Blog - Torah Insights

Jonah and the Sailors (and You)

Often when we read a story, we miss a critical subplot, because we are focused on the main story. 

You may have heard the broad strokes of the story about Jonah. G-d sends the prophet to Nineveh to warn its people to repent, but Jonah runs away. He boards a ship heading in the opposite direction, only to encounter a violent storm. The sailors throw him overboard, and he is swallowed by a giant fish. After praying to G-d from inside the fish, Jonah is returned to dry land and finally goes to Nineveh to fulfill his mission.

There are many sub-stories and sub-plots unfolding in the book of Jonah. One of them is the story of Jonah’s interaction with the sailors. 

Jonah seeks to escape his mission of being the prophet carrying the word of G-d to humanity. He does all he can to avoid his mission; he boards the ship, descends to the belly of the ship, and goes to sleep. 

But the surrounding circumstances do not allow him to sleep. A great storm breaks out; all the people call to their gods, and the captain wakes him up and demands to know, “What is your work, and whence do you come? What is your land, and from what people are you?", to which Jonah responds: 

"I am a Hebrew, and I fear the Lord God of heaven, Who made the sea and the dry land." (1:9)

Here is Jonah, seeking to escape his mission. 

Yet, even though this is not his intention, he has a profound impact on the sailors. Ultimately, when they realize that the storm had subsided as soon as they cast Jonah into the sea, they recognize the greatness of G-d:  

And the men feared the Lord exceedingly, and they made sacrifices to the Lord and made vows. (1:16)

Turns out that while trying to avoid his mission of carrying the message of G-d, he cannot escape his fate. Wherever he goes, people are being affected. 

But the story of the sailors does not end until the cycle is complete. Because in the next chapter, while praying to G-d in the belly of the whale, Jonah referenced the sailors coming back to G-d: 

“Those who keep worthless futilities abandon their kindness (idols).” (Jonah 2:9)

And then immediately addresses the impact the sailors' recognition of G-d had upon himself: 

And I - with a voice of thanks will I sacrifice to You; what I vowed I will pay. (Jonah 2:10)

The transformation has occurred. 

Jonah impacts the sailors, who in turn influence him to reconsider and embrace his mission, as Abarbanel explains: 

With a voice of thanksgiving I will sacrifice to You: meaning to say that I will go to Nineveh, and with a voice of thanksgiving I will make the proclamation according to Your commandment; for this will be to You like a sacrifice and a grain offering, because behold, to obey is better than sacrifice.

This is the story of Jonah, but it is also our story. 

We each have a Divine mission to accomplish on this earth. To help, to heal, to inspire. Often we are distracted or discouraged from aligning with our mission and purpose. Yet, ultimately, as the Book of Jonah teaches, G-d will direct us back to our mission, and when we extend ourselves to help others, their inspiration becomes the very spark that reignites our own. When we help others find inspiration, we too will be infused with the joy and enthusiasm that will fuel and bring blessing to our lives. 

The Binding Contract You Never Signed

Can a contract you never signed be binding? 

On the last day of his life, Moses talks to the Jewish people and introduces the covenant with G-d. Thinking of the future, Moses says that the covenant the Jewish people would accept that day would be binding not only upon them, but also upon the future, still unborn, generations: 

But not only with you am I making this covenant and this oath,

but with those standing here with us today before the Lord, our God, and [also] with those who are not here with us, this day. (Deuteronomy 29:13-14)

Rashi explains that the words “those who are not here with us this day”, refer to ”also with future generations”. 

The idea that future generations would be bound by a covenant they did not accept seems perplexing. How can future generations of Jews be obligated by an agreement they did not sign? 

One way of explaining the binding obligation is to think of the covenant as an inheritance of an estate with what is legally referred to as a “condition subsequent”, a 'keep-this-rule' clause that binds future generations. Ownership passes down, but every successive heir must continue fulfilling this requirement to hold onto the property. The same is true for the covenant that Moses put forth as the Jewish people were about to enter the Land of Israel as a condition of receiving the land from G-d. Since the subsequent generations would benefit from the “estate”, the Land of Israel, they would be bound by the terms of the covenant. 

Rabbi Yitzchok Arama, the great 15th-century commentator and philosopher, offers a deeper interpretation. 

The covenant is not an agreement that can be upheld or broken. 

