Blog - Torah Insights

Who is “He”? Who was the One who  Made the Menorah? 

The future seemed promising. The Jewish people were set to travel the eleven-day journey from Sinai to the Promised Land. In the last two portions, we read the detailed instructions of how the people would camp and travel in an orderly fashion, surrounding - and anchored by - the Temple. 

Yet, as they embarked on the journey there was a breakdown. Story after story of complaints, rebellion, and rejection of the land of Israel; the eleven-day journey turned into a forty-year venture. 

How are we to perceive these events? 

The opening commandment of the Parsha may provide a clue. 

The Torah reiterates the commandment that Aaron light the Menorah in the Temple. Surprisingly, although this was clearly stated earlier in the book of Exodus, the Torah describes how the Menorah was fashioned:  

This was the form of the menorah: hammered work of gold, from its base to its flower it was hammered work; according to the form that the Lord had shown Moses, so did he construct the menorah. (Numbers 8:4)

Rashi quotes the words “So did he construct the Menorah”, and offers two suggestions as to who this “he” is; who is the one who made the Menorah? 

So did he construct the Menorah. I.e., the one who made it. The Aggadic Midrash states that it was made by itself through the Holy One, Blessed is He.

Rashi offers two interpretations. The first is that the Menorah was made by man (by Moses, according to most opinions), yet the Torah uses the word “he“ because the identity of the creator of the Menorah is not relevant at this point in the story. 

The second interpretation is that “he” refers to G-d. The Midrash teaches that the Menorah was formed by G-d: “Moses found difficulty with it, the Holy One, blessed is He, said to him, “Cast the talent [equivalent to sixty-four pounds of gold] into the fire, and it will be made by itself.

But why is the Torah vague on this matter? Why use the term “he”, instead of clearly stating whether it was G-d or Moses? 

The Rebbe offers a novel explanation: 

Both of Rashi’s interpretations are true. “He” refers to both G-d and to Moses, because the Menorah is a partnership between the human and the Divine. Although the final product would be formed by the power of the Divine, the human being must contribute to create the inspiration and spiritual transformation represented by the Menorah. 

Returning to our opening question, how are we to comprehend the events in our Parsha? Perhaps the Torah begins the portion of the forty year journey by introducing the Menorah in order to teach us that the obstacles and challenges of the journey are not a setback but a critical part of the spiritual development of the people. The Jewish people were tasked with being a Menorah, a light onto the nations. Yet, G-d desired a partnership. The Menorah would be created by itself, and the spiritual light that the Jewish people would reflect would be far greater than anything they could create on their own; yet, they would have to participate in its creation. 

They would have to work through the difficult task of generating inspiration, faith, and commitment on their own. The journey seems like a complete breakdown of faith and of the values that Moses sought to teach, yet in reality, in these pages we are watching up close the formation of the partnership, the Menorah being made by both the inspiration and blessing from above, but also by human contribution and effort. 

Are There Contradictions in The Torah? 

What do we do when we find two Torah verses contradicting each other? Call the publisher and ask if, by chance, it is a printing mistake? Assume that one of the verses is somehow incorrect? The answer is simple: look for a third verse that will reconcile the apparent contradiction. 

One example of the above principle, one of the thirteen general principles by which the Bible is interpreted, is in the final verse of our Parsha, where the Torah describes how Moses would hear the word of G-d in the Tabernacle - the “tent of meeting”. The verse states: 

When Moses would come into the Tent of Meeting to speak with Him, he would hear the voice speaking to him from the two cherubim above the covering which was over the Ark of Testimony, and He spoke to him. (Numbers 7:89)

Rashi points out that there are other verses that diverge in the description of where the voice of G-d emerged from: 

When Moses would enter: two contradictory verses, the third one comes and reconciles them. One verse says, “the Lord spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting” (Leviticus 1:1), and that implies outside the curtain, whereas another verse says, “and speak to you from above the ark cover” (Exodus 25:22) . This comes and reconciles them: Moses came into the Tent of Meeting, and there he would hear the voice coming from above the ark cover. 

