater vision, the covenant with G-d. 

The pattern of leading a successful life is connecting to a big idea, implementing it in daily specific tasks and habits, and then once again experiencing the big idea. 

G-d’s Bio 

If you were asked to manage G-d’s personal brand and to write His bio, what would you write? Presumably, you would talk about the infinite, undefined, all-knowing, all-powerful creator of the universe. Yet, when G-d introduces himself to the Jewish people at Sinai as he presents the Ten Commandments, G-d says something else entirely: 

I am the Lord, your God, Who took you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. (Exodus 20:2)

Indeed, the commentaries ask why G-d introduces himself as the one who “took you out of the land of Egypt”, and not as the creator of heaven and earth, which seems to be a better description of the awesome power of G-d. One answer is that G-d chose to speak to the people about the Exodus from Egypt, which they themselves experienced, rather than the creation, which they did not witness firsthand. 

The opening statement of the Ten Commandments offers Judaism's definition of G-d. Judaism teaches that G-d is not, as ancient philosophers described, merely infinite, transcendent, and abstract. G-d, as described in the Torah, is also very much imminent, present within reality, and concerned about life on earth; a G-d who cares, who feels the pain of the oppressed, and who is emotionally invested in creation. 

While creation of the universe expresses the infinite power of G-d, the story of the Exodus represents G-d’s connection to man. While creation tells  of the awesome glory of the creator, G-d saving the Jewish people from the oppression of Egypt tells us of a personal, moral G-d, who is interested in a personal relationship with humanity that lives by moral principles. While the story of creation tells us about the greatness of G-d, the story of the Exodus tells us that G-d is interested in our behavior, because he wants a relationship with us.