Human Judaism and Jewish Humanism – Parshat Bereishit

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Rav Kook (Me’orot haRe’iah 1:206)

Rabbi Yitzchak said: The Torah should have begun with “This month will be to you the first of the months” (Shemot 12:2). Now for what reason did He commence with “In the beginning G-d created”? Because of [the idea expressed in] the verse] “The strength of His works He related to His people, to give them the inheritance of the nations” כח מעשיו הגיד לעמו לתת להם נחלת גוים. (Tehillim 111:6)

Many of us are familiar with this midrash, which Rashi puts at the very beginning of his commentary on the Torah.[1]The midrash’s question seems strange. Why shouldn’t the Torah start with Bereishit?[2]How can we imagine a Torah without the creation narrative, without Adam and Chavah, without the Avot and Imahot?[3]And how exactly does the verse from Tehillim answer the midrash’s question? None of these issues are addressed in the midrash itself, but Rashi deals with them in his commentary.

According to Rashi, the Torah should have started with sanctifying the new month because that is the first mitzvah that Israel received. The unspoken premise seems to be that the Torah is primarily a collection of laws, and the place of narrative – even one as important as Ma’aseh Bereishit– is secondary. The answer, provided by the verse in Tehillim, means as follows: “If the nations of the world say to Israel, ‘You are robbers, for you conquered the land of Cana’an by force,’ Israel can answer that ‘The entire earth belongs to the Holy One, blessed be He; He created it [i.e. as we learn from the Creation narrative] and gave it to whomever He deemed proper. He gave it to them, and when He wished, He took it away from them and gave it to us.’” Thus, according to Rashi, the Jewish people’s claim to Eretz Yisrael is a central message[4]of Bereishit. Before man has been created, before the universe even exists, the Torah directs our focus to Eretz Yisrael.

However, as we noted before, this is all Rashi’s interpretation. It doesn’t appear in the text of the midrash itself.[5]That leaves the door open to other ways of understanding the midrash and the concept of כח מעשיו הגיד לעמו לתת להם נחלת גוים. We can suggest as follows. The dividing line between “This month will be to you the first of the months” and “In the beginning G-d created” is not about law vs. narrative. It is about two completely different ways that G-d interacts with the world, two completely different ways of building a relationship with the Creator.

The first stage began with Creation and proceeded until the generations of the Avot. During this period, humanity’s development unfolded in a structured and gradual manner. Miracles occurred, but they were rare and performed only for individuals.[6]People sought G-d as individuals, not in the framework of a community or group.[7]Furthermore, humanity was not yet privy to any transcendent revelation of G-d’s will. Humanity had to grow into morality and discover holy living through man’s Divinely created nature. This was the pre-Israelite period of history, or נחלת גויים, the “inheritance of the nations” as Tehillim puts it. That phrase refers not to Eretz Yisrael, like Rashi understands, but to derekh eretz – i.e. the universal dictates of ethical, upright conduct and morality.

Many generations later, with G-d’s declaration of “This month will be to you the first of the months,” a new world began. G-d now revealed a new framework of spiritual development. No longer would all humanity seek G-d through a natural process of cautious and measured development. The light of the Shechinah, which illuminated the pagan darkness of Egypt and later shone in full splendor at Mount Sinai, would teach man how to “skip over the mountains and jump over the hills”(Shir haShirim 2:8).

But once this higher revelation was given, how would Israel relate to the earlier world of נחלת גוים, the “inheritance of the nations”? We would’ve expected those matters to beyond the scope of the Torah’s concern. Not because they are unimportant, but because Israel can develop its humanity and universal morality without the Torah’s guidance. After all, that is what humanity did for generations and it’s what Noachides are still expected to do. Or, as the midrash puts it, the Torah didn’t need to start with Ma’aseh Bereishit. It could have started with “This month will be to you the first of the months” and its transcendent spiritual reality.

But the Torah did start with“In the beginning G-d created.” The spiritual framework of נחלת גוים, embodied in Bereishit, is incorporated in and is subsumed within the Torah’s higher spiritual reality. Formulated differently, Israel aspires to universal morality and human virtue, but filtered through and imbued with the light of the Torah. Even the most human aspects of Israel, those it ostensibly shares with the rest of the world, are received from G-d’s hand, are truly distinctive and bear the mark of our Israelite character.