In the book of Exodus, the Torah states that the voice came from the “tent of meeting” implying in the outer chamber of the tent. In the book of Leviticus, however, the Torah states that the voice came from the inner chamber, “from above the ark cover”. What do we do about this contradiction? We look to the book of Numbers which reconciles the matter. Moses stood in the tent of meeting, in the outer chamber of the sanctuary, and heard the voice emerging from the inner chamber. 

Ok, crisis averted, contradiction resolved. 

But we still need to understand why does the Torah communicate in such a cumbersome manner? Why not state only the third verse? Why first create the apparent contradiction? 

The apparent contradiction captures a tension. Whenever opposite points converge, the Torah highlights each of the extremes, which creates the apparent contradiction, and then introduces the third verse to highlight that within this space, both extremes are fused. 

The temple represents the fusion of matter and spirit, a fusion of the physical and the spiritual. The temple is the connection point between the infinite G-d and mortal man. There can be no greater contradiction than bringing together these extremes. The Torah, therefore, lays out two distinct verses, one describing the voice of G-d emerging from between the Cherubim, in the inner chamber of the temple, the place where no human would enter (except for the High Priest who would enter but once a year on Yom Kippur), representing the domain of the infinite G-d, and another verse highlighting the opposite extreme, the voice emerging from the tent of meeting, the space within the temple that is the human domain. For, in essence, the temple is a contradiction, a seemingly absurd attempt to fuse the finite and the infinite.  

And then comes the third verse, which reconciles the two and highlights the power of the Jewish people to create a home for G-d that will fuse the two extremes of heaven and earth, physical and spiritual, and affect the marriage between God and the Jewish people.  

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Shabbos Naso 5749 (1989)

Marriage in the Desert

When you think of a desert, what do you think of? 

A desert can be a frightening place, scorching heat, arid land, no civilization, and no cell phone service. A place of “snakes, vipers and scorpions, and drought, where there is no water”. But a desert can also be a place of deep beauty and solitude: no distractions, no light pollution, and untouched nature in its raw, unfiltered state. For some, it’s a dream retreat, serene and sublime.

The Torah was given in the Sinai desert. The desert is a symbol of the physical world we live in; a world not naturally hospitable to holiness, sensitivity to others, and spirituality. The physical world is considered a spiritual desert because, this world is, in the words of the Tanya, “the lowest in degree; there is none lower than it in terms of concealment of His light, and no world compares with it for doubled and redoubled darkness; So much so that it is filled with Kelipot {forced of unholiness} and Sitra Achara  {the other side}, which actually oppose G‑d, saying: “I am, and there is nothing else besides me.”

Yet paradoxically, the desert’s spiritual desolation can awaken an even deeper yearning. When King David was forced to flee Jerusalem and hide in the desert he said: “My soul thirsts for You; my flesh longs for You, in an arid and thirsty land, without water”. The spiritual challenges of the world can create a longing for G-d far more powerful than the love the soul felt in heaven. 

“The Lord spoke to Moses in the Sinai Desert”, the opening phrase of the fourth book of the Torah, reminds us that specifically because the world is a spiritual desert, it can inspire a more passionate love to G-d. Specifically because it is not a place hospitable to civilization, its vast landscapes, shades of color, and expanses of the sky, inspire a sense of serenity, beauty and transcendence. 

The verse continues: “The Lord spoke to Moses in the Sinai Desert, in the Tent of Meeting”. 

The Hebrew word for meeting, Moed, is related to the Hebrew word Daat, knowledge and intimacy. The longing created by the desert creates a more profound intimate bond with G-d. The tent of meeting, is specifically in the Sinai desert, for the marriage between G-d and his people happens down here on earth. 

Unlike a relationship formed in the comforts of heaven, this divine union is forged in the trials of the desert. It is here, in the desert of life, that the deepest bond is formed. And it is here that the sacred marriage takes place. 

Adapted from Likutei Torah Bamidbar 4:2

Sabbatical and Sinai - Balancing the Paradox  

What does the Sabbatical have to do with Sinai? 

That is the question the Midrash asks addressing the opening commandment of this week’s Torah portion, the commandant to let the land rest every seventh year.

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)

Rashi quotes the Midrash which asks why the Torah introduces this specific commandment with mentioning that it was stated at Sinai: 

What does Shemittah [the “release” of fields in the seventh year] have to do with Mount Sinai? Were not all the commandments stated from Sinai? 