The covenant expresses the nature of the Jewish people. Moses tells the Jewish people that the connection to G-d is their inherent nature. The natural state of the Jew is to affirm his inborn, natural, essential connection to G-d. Yes, an individual can choose to act in a way that diverges from his inner core. Ultimately, however, the covenant between G-d and the Jewish people will endure because it is not a contractual obligation. A contract binds a person because he agreed to it. A covenant binds the Jew because it expresses who he is.

These words of Moses are read every year on the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah. The Jewish New Year is a time for introspection and resolution. Yet the true service of Rosh Hashanah is to reconnect to our inner core. To return to our essence, which is naturally and eternally connected to G-d. 

Find your Brother

You grew up together. Rode your bikes together. Took summer drives with the windows rolled down. Ate sweets at your grandparents' home, and laughed at your Zayde's jokes together. 

And then you grew up, each starting a family and building your own lives. Making it harder to remain connected. 

As the Jewish people were about to enter the land of Israel, they were starting a new chapter. For the past forty years, they lived in close proximity to each other, surrounding the tabernacle, which was the center of the community that bound them as a family. Once acrosscrossed the Jordan River, the various tribes would disperse, settling in distinct geographical areas, each with their own unique life. 

In this week’s portion, as Moses repeats the Torah in preparation for the entry to the land, he reiterates many of the Torah’s commandments, but he does so with a distinct flavour, addressing the challenges and opportunities of life in the land of Israel. As we read the commandments, we listen not only to the technical laws, but also to the poetry and music that Moses is sharing. 

Moses reiterates the law of returning lost objects. Moses keeps repeating one word, a word that does not appear when the commandment was first introduced in the Book of Exodus. Here Moses keeps emphasizing the word brother: 

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].

Moses is telling us more than just the commandment to return an object we find. Moses is telling us to find our brother. Moses isn't only telling you to return your brother's property; he's telling you to remember that the person standing in front of you is your brother.

As the tribes disperse in the land of Israel, separation and divisiveness can emerge. Moses reminds us that in order for Israel to flourish, and for us to fulfil our spiritual purpose, we must remember that we are a family. 

When we “find our brother”, when we realize we are connected to each other because we share a history and a shared spiritual mission, we will "return" and strengthen our connection, not only with our brother but also with our father in heaven. 

In Love with the Law 

What is the purpose of the Law?

To enable civilized arbitration of disputes? To apply justice? To create predictability that will ensure investment and commerce? 

Conventional wisdom would assert that the purpose of the law is to allow for a functioning society. Indeed, in the ethics of our fathers, our sages teach: By three things is the world sustained: law, truth and peace. (Avot 1:18) The commentaries explain that this statement does not refer to the purpose of creation, for that is explained earlier in the ethics: “The world stands on three things: Torah, the service of G‑d, and deeds of kindness.” (Avot 1:2) Rather, justice (as well as truth and peace) sustains the world, meaning it allows the world to function and exist in an orderly manner. 

And yet, the Midrash offers a deeper perspective. The Midrash refers to the law as the something that G-d loves more than anything else, and as a result, He gives the law to the Jewish people, His beloved young child:

Rabbi Levi said: To what is this matter comparable? To a king who had many children, and he loved the youngest more than them all. He had a certain orchard, and he liked it more than all his possessions. The king said: ‘I will give this orchard that I like more than all my possessions, to my youngest son, whom I love more than all my children.’ So, too, the Holy One blessed be He said: ‘From all the nations that I created, I love only Israel, as it is stated: “When Israel was a lad, I loved him” (Hosea 11:1). From everything that I created, I love only justice, as it is stated: “For I am the Lord, who loves justice”’ (Isaiah 61:8). The Holy One blessed be He said: ‘I am giving what I love to the people that I love.’ That is, “judges and officers.” (Devarim Raba, 5:7)

The Midrash refers to the law as an “orchard”. Unlike a field which produces wheat, a staple of sustenance, an orchard produces luxurious fruit. The Midrash chooses the metaphor of an orchard to alert us to the deeper dimension of the law given to the Jewish people. It is not merely a necessity to allow society to function; it is a luxury expressing G-d’s love. 