This is what the midrash means when it says that the Torah starts with Ma’aseh Bereishit, so that G-d could give us “the inheritance of the nations.” The midrash is teaching a lesson not about the centrality of Eretz Israel, but the uniqueness of the Jewish People and the concept of ‘Israelite humanity.’

[1]The midrash appears in Bereishit Rabbah and the Buber edition of Midrash Tanchumah (a.k.a. Tanchumah haYashan).

[2]Some scholars think that Rashi quotes this Midrash as a polemical response against the conquest of Jerusalem by the Crusaders. But even if that is true, the midrash still has to be internally coherent.

[3]See Ramban al-haTorah, who addresses this problem. According to some commentators (i.e. Sifsei Chaim), Rashi does not mean that Bereishit would be entirely omitted from the Torah, just moved to after the section on mitzvot. I don’t think this is the simple reading of Rashi or the midrash, and it is not how Ramban interpreted Rashi.

[4]Presumably Rashi would agree that it is not the central message of Bereishit, although some contemporary sources in the Religious Zionist community do make such an argument.

[5]This happens all the time. Rashi’s commentary is not just a collection of midrashim, but an interpretation of them as well.

[6]See Ramban on Bereishit 46:27, addressing why the Torah doesn’t highlight that Yocheved gave birth to Moshe at an advanced age.

[7]The parshiot of Bereishit and Noach go through over twenty generations, and recount barely even one person in each generation.

Food for Thought

Rav Shimson Raphael Hirsch (cited in Horeb, pg. 270): It is, therefore, the Jewish task, as symbolized by the Sanctuary, to lift up the human element in man on to the plane of the Divine law; but the Jewish task and the Jewish consciousness are not something which should be separated from the human task and from human consciousness. The Jewish task must not be conceived as something alien to and divorced from the human task. Never must we think that the Jewish element in us could exist without the human element or vice versa. The Jewish element in us presupposes the human element; it builds on it, ennobles it and brings it to perfection. The Jew cannot fulfill his calling in isolation, but only within human society. The highest perfection of the Jew is nothing but the highest perfection of his task as a human being…Pure Judaism always returns to pure humanism.

Rav Shimson Raphael Hirsch (Judaism and Progress, Collected Writings, Vol. III pg. 123): The more we understand that Judaism reckons with all of man’s endeavors, and the more its declared mission includes the salvation of all mankind, the less can its views be confined to the four cubits of one room or one dwelling. The more the Jew is a Jew, the more universalist will be his views and aspirations, the less alien will he be to anything that is noble and good, true and upright in the arts and sciences, in civilization and culture. The more the Jew is a Jew, the more joyously will he hail everything that will shape human life so as to promote truth, right, peace and refinement among mankind, the more happily will he himself embrace every opportunity to prove his mission as a Jew on new, still untrodden grounds. The more the Jew is a Jew, the more gladly will he give himself to all that is true progress in civilization and culture-provided that in this new circumstance he will not only maintain his Judaism but will be able to bring it to ever more glorious fulfillment.

Rav Aharon Lichtenstein (To Cultivate and to Guard: The Universal Duties of Mankind”): A berit (covenant) is something special and unique; by definition, it delineates a particular relationship between God and a specific community. What then happens to more universal elements? Do these fall away because of the exclusivity of the new relationship? Or do we regard the new relationship as being superimposed upon the old, but not at odds with it?

Even according to the latter approach, at times there may be a conflict between a universal value and a specific one. Fundamentally, however, this approach regards the specific covenant as complementing and building on top of the universal covenant, rather than replacing it and rendering it obsolete. According to this approach, we do not believe that what existed until now was merely scaffolding which was needed until the building was complete, but now that the building is finished, everything else is insignificant. Instead, we assume that whatever commitments, demands and obligations devolve upon a person simply as a member of the universal community, will also apply to him within his unique context as well; but in addition, there are also new demands.

Questions for Discussion

Do you agree with Rav Kook’s understanding of the relationship between Judaism and humanism? Why or why not?
See Rav Hirsch above in Food For Thought. Is he saying the same thing as Rav Kook or not?
Can you think of a practical example where the Torah’s standard of ethical conduct is higher or different than what’s demanded of Noachides?
According to Rav Kook, the book of Bereishit provides guidance for man’s moral and ethical development. Can you think of any particular stories that prove this point?
Many people claim that they don’t need to keep Torah and mitzvot because it’s sufficient to be a ‘good person.’ Why does Torah Judaism maintain that that’s incorrect? What would Rav Kook say?
What do you think we can learn from the book of Bereishit?