The Torah was given at Mount Sinai, in the desert, because the desert is a place void of  civilization, agriculture, and distraction, a place removed from the concerns of physical life, where the focus can be completely on spiritual reality. The land of Israel seems to be a dramatic departure from the Sinai lifestyle; instead of wholehearted devotion to spirituality, the people are called upon to work the land; to plow, sow, and harvest. How can one bridge the experience of Sinai with life in the land?

The Sabbatical year teaches that the objective of Torah is that a person inhabit two opposite plains simultaneously. The mission of a Jew is to unite the physical and the spiritual, heaven and earth, finite and infinite, Mount Sinai and the land of Israel. 

The Sabbatical demonstrates that while owning land, and being deeply involved in agriculture, a Jew can experience a sabbatical year for Hashem. The work done in the first six years is not a means for itself, but rather it is for the sake of the Sabbatical year. 

What does the Sabbatical have to do with Sinai? The objective of the Sabbatical is connecting the holiness of Sinai with the soil of the land. It reminds us that Torah’s instructs not to retreat to the solitude of the desert, nor to experience a transcendent spiritual reality, but rather it is to live a life that unites opposites, a life that connects the intense holiness and transcendence of Sinai with the finite time and space we inhabit.   

(Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sicos 1 Behar)

 Why We Bless Before We Eat

There is a biblical commandment to bless G-d after we eat food, as the Torah states “And you will eat and be sated, and you shall bless the Lord, your God, for the good land He has given you.” (Deuteronomy 8:10). Yet, the rabbis introduced blessings to say before we eat food. As the Mishanh in tractate Berachot describes the specific blessing for each category of food:

How does one recite a blessing over fruits? Over different fruits that grow on a tree one recites: Who creates fruit of the tree, with the exception of wine. Over wine one recites: Who creates fruit of the vine. Over fruits that grow from the earth, one recites: Who creates fruit of the ground, with the exception of bread, as over bread one recites: Who brings forth bread from the earth. Over herbs and leafy vegetables one recites: Who creates fruit of the ground. (Talmud Berachot 35a)

The Talmud seeks to understand the premise for reciting a blessing before eating food. After some attempts to derive it from a Biblical verse, the Talmud concedes that the source is based on a logical argument: 

The fundamental obligation to recite a blessing over food is founded on reason: One is forbidden to derive benefit from this world without a blessing.

But why not? 

The Talmud further explains that the entire world belongs to G-d:

Rav Yehuda said that Shmuel said: One who derives benefit from this world without a blessing, it is as if he enjoyed objects consecrated to the heavens, as it is stated: “The earth and all it contains is the Lord’s, the world and all those who live in it” (Psalms 24:1)...Rabbi Ḥanina bar Pappa said: Anyone who derives benefit from this world without a blessing, it is as if he stole from God and the community of Israel. 

Yet, this explanation requires further clarification. Yes, the blessing acknowledges that the world belongs to G-d, but how does that give a person the right to “steal” and partake of G-d’s bounty? The blessing does not seem to be a request for permission to enjoy that which belongs to G-d.

One Answer is alluded to in this week’s portion. The Torah relates the laws of Terumah, the gift of produce given to the priest. The Torah describes how the Terumah must be eaten in a state of ritual purity, and it must be eaten exclusively by the poreists: “No non-Kohen may eat holy things; a kohen's resident and his hired servant may not eat holy things”.

Yet there is an exception. A servant, who was purchased by a Kohen, may partake of the Terumah: 

And if a Kohen acquires a person, an acquisition through his money, he may eat of it, and those born in his house they may eat of his food. (Leviticus 22:11)

The world and all of its bounty belongs to G-d, we have no right to seize his property. Yet, when we bless, we acknowledge that he is “our G-d, king of the universe”; if He is our king and we are his servants whom he has acquired, then, like the servant allowed to consume the holy Terumah, we may benefit from the blessings and bounty of the world,  considering that we are doing so as part of our Divine service. Our interaction with the world is infused with spiritual purpose and intention, transforming the material substance into energy to fuel holiness, goodness and kindness.