The Torah’s commandment in this week’s Parsha, “You shall set up judges and law enforcement officials for yourself in all your cities”, is not merely to arbitrate between litigants. The Torah proceeds to describe that when there is a question as to what the law is, unlike during the time of Moses, when we could count on receiving Divine communication directly through Moses, we were later required to go up to Jerusalem to consult with the Judges who had the authority to explain and apply the Divine law. 

The law is G-d’s invitation to engage with Him in a partnership between the written Torah, given to us by G-d, and the oral Torah, its human interpretation and application. The study of the law, then, is not only for the practical benefit of knowing what to do, but it is an act of love; a walk in the orchard, with our beloved, where our perspectives combine to create a marriage and partnership between G-d, and His beloved people Israel. 

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likutei Sichos 29 Shoftim 1 

What is the Hebrew Word for “I”?

Biblical Hebrew has far fewer words than English; the scarcity of words can be seen as a limitation to expressing precise ideas, but it also has powerful advantages. In Hebrew, many words share similar roots, which invites us to find connections between concepts and phenomena that seem unrelated, giving us a glimpse into deeper dimensions of reality. 

One interesting exception, where Hebrew is perhaps more descriptive than English, is the word “I”, where Hebrew has two ways of saying “I”: the common word in the Torah is “Ani”, yet occasionally the Torah uses the word “Anochi”; for example, the opening statement of the ten commandments, “I am the Lord your G-d” is “Anochi” for “I”. 

The word “I” written on paper is silent; it does not tell us the tone in which the word is spoken. When someone asks: “Who did this?” and the response is “I”, what is the meaning of the answer? Was it said with an apologetic tone, or an assertive one? Same word, completely different meaning. That is why the Hebrew has two words: “Ani” is the humble “I”, Anochi is the assertive one. 

Throughout the Torah, the shift between these two words reveals a progressive three-step unfolding of the Divine presence.

When the Jewish people were in Egypt, the Torah uses the word “Ani”, the humble I, because G-d “lowered” himself and expressed himself within the space of Egypt. By contrast, at Sinai, G-d revealed himself with all his glory; He therefore says, “Anochi”, asserting his full essence. [Assertiveness and self-containment, in Chasidic thought, are synonymous: the deeper the self, the less it needs to answer to anything outside it].

And then, at the bank of the Jordan River, we read the opening statement of the portion of Re’eh: “Behold, I set before you today a blessing and a curse”. This time, again, the word Anochi is used for “I”. Chasidism explains that the Anochi at the Jordan River represents an even greater level than the Anochi of Sinai. For at Sinai, the “Anochi” is followed by other names: “Anochi Hashem Elohecha”, “I am the Lord your G-d”, representing the essence as it is expressed and channeled through a description and limitation. At the Jordan River, we read of the unqualified “Anochi”, the true essence of G-d. 

At Sinai, which refers to the Torah, we encounter the essence of G-d as it is expressed through the ideas and teachings of the Torah. What could possibly be a greater way to connect to the unqualified essential “Anochi” than Torah - the Divine will and wisdom?  

The Talmud teaches that the ceremony of accepting the blessing and the curses on Mount Gerizim and Mount Eibal described at the beginning of our Parsha, Re’eh, is when the Jewish people entered into a collective covenant with G-d. At Sinai, G-d spoke to every Jew in the singular, and each person accepted the covenant for themselves; only once we entered the land of Israel did we accept the covenant that makes us responsible, and “guarantors”, for one another. 

The unity between the Jewish people touches the true core of who we are. Externally, there can be profound differences between us, various opinions, personalities, and perspectives. Yet, at the core essence we are one. When we look beyond our differences and recognize our core, ”Anochi”, the deepest essence of our Jewish souls, we connect to the ultimate “Anochi”, the deepest essence of G-d.  

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Re’eh Anochi 5765

Faith in Real Estate

Like any good real estate agent, when “selling” the land of Israel to the Jewish people, Moses highlights its virtues. He tells the people that the land of Israel is far superior to Egypt: 

For the land to which you are coming to possess is not like the land of Egypt, out of which you came, where you sowed your seed and which you watered by foot, like a vegetable garden. (Deuteronomy 11:10)

Egypt’s sustenance was dependent on the Nile River, which required the farmer to carry water to his field. As the Midrash describes: 

The land of Egypt required bringing water from the Nile by foot in order to water it; you had to rise from your sleep and toil. And only the low-lying areas were watered [i.e., were irrigated by the Nile], but not the high land, so you had to carry up water from the lower to the higher areas. 