Foolish Fear – V’Zot haBeracha

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Rav Kook (Shemonah Kevatzim 4:106, Arpalei Tohar, 126)

And never was there a prophet who arose in Israel like Moshe, whom the Lord knew face to face, as manifested by all the signs and wonders that the Lord sent him to perform in the land of Egypt, for Pharaoh and all his servants, and for all his land, and all the strong hand, and all the great awe (lit. המורא הגדול), which Moses performed before the eyes of all Israel. Rashi: The phrase “before the eyes of all Israel” alludes to the incident where Moshe’s heart stirred him up to smash the luchot before their eyes, as it is said, “and I shattered them before your eyes” (Devarim 9:17). And our Sages teach that the Holy One Blessed is He approved of Moshe’s actions. (Devarim 34:10-12)

Like all other G-dly values principles, yirat Hashem must be calibrated, healthy and balanced. However, some people are overwhelmed by the magnitude of their religious and ethical obligations. They are crushed by fear that they have let G-d down and failed as ovdei Hashem. They suffer from an excess of Divine fear (lit. yirah), which traps them in passivity and prevents them from living an active life of Divine service. Their unique strengths and aptitudes remain dormant, suffocated underneath an excess of fear. One must act with wisdom in order to clear away this burden, so that his Divine potential can be actualized, so that he can live an active and vigorous life in service of G-d.

How does one achieve this? Why are some people energized by the thought of standing in G-d’s presence, while others fall into passivity and depression? What separates the healthy yirah that G-d wants us to strive for from yirah which is unhealthy and burdensome?

The answer is that it all depends on how one understands the “Hashem” of yirat Hashem. Although G-d’s true nature is unknowable, Jewish life is not about G-d’s ineffable essence, but His revelation to us and our relationship with Him. The central truth of Judaism is not that G-d exists, but that He cares about us and that we stand in his presence.

Now, a shallow and simplistic understanding of G-d places an unhealthy emphasis on G-d transcendent, infinite majesty. It emphasizes man’s pitiful and insignificant stature. It is deeply uncomfortable with man’s dignity as the bearer of tzelem elokim, and prefers instead to accentuate that מותר האדם מן הבהמה אין. In the time between his creation from dust and his return to dust, he is either outrightly sinful or constantly tempted by sin. Sin “crouches at the door,” but never leaves. This is yirat Hashem – but it is yirat Hashem that is devoid of knowledge (lit. יראת שמים שאין בה דעה). And it turns man into a squirming and pathetic idler (lit. זוחל ובטלן), who can do little more for G-d than grovel for His mercy and forgiveness.

Granted, true yirat Hashem also acknowledges G-d’s transcendence and requires that man “walk humbly before G-d.” But its humility is healthy and calibrated. It encourages man to broaden the splendor of his Divine soul, to a deepen his understanding of the world and his life in it. It arouses his Divinely given powers of imagination and thought, and demands that he delve into wisdom, science, ethics, language and culture, to purify them and use their power for holy living.

Israel strives for all of these through the Torah, in its broadest and most expansive manifestation. We must be diligent to ensure that the path of Torah broadens our thoughts and aspirations, instead of constricting and crushing them. We must proceed with calm and confidence, and not allow unhealthy yirah to block our spiritual potential from blossoming forth. With awareness of the supernal and holy source of our calling, with mindfulness of the boundary that separates good from wickedness, we must proceed with vigor, full of holy gevurah and supernal humility, warmed by the Divine light that entrusted us to build and accomplish wonders for ourselves and for the entire world.

Commentary

Rav Kook does not directly link his insights on yirat Hashem to Moshe destroying the luchot, but it seems to perfectly encapsulate his point. Moshe came closer to G-d than any other human being who ever existed. The Torah tells us that he was the humblest person on earth. And yet, his humility and awareness of Divine majesty did not paralyze him or keep him from taking bold and decisive action. Can you imagine the audacity, the courage it must have taken for Moshe to smash the luchot when he came down from Har Sinai? Put yourself in his shoes! “G-d did not tell me to destroy the luchot, His sacred handiwork. Maybe I’ll be punished. Maybe I should just sit back and wait on the sidelines.” And yet, we know this is not what happened. Clearly, yirat Hashem and humility do not in all instances demand passivity and quietism. Moshe was bold and decisive not despite his yirat Hashem, but because of it.