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Hisvaduyos 5771 3:347

Do Good Fences Make Holy Neighbors?

The Torah's enjoins us to "be holy" in the Parsha that deals primarily with interpersonal relationships, indicating that the test of holiness lies not in the halls of study and prayer, or secluded in nature, separate from civilization, but rather in the societies we create and the relationships we build. 

Creating a society that protects both the individual's rights as well as his sense of responsibility to others, is a balance that the Talmud spends lots of time and energy negotiating. 

In the first Mishnah of Tractate Baba Batra, the Talmud describes neighbors who share the use of a courtyard and decide to split their partnership and erect a wall.  

MISHNA: Partners who wished to make a partition [meḥitza] in a jointly owned courtyard build the wall for the partition in the middle of the courtyard. What is this wall fashioned from? In a place where it is customary to build such a wall with non-chiseled stone [gevil], or chiseled stone [gazit], or small bricks [kefisin], or large bricks [leveinim], they must build the wall with that material. Everything is in accordance with the regional custom… 

Therefore, if the wall later falls, the space where the wall stood and the stones belong to both of them, to be divided equally.

Almost two thousand years, before Lewis Samuel Warren and Louis Brandies coined the term "right to privacy", in the Halachilk conclusion of the Talmudic discussion the Torah recognizes the right to privacy, classifying "damage through sight" as damage, and therefore each neighbor can compel the other to participate in allocating the space and the materials for building a wall that will protect their privacy. 

But walls can also create moral challenges, allowing the homeowner to separate himself from the pain of others. 

Indeed, later in the Tractate, when the Mishnah states that neighbors living in the same courtyard may compel each other to pay for a gatehouse, the Talmud asks:

Is this to say that making a gatehouse is beneficial? But wasn't there that pious man, with whom the prophet Elijah was accustomed to speak, who built a gatehouse, and after-ward Elijah did not speak with him again? The objection to the building of a gatehouse is that the guard who mans it prevents the poor from entering and asking for charity. 

The Talmud suggests a solution that balances the right of the members of the courtyard to protect their privacy, while also encouraging their moral and ethical obligation not to sever themselves from the pain of others: 

The Gemara answers: This is not difficult: This, the case presented in the Mishna, is referring to a gatehouse built on the inside of the courtyard, in which case the poor can at least reach the courtyard's entrance and be heard inside the courtyard; that, the story of the pious man and Elijah, involves a gatehouse that was built on the outside of the courtyard, completely blocking the poor's access to the courtyard's entrance.

Returning to the first Mishah, to the story of the neighbors who build a wall dissolving their "partnership", upon careful analysis we can see that the Mishnah may be signaling a subtle but important message about neighbors. The entire Mishnah instructs on the process of resolving the partnership. Yet, the conclusion of the Mishnah, "Therefore, if the wall later falls, the space where the wall stood and the stones belong to both of them, to be divided equally", implies that they indeed remain partners! They share ownership of the bricks and of the place of the wall. 

The Mishnah signals to us that we can choose to minimize the partnership with our neighbor, but we cannot eliminate it. We live together, and we therefore impact each other. 

This Mishnah sets the tone for the entire Tractate and for our understanding of relationships within society. Yes, we may and should protect our own rights, space, and privacy, yet we must also remember that we are in a partnership with the people around us. We are interconnected and interdependent with the broader community. 

Planting Seeds 

We left Egypt. We received the Torah. We built the temple. Now, it’s back to real life.    

The center of the book of Leviticus discusses various laws of ritual impurity, and devotes no less than two portions to the specific details of the impurity of the Tzaraat. It is therefore surprising that the name of the Parsha introducing the impurity, “Tazria”, which means “to seed”, referring to the opening statement “a woman who will give seed and give birth to a son”. Ritual impurity is the antithesis of life; how can a section dedicated to the intricacies of ritual impurity, particularly the isolating affliction of Tzaraat, be introduced by a word brimming with promise of new life and growth?

The transition from the beginning to the middle of the third book is abrupt. From a place of holiness and joy, we come face to face with the realities of life that include sadness, death, and spiritual, psychological, and physical challenges. We often wonder why G-d would want us to engage with a challenging environment rather than remaining within the spirituality of the temple.  