By contrast, Israel is entirely different. As Moses continued: 

But the land, to which you pass to possess, is a land of mountains and valleys and absorbs water from the rains of heaven. (Deuteronomy 11:11) 

No need to “Shlep” the water, as the Midrash describes: “you sleep in your bed, the Holy One, blessed is He, waters both low and high areas”. 

But that leaves us wondering: is this the full story? Does this description capture the true balance of the advantages of Israel over Egypt? Or is Moses, like any good real estate agent, highlighting only what is "convenient" for his narrative? For, yes, when it rains, Israel is certainly advantageous; the problem, of course, is that rain is often scarce. 

Egypt’s natural resource, the Nile, provides a constant source of nourishment, but is also a spiritual hazard, for it allows a person to delude himself into thinking that he is self-sufficient and his destiny and success are the product of his own might. In Egypt, a person can feel invincible, with no need to turn to, and to accept the morality of, a higher power. 

In Israel, by contrast, a Jew knows that all his effort is dependent on the heavens. He can toil, sow and plant, but ultimately, must put his trust in G-d to bring the rain. The scarcity of rain is indeed what ensures that connection and relationship with G-d. As Moses continues in the very next verse: 

A land the Lord, your G-d, looks after; the eyes of L-rd your G-d are always upon it, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year.

Even with the advances of Israeli ingenuity and technology, what was true then is still true today. Surviving and flourishing in the region is a miracle. Sometimes we wish that Israel would be more like other nations, whose existence seems more secure and doesn't require reliance on the extraordinary. Yet, perhaps that is one of the reasons why G-d chose that strip of land for his people. For it is a land whose very geography, topography, and climate evoke a deep connection and relationship with G-d. 

Expanding Oneness 

The most important statement in Judaism is the declaration of the Shema, which we are commanded to recite every morning and evening, proclaiming Hashem Echad, G-d is one. But what exactly does that mean? And how did our understanding of this critical statement develop over time? 

On the most basic level, G-d is one, means that the creator of all existence is one, and not a partnership between two or more entities. 

Centuries later, Maimonides articulated the meaning of oneness to include, not only that there are no other G-ds, but that G-d’s existence is pure oneness (not a composite of many parts), not susceptible to limitation and change. In the words of Maimonides: 

This God is one. He is not two or more, but one, unified in a manner which [surpasses] any unity that is found in the world; i.e., He is not one in the manner of a general category which includes many individual entities, nor one in the way that the body is divided into different portions and dimensions. Rather, He is unified, and there exists no unity similar to His in this world.

Hundreds of years after that, Chasidism reveals additional depth in the word one: not only is there only one G-d, not only is G-d himself one and not composed of two or more parts, but that there is only oneness. The multitude of spiritual worlds, galaxies and creations are included within, and an expression of, the oneness of G-d, for every creation is an expression of the Divine energy which brings it into existence. 

The Hebrew word Echad, one, is composed of three letters: Aleph, with the numerical value of one, represents the one G-d. Chet, with the numerical value of eight, represents the seven heavens and the earth. Daled, with the numerical value of four, represents the four directions. When we say Shema, we are tapping into and revealing the deeper reality of oneness, namely that all of existence, with its unfathomable detail, beauty and complexity, from the distant galaxies to the intricate veins of a leaf, from the vastness of the ocean to every heartbeat, every person and every experience, is included in the oneness. We expand the oneness by opening ourselves to the realization that all parts of creation share a deep connection. For we are all part of a greater oneness, all part of the Divine that shines through us. 

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likutei Sichos vol. 11 p. 11 

How to Read a Map

Are we on the “Other Side of the Jordan” or at “the Plains of Moab”? 

The final verse of the fourth book of the Torah states explicitly that the Jewish people were at the plains of Moab: 

These are the commandments and the ordinances that the Lord commanded the children of Israel through Moses in the plains of Moab, by the Jordan at Jericho. (Numbers 36:13)

Yet, the next verse, the first verse of the fifth book of the Torah, refers to the same geographical location by the name "The other side of the Jordan":  

These are the words which Moses spoke to all Israel on that side of the Jordan in the desert (Deuteronomy 1:1)

How do you define your state of being? How do you define your “place” in the world, based on where you are, or based on where you are heading? 