Food for Thought

Mishlei 28:14: Fortunate is the man who is always fearful, but he who hardens his heart will fall into evil. אַשְׁרֵ֣י אָ֖דָם מְפַחֵ֣ד תָּמִ֑יד וּמַקְשֶׁ֥ה לִ֜בּ֗וֹ יִפּ֥וֹל בְּרָעָֽה.

Ramchal (Introduction to Mesilat Yesharim): As Shelomo said: “If you seek it like silver, and search for it as for hidden treasures, then you shall understand the fear of the Lord” (Mishlei 2:4-5). He did not say: “Then you shall understand philosophy, then you shall understand astronomy, then you shall understand medicine, then you shall understand the laws, then you shall understand halakhot,” but rather “Then you shall understand the fear of the Lord.” You see, then, that in order to understand the fear of God one must seek it like silver and search for it as for hidden treasures.

Second, the fear of God requires wisdom and study… Scripture states: “The fear of the Lord alone [‘hen’] is wisdom” (Iyyov 28:28). And our Rabbis, of blessed memory, interpreted the word “hen” in the sense of “one,” for in Greek “hen” means “one” (Shabbat 31b). You see, then, that fear of God is wisdom, and that it alone is wisdom. And that which does not require study can surely not be called wisdom.

Dr. Erica Brown (Fear and Its Role in Adult Jewish Education):Yirat shamayim – that mysterious co-mingling of religious awe, fear, and an exalted sense of the sublime – is becoming a more elusive aspect of spiritual life today. Religion for vast segments of the American population has become a feel-good hobby that generates harmony and happiness, community involvement, and lowers stress levels. Yirat shamayim, however, is demanding. Fear of God involves another landscape of emotions entirely: humility, insecurity, submission, and surrender.

This sea-change in religious attitudes and expectations may best be described by a simple question posed by the art critic Michael Kimmelman. He wonders why we no longer paint pictures of mountains, why they no longer have a hold on us as a natural manifestation of religious dread. He entertains the possibility that the urbanization of society has made our attitude to mountains, among other awe-inspiring aspects of nature, less about fear and more about pleasure. Mountains are no longer wild, irregular, and asymmetrical natural structures that make us feel small through their vastness. Today we can cable-car or hike up mountains and then ski down them. We may even have cellphone reception at their peaks. It is hard to be in awe of something so easy to conquer.

Rabbi Efrem Goldberg(When is the Last Time You Had Goosebumps?):The home of the great composer Ludwig van Beethoven has been preserved and serves as a museum in Bonn, Germany. One historical gem in the museum is the piano upon which Beethoven composed most of his renowned works. The piano is estimated to be worth more than $50 million and is understandably roped off and out of the reach of the thousands of visitors who pass it by each day.

A group of students from Vassar College was once visiting the Beethoven museum. Matthew Kelly tells the story of how one of the students came to the room that held the piano and couldn’t resist the temptation to ask a museum guard if she could play it for a moment. The guard allowed himself to be influenced by her generous tip and let the young woman beyond the ropes for a few moments. She sat at the famed piano and knocked out several bars of Moonlight Sonata. When she finished, her classmates applauded.

As she stepped back through the ropes, the young woman asked the guard, “I suppose over the years, all the great pianists that have come here have played the piano?” “No, miss,” the guard replied. “In fact, just two years ago I was standing in this very place when Ignacy Paderewski visited the museum. He was accompanied by the director of the museum and the international press, who had all come in the hope that he would play the piano. “When he entered the room he stood over there, where your friends are standing and gazed at the piano in silent contemplation for almost fifteen minutes. The director of the museum then invited him to play the piano, but with tears welling in his eyes Paderewski declined, saying that he was not worthy even to touch it.”

Non-human mammals get what we call goosebumps, the constriction of skin surrounding hair follicles, when they feel threatened or attacked. Only human beings get goosebumps for a different feeling: awe. Awe is the feeling of being in the presence of greatness, of being exposed to that which is transcendent or extraordinary. Paderewski was in a room with Beethoven’s piano and was frozen with awe. The young student saw the piano and thought it would be cool to casually play it.