The answer, of course, is planting seeds. 

The challenging environment is not meant to destroy the seed; on the contrary, the seed germinates and produces something immeasurably greater: a plant, a flower, a fruit-bearing tree. The purpose of the challenge is the incredible growth it unleashes. 

While we don’t always see how the challenge is, in fact, a step in the process of growth, which is why the details of the impurity and the process of the purification are divided into two distinct portions, we believe that this is indeed the case. In some years, including this one, we combine both portions into one Shabbat reading, empowering us to sense, within the planting process, the blossoming of life that is sure to follow. 

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likutei Sichos 22, Tazria Metzora 

Tasting Paradise -  From Tabernacle to Kosher 

The eighth day arrived. 

After many months of great effort, donations, design and construction, the Tabernacle was finally set up. After seven days of inauguration, the Divine presence descended:

And the glory of the Lord appeared to all the people. And fire went forth from before the Lord and consumed the burnt offering and the fats upon the altar, and all the people saw, sang praises, and fell upon their faces. (Leviticus 9:23-24)

Immediately after this climatic event in Jewish history, the Torah transitions, perhaps abruptly, to discuss the laws of kosher food, describing the animals, insects, and birds that are kosher for consumption:

And the Lord spoke to Moses and to Aaron, to say to them:

Speak to the children of Israel, saying: These are the creatures that you may eat among all the animals on earth (11:1-2)

To understand the connection between the Divine presence dwelling in the Temple and the laws of kosher, we have to zoom out and consider the Torah’s vision of human history. 

Adam and Eve began life in the garden of Eden, where they lived in harmony with themselves, each other, nature, and G-d. They were placed in the garden “to work it and to guard it”. They were commanded not only  to refrain from eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge, but, though sometimes overlooked, they were commanded to eat of all the other fruit of the garden “And the Lord God commanded man, saying, "Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat.” In Eden, eating itself was a Divine commandment, because Eden is a state of harmony between the physical and the spiritual, where the process of eating is not merely a biological necessity or physical pleasure but a spiritual experience as well. 

When Adam and Eve sinned they shattered the harmony of Eden, and caused a separation between the physical and spiritual. They were therefore expelled from Eden to a world of dichotomy, division, and conflict. Their task? To recreate the harmony of Eden, where peace, harmony, and the knowledge of G-d will permeate every aspect of creation.  

Building the temple was an integral step in the story of human history, for the temple is a miniature Eden, a place where heaven and earth embrace. Thus, the third book of the Torah, describing the service in the temple, is the first time “Adam” is used as the word to describe the Human being, being that the harmony of Adam was restored in the temple. 

But the temple is only the beginning. It is the model of what the rest of the world must become. 

In Eden eating is a Divine commandment. Once the temple was built, we are empowered to extend the sanctity of eating wherever we may be on earth. Once the temple was built we received instructions on how to ensure kosher eating, where the food becomes energy not only for the body but also for the soul; fueling a life of meaning, purpose, and passionate devotion to kindness, and intense connection to G-d.

Love in Leviticus 

The third book of the Torah, the book of Leviticus, focuses on the laws of offerings in the temple, ritual purity, priests, and ritual law. It appears to be a book focusing less on love and connection and more on obligation and service. 

Yet, the opening word of the book tells a different story. 

The third book begins: 

And He called to Moses, and the Lord spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying,

Rashi points out that this verse is unique; the Torah usually tells us that G-d spoke to Moses, but here the Torah adds an  something additional detail, , namely, that G-d first "called" to Moses, and only then "and the Lord spoke to him": 

Rashi explains that calling Moses represents love and affection:  

All forms of God's communication with Moses, whether they were in a form of speaking (וַיְדַבֵּר), in the form of saying (וַיֹאמֶר), or in the form of commanding (צַו), were preceded by a call (קְרִיאָה), an expression of affection.

One may view the Torah's commandments as "service" to G-d - there is something that G-d desires, and we are called upon to fulfill his will. Rashi reminds us that the Torah is an expression of G-d's love toward us. When G-d asks us to do something, He is asking us to seize an opportunity to connect.

Just as G-d’s call to Moses expressed love and connection, so too, within our own relationships, a request can be more than a practical need—it can be a call for closeness. When someone asks something of us, it may reflect a deeper longing to be seen, valued, or understood. And when we ask of others, if we do so with sensitivity, humility, and care, we mirror the divine model: using speech not just to convey a need, but to build a bridge between souls.  

Just as G-d calls us, we, too, call to G-d. 

In the parlance of the sages of the Mishnah and Talmud, the Hebrew word for reading the Torah is Kriah, which means both reading and calling. When we read the words of Torah, we are not merely reading G-d's communication to us, but rather, we feel His love for us, and in turn, we "call" to Him, expressing our desire to connect. 

As The Alter Rebbe, founder of the Chabad movement, writers in Tanya: 

Torah study is referred to as "calling" . This phrase means that in Torah study, one calls G‑d to come to him, so to speak, as a man calls to his friend to come to him, or as a child will call his father to come and join him and not to part from him. (Tanya, Chapter 37)

Unlike the ancient Greek name Leviticus, the Hebrew name of the third of the Torah is Vayikra, "And He called"; reminding us of G-d love for us and His deep desire for connection to us. 

The Pekudei Paradox 

Many spiritual seekers don’t like Judaisim. 

They want to transcend, to free themselves of the trappings of the mundane, and to connect to the infinite. They see Judaisim as being very technical, regulating precisely how and when to perform the Torah’s commandments. 

Are they right? 

They are correct in that they identify the core paradox of Judaism. 

Judaisim is not about transcending the finite to connect to the infinite, nor is it about being grounded in the real world. The paradox of Judaism is the realization that the essence can be found only in the paradoxical fusion of the infinite within finite space and reality. 

The Midrash teaches that the reason and motivation for creation is that “the Holy One, blessed be He, desired to have an home in the lower realms”, yes the infinite, unfathomable G-d, desired specifically to be in the “lower realms”, in the most physical, tangible, finite space. The same is true with the Divine commandments, which is the Divine will being fulfilled through specific actions, performed in a specific time and place.

This paradox is expressed in the final portion of the book of Exodus, Pikudei. Pikudei begins with an accounting of the precise number of all the material used to construct the tabernacle (“These are the numbers of the Mishkan, the Mishkan of the Testimony, which were counted at Moses' command”), and concludes with the description of the Divine presence dwelling in the tabernacle (“And the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the Mishkan.”)

The Hebrew word Pekudei itself captures this paradox. Pekudei means ”{counted} numbers”, a number is a defined entity, yet Pikudei also means intimacy and union (as in the Talmudic statement “a man has a duty to be intimate {Lifkod} with his wife”). For indeed, the deepest love is expressed not by sharing words and ideas, but by a physical union. The deepest bond can not be expressed by a spiritual connection, but rather by a physical action. 

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Likkutei Sichos 26, Pekudei 2

Ideal Vision vs. Real Life

The world we live in is inherently imperfect and often falls short of the ideal visions we create in our minds.

Often, the fantasy of a vacation, an experience, or a relationship is far more pristine than the realities of real life, where we struggle through tension and distraction in order to achieve moments of joy and connection. Often, the perfect picture we imagined distracts us from appreciating the blessings we have.   

After two portions dedicated to G-d conveying to Moses the commandment to build the Tabernacle and its furnishing, in this week’s portion, the Torah repeats every detail and tells us how Moses conveyed the commandment to the Jewish people who fulfilled the commandment and actually constructed the temple.

Why the repetition? The Torah could have avoided tens of verses by stating that Moses repeated the commandment to the Jewish people, who then fulfilled all that they were commanded to do. 

The repetition points to the tension between the ideal and the actual. 

The Torah is highlighting the critical importance, not the perfect temple Moses heard about on Mount Sinai, but rather the actual temple built by people in the real world. Our efforts to perform good deeds are imperfect, flawed, and complicated, yet that is precisely where G-d chooses to dwell. For G-d wants a home not in the perfect, ideal, heaven, but rather in the flawed and imperfect earth. 

Is Purim the Greatest Holiday? 