The fourth book of the Torah tells of the forty-year journey through the desert, a challenging journey both physically and spiritually. The Hebrew word “plains”, Arvot, shares the same letters as the word for “Erev”, evening, representing the spiritual darkness and challenge of the journey. The conclusion of the fourth book represents the triumph over the challenges and difficulties. Finally, they crossed the desert, learning from and ultimately transforming the painful experiences. 

The fifth book of the Torah presents a completely different model of how to live in this world. We are not in the “plains of darkness”, but on the other side of the Jordan. Our existence is defined in relation to the holiness and land of Israel, which we are working toward. Our perception while facing the darkness is not confusion and melancholy, but rather the clarity and optimism that comes from being on the precipice of a bright future, when we will cross the river and enter the holy land. 

When you look at your life, when you look into the figurative map to locate the “you are here”, remember that it's up to you to define your position. Are you at the plains of Moab, or at the other side of the Jordan?

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Shabbat Devarim 5788 

Is Materialism Antithetical to Spirituality? 

After forty years of living a sheltered life in the desert, a life devoted to spirituality and Torah study, the Jewish people emerged from the desert and came face to face with civilization. The meeting was a colossal failure. The Jewish people were tempted by the sounds and sights of what they encountered, strayed after the pagan women of Moab, and adopted their idols. 

Against that background, the Torah, toward the conclusion of the Book of Numbers,  introduces the laws of vows, whereby a person can prohibit something upon themselves, giving it the force of a biblical prohibition. While the goal of Judaism is not asceticism but rather the sanctification of the material,  a person does have the ability to create boundaries for themselves, to say no before they can say yes. Before a person can sanctify pleasure, wealth, or success, he must first possess the discipline to use the material in a way that is productive and healthy and not let it take over, thus leading to a self-destructive outcome.

The Torah offers a path to "undo" the vows. That represents the ability to grow from a place where materialism was a threat to a holy lifestyle, to a place where the material can be incorporated within holiness and ultimately lead to greater spiritual growth. 

But what is the process, and what are the necessary spiritual tools to be able to “undo the vow” and defuse the potential destructive lure of the material? 

The answer is alluded to in the phrase Moses employs when introducing the concept of vows and their nullification. Moses says, “Zeh Hadavar”, this is the matter. “Zeh”, this, referring to a Divine communication, is very unusual. In general, prophets use the term “Koh”, which means “so”, as in “So says the Lord”. Moses is the only prophet who prophesied with the word “Zeh”, this. Chasidic philosophy explains that “koh”, so, refers to an approximation; the prophecy is not vivid and clear. Whereas “zeh”, this, represents something one can point at, not abstractions, but a concrete reality.

So long as spirituality and G-d remain an interesting but abstract idea, materialism will remain a spiritual threat and a challenge to our ethics and values. But, in this week’s Torah portion, Moses empowers us to experience a reality, not of “koh” but of “zeh”, not of “so” but of “this”. Moses invites us to deepen our perception of reality, broaden our awareness, and recognize G-d as the true reality. This will allow us to discover the true essence of the material, not a substance that conceals the Divine creative energy that is within it, but rather as an expression of the Divine creative power. As King Solomon states in the book of Proverbs: “in all your ways know Him”, realize that every material possession you have is a means to know and grow closer to the creator.   

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Matos Masei 5721 

The True Point of the Holiday 

Where do you find inspiration? When do you experience joy?

In life, there are ordinary days and holidays, times for work and times for leisure, moments of inspiration and moments of adversity. 

By nature, we are inspired by the novelty of a holiday, by an extraordinary event, by a chance to break our routine and spend time with the people we love.  

But the true secret of life, and the true purpose of the holidays, is that once we experience a change of pace, we are able to reexamine and experience the blessings of our everyday life. The ultimate purpose of a “getaway” is to fall in love with our daily existence. 