Questions for Discussion

What are ways that one can acquire yirat Hashem? Which way resonates the most with you?
How does the excerpt from Ramchal (in Food For Thought, above) support Rav Kook’s basic argument?
What do you think yirat Hashem means?
Rav Kook has his own ideas about how to distinguish between healthy and unhealthy yirat Hashem. What do you think are some are other ways to distinguish?
Does our generation have an easier or a harder time acquiring yirat Hashem, compared to earlier generations? Why?

The Sweetness of the Water Drawing – Sukkot

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Rav Kook (Moadei haRe’iah, pg. 110)[1]

During the evenings of the Succoth holiday, there was music, dancing, and even juggling in the holy Temple. This joyous activity was called the Simchat Beit-HaSho’eivah, the Water-Drawing Celebration. While usually wine was used in libation ceremonies, during the holiday of Succoth the kohanim poured water — drawn the previous night from Jerusalem’s Shiloach spring – next to the altar. This water-offering alludes to the Heavenly judgment for rain that takes place on Succoth.

Yet the nature of these evening celebrations is peculiar. They are called Simchat Beit-HaSho’eivah, from the word sho’eivah meaning ‘to draw water.’ This term indicates that the celebrations were not in honor of the actual mitzvah of pouring water on the Temple altar, but rather for the preparatory act of drawing out water from the spring. This appears quite illogical. Why did the people dance and rejoice during the nighttime preparations, and not during the actual Temple service that took place the following day?

In fact, the Water-Drawing Celebration teaches us an important lesson. Generally speaking, we can divide up life’s activities into two categories: means and ends. We naturally distinguish between their relative importance, and look upon means as merely a prerequisite to attain a desired goal, but lacking any intrinsic value.

This divide between means and ends goes back to the very beginnings of creation. According to our Sages (Midrash Rabba, on Bereishit 1:11-12), G-d commanded the earth to produce עץ פרי עושה פרי, “fruit trees that make fruit”. Not only were the trees to produce fruit, but they themselves were to be ‘fruit trees,’ i.e. the trees themselves were meant to taste like their fruit. However, the earth ‘rebelled’ and only gave forth עץ עושה רפי, “trees that make fruit” — trees that bear fruit, but lack any taste of their own.

This midrash is an allegory, wherein the ‘fruit’ represents the ultimate spiritual goal of reality, and the ‘tree’ represents the means/instrumentalities of attaining and experiencing that reality. Our Sages do not mean that the world literally rebelled against Hashem – which would be puzzling and even preposterous. Rather, it means that a certain distance from the ultimate spiritual reality is woven into the fabric of Creation itself. The confines of our earthly existence dim our ability to taste the spiritual sweetness of the ‘ends’ while we are occupied with ‘means. The original ideal was that even within the means (the ‘tree’) one would be able to sense the same level of purpose and importance as the final goal (the ‘fruit’).[2]

While our current reality makes a sharp distinction between means and ends, nonetheless this original ideal was not completely lost to us. When we sanctify our actions and perform them altruistically, with a pure motive to fulfill G-d’s will, then even that which only facilitates a mitzvah is elevated to the level of the final goal. At this level of intent, even our preparations have a ‘taste’ of the sweetness and meaningfulness of the mitzvah itself. So it was with the Simchat Beit-HaSho’eivah celebrations: even in the preparatory act of drawing the water one could sense the joy and holiness of the actual mitzvah of offering the water on the Temple altar.

[1] Taken from Rabbi Chanan Morrison’s excellent work Gold from the Land of Israel, pg. 21-22.

[2] This may seem overly abstract, but consider the following examples: (1) The parent who gets frustrated about being stuck in traffic while driving his kids to school, not realizing that this facilitates the chinuch of his/her children and will provide them with the foundation to live Jewish lives and be faithful to the Torah. (2) The chasan reluctantly dragged along by his kallah to peruse china and tableware for their new home, who doesn’t realize that this too will be a part of the home he will build and the Shabbos table he will share with his future wife and children. (3) The student struggling to understand a difficult passage in gemara, who doesn’t understand that it is precisely these struggles that will lead to the deepest possible appreciation for and connection with his learning.