Purim is a unique holiday in many ways, which leads to the question, is Purim greater or less significant than all other holidays? On the one hand, it seems that the joy of Purim is greater than other holidays, as the Talmud states, "Rava said: A person is obligated to become intoxicated with wine on Purim until he is so intoxicated that he does not know how to distinguish between cursed is Haman and blessed is Mordechai". On the other hand, Purim is the only holiday when we do not recite the Hallel, {Hallel is the song of praise from King David's Psalms recited on every major holiday}.

Why, in fact, don't we say Hallel on Purim, asks the Talmud, and offers two answers: 

The first answer is: "Hallel is not recited on a miracle that occurred outside the Land of Israel". 

The Talmudic sage Rava offers another answer: "The reading of the Megilla itself is an act of reciting Hallel." In other words, Rava fundamentally disagrees with the first answer; while the first answer says that Hallel is not recited, Rava argues that we do indeed recite praise to G-d, it's just that the praise is offered in a different format; instead of reciting Hallel we read the story of the scroll of Esther. 

The Talmud states, ״One who reads Hallel every day is tantamount to one who curses and blasphemes God. {He displays contempt for Hallel by not reserving it for days on which miracles occurred}". That's because although we understand that the natural order itself is also an expression of the Divine, nevertheless, Hallel is recited only for a miracle where the hand of G-d is revealed and obvious. 

Purim is a unique holiday. There were no obvious miracles, only a series of coincidences over more than a decade that orchestrated the salvation of the Jewish people. The Talmud, therefore, states that one opinion is that we do not recite Hallel upon the Purim miracle as it occurred outside of the land of Israel, the place where G-d’s providence is obvious and palpable.

Rava offers a deeper explanation. Rave says that reading the Megillah is in itself a form of Hallel. Rave tells us that while it is true that the miracle of Purim occurred outside of Israel, both literally and figuratively, while it is true that, at first glance, the presence of G-d is not indisputably obvious, nevertheless, "The reading of the Megilla itself is an act of reciting Hallel". When we read the Megillah and adapt its perspective, we learn to see the story, we discover the common theme that threads together the seemingly unrelated events. When we read the Megillah and internalize its message, we learn to see the presence of G-d within nature. The Megillah itself triggers the requirement to say  Hallel and also serves as a distinctive form of Hallel for the unique miracle that is clothed within nature. 

The ramifications of Rava's perspective are profound. The joy of Purim is greater than the joy of all other holidays, because celebrating Purim and reading the Megillah empower us to feel the presence of G-d, not only in Israel but also throughout the entire world; not only in the extraordinary but also in the ordinary, not only in the apparently holy, but also in the seemingly mundane.   

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Purim 5722  

Finding Fulfillment 

The second half of this week's portion addresses in great detail the seven days of Miluim, the inauguration and initiation of the priests to the temple service. After reading about the commandment to build the temple in the last portion and reading about the commandment to fashion beautiful garments for the priests in the first half of this week's portion, the Torah describes the process by which the priests were initiated into the priesthood, a process that took seven days, requiring unique offerings and services. 

The Hebrew word for the inauguration, Miluim, literally means to fill. The verse states "and you {Moses} shall fill the hand of Aaron and his sons", and refers to the offerings as "fulfillment", and the seven days as days of "fulfillment". What exactly does "fulfillment" mean in the context of inauguration, and why does the Torah use this unusual expression for the inauguration? 

The Kabbalists explain that the seven days of inauguration were designed to "fulfill" and "correct" the seven days of creation we read about in the book of Genesis. G-d created a beautiful world, but unfortunately the human being did not engage with the world in a wholesome manner, he defied the will of his creator by following the temptation of the tree of knowledge. He was therefore expelled from the tranquility and innocence of Eden.  

The construction of the temple was the opportunity to fill the world with what it was lacking from the time of the seven days of creation. The introduction of the temple, symbolizing the spiritual relationship with G-d, allowed a person to feel fulfilled. No amount of material possessions or pleasures can bring the person fulfillment, for the physical is inherently temporary and fleeting; it cannot confer a sense of fullness and permanence which it does not possess. Only by building a home for G-d, by filling the material objects and experiences with spiritual and holy meaning, can a person truly "fill" the physical world created during the seven days of creation with true fulfillment, pleasure, and joy that emerged from the seven days of the inauguration of the temple. 

Adapted from the Kedushat Levi