Indeed, in this week's Torah portion, G-d tells Moses about the commandment to offer unique offerings on the holidays, beginning with the most exceptional holiday, the holiday of Passover, which celebrates G-d’s direct intervention to save His people Israel. Passover reminds us of the miraculous power of G-d to perform miracles, defy the laws of probabilities, and bring salvation. Yet, the list of unique offerings for each of the holidays begins with the commandment about the daily offerings offered year round:  

The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Command the children of Israel and say to them: My offering, My food for My fire offerings, a spirit of satisfaction for Me, you shall take care to offer to Me at its appointed time. And you shall say to them: This is the fire offering which you shall offer to the Lord: two unblemished lambs in their first year each day as a continual burnt offering. (28:1-3)

The reason the Torah mentions the daily offerings in the list of holiday offerings is to remind us that G-d’s greatness can be felt not only by experiencing incredible miracles but also by observing the predictable laws of nature. Once we experience a miracle, once we experience G-d’s revelation in the remarkable moments of history and in the inspired moments of our life, we reach a deeper realization. We realize that the ordinary is a miracle. We realize the blessing of the “mundane”, the inspiration and joy that can be found in every moment of life; in every sunrise, every sweet breeze, in the curiosity of a child and the beauty of a flower.

The purpose of a holiday, then, is not to escape the everyday, but rather to help us realize that every day can be meaningful, spiritually rich with connection to our soul, to G-d, and to the people we love.

Philosophy, Leadership, and the Soul of a Community

In the heat of Korach’s rebellion against Moses, Moses turned to G-d and requested that He not turn to the offerings of the rebels: 

Moses was exceedingly distressed, and he said to the Lord, "Do not accept their offering. (Numbers 16:15)

But what offering was Moses referring to? 

Rashi, in his second interpretation, says that it is referring to the daily communal offerings, to which each Jew would donate a half coin annually, and the money was used to purchase the communal offerings: 

According to its Midrashic interpretation, he said: “I know that they have a portion in the daily communal offerings. Let their portions not be accepted favorably before You. Let the fire leave it and not consume it.” 

What seems like a straightforward interpretation, “I know that they have a portion in the daily communal offerings”, is in fact quite controversial, and related to a teaching of the Rogotchover, the 20th-century brilliant rabbi, who always sought the underlying “unifying theory” behind many seemingly unrelated disputes. Rogotchover argued that many disagreements between sages of the Mishnah and Talmud actually boil down to an essential philosophical debate related to a controversy between Plato and Aristotle. 

In his theory of forms, Plato posits that every physical phenomenon on earth is a mere reflection of the true phenomenon in the spiritual, perfect, and abstract realm. A chair, for example, is a physical manifestation of the “perfect” spiritual chair, and all chairs on earth are an attempt to capture some imperfect aspect of the “perfect” chair. Aristotle rejects that philosophy outright; to him, there is no “perfect” abstract form. There is no abstract chair that is the source of all chairs. The "essence" and “form” of the chair are not separate from the chair itself. 

Applying this disagreement to the concept of "community", some sages and scholars view “community” in the Platonic sense: an abstract concept, greater than the sum of the individuals that actually make up the community. They therefore believe that an individual cannot claim to have a specific ownership stake in communal property, as the community is a distinct abstract concept. Others share the Aristotelian view, namely, a community is a collection of individuals. Applied to our discussion, an individual can certainly lay claim to personal ownership over communal assets, since he or she is a member of that community.

When the Rebbe taught this Rashi, he explained both sides of the argument and then turned to a subtle word in Rashi that captures the essence of what a true leader is. 

The Rebbe explained that, although in matters of practical law, Jewish law generally takes the view that "community" is an abstract concept greater than the individuals that comprise it, nevertheless, Moses presented the other perspective. Moses said, “I know that they have a portion in the daily communal offerings”. The key phrase is “I know”. Moses was the leader of the community, but unlike many leaders who worry about the “collective”, Moses saw the individual within the collective. To Moses, a community is a place where an individual can transcend and tap into the energy of the collective, while at the same time maintaining his own unique, personal identity. “I know”, said Moses, that a leader must be concerned not only with the collective but with each and every person individually.

Yesterday, the third of Tammuz, was the Rebbe’s thirty-second Yahrtzeit. The Rebbe lived and exemplified the model of Moses, caring about “Klal Yisrael”, the collective Jewish people, while at the same time expressing complete dedication to each individual. May we continue to be inspired by the Rebbe’s teachings and example, and recognize that every individual person, and every individual action, is critical to the Divine purpose of creation. 

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.