Food for Thought (Sichah of the Lubavitcher Rebbe)

Our Sages state that “he who has not witnessed the celebration of Simchas Beis HaShoevah has never seen happiness in his life.” In many respects, the water offering paralleled the wine offering that accompanied both the daily sacrifices and the additional Mussaf sacrifices offered on the holidays. In fact, the Torah’s only allusion to the water offering appears in its description of the wine offering. Nevertheless, no outstanding celebration marked any of the wine offerings, even though it is wine, not water, that figures prominently in the joy of so many festive occasions. Paradoxically, the Jewish people’s greatest outpouring of joy was associated with the water offering, not with wine.

Based on the principle that we must thank G‑d for all the pleasure we experience in this world, our Sages instituted the blessings recited before eating or drinking. The Sages indicated the unique status of wine – the degree to which it gives pleasure – by composing a special blessing for it, boreh pri hagefen. In contrast, they did not regard water, which is tasteless, as sufficiently pleasure-inducing to warrant a blessing; only when a person drinks water to quench his thirst is a blessing required.

Wine and water represent different approaches to our service of G‑d. The Hebrew word ta’am has two meanings, “taste” and “reason”. Taste and reason are related because the comprehension of an intellectual idea produces palpable satisfaction, not unlike the pleasure derived from tasting good food. Because wine is pleasant-tasting it has come to symbolize the kind of divine service that is flavored by understanding. Water, which is tasteless and simple, symbolizes kabbalas ol, the acceptance of the yoke of heaven – a simple commitment to fulfill G‑d’s will whether one understands or not.

Generally, we take pleasure from performing a mitzvah we understand, because this enables us to appreciate the positive effect produced by our efforts. By the same token, when we do not understand the reasons for a mitzvah, we may feel less fulfilled. Though we may be willing to obey G‑d’s will at all times, we do not usually derive as much pleasure from mitzvos which require our unquestioning acceptance. There are times, however, when the approach of kabbalas ol generates a satisfaction deeper and more fulfilling than that which is experienced from a rational service of G‑d. When we are “thirsty”, when we desire to be united with G‑d in a way that transcends the limited scope of our thoughts and feelings, we derive pleasure from “water”, from kabbalas ol.

At this level of commitment, the pleasure of fulfilling mitzvos through kabbalas ol exceeds the satisfaction of the rational approach, since the happiness produced through our understanding is, by definition, limited in proportion to our understanding. The more extensive our knowledge, the greater the pleasure we receive; where our knowledge is limited, so is our pleasure. In contrast, the commitment of kabbalas ol that results from “thirst” results in a happiness that knows no bounds. For by making a commitment beyond the scope of our understanding, we connect with the infinite dimensions of G‑dliness. This brings about a joy which entirely surpasses our human potential.

In this context, Sukkos and the water offering can be seen as a stage in the progressive divine service begun on Rosh HaShanah. On Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur we accept G‑d’s sovereignty and turn to Him in sincere teshuvah. These days challenge us to penetrate to our core and awaken within ourselves a “thirst” to enter into a deep, all-encompassing relationship with G‑d. This “thirst” is satisfied through the service of kabbalas ol that is symbolized by the water offering.

The celebrations of Sukkos are an outgrowth of our soul-searching on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. Because we awaken a commitment to G‑d that is unlimited, our celebrations are likewise unbounded.

Both the wine offerings and the water offering had to be brought during the daytime. However, while a wine offering offered at night was thereby invalidated, this restriction did not apply absolutely to the water offering; after the fact, it was acceptable even at night. Day and night are classic metaphors for states of revelation and concealment in our divine service. A rational commitment, which is symbolized by the wine offering, is relevant only “during the day,” when one has a conscious awareness of G‑dliness. Since a rational commitment fluctuates with the varying extent of each person’s understanding, it grows weaker when one’s awareness wanes. A commitment based on kabbalas ol, by contrast, weathers all seasons; it is not shaken, even when our understanding is weak.

The unique significance of the water offering does not minimize the importance of the wine offering; both were required in the Beis HaMikdash. Similarly, in the personal sphere, each mode of divine service complements the other. While the basis of our service of G‑d must be kabbalas ol, that simple and superrational commitment is enhanced and intensified by a conscious relationship with G‑d. A commitment to G‑d which exists beyond the limits of our understanding is not sufficient. For our relationship with G‑d to be complete, it should be internalized until it permeates and involves all of our faculties – and that includes our minds.

Questions for Discussion

In what areas of life is it hard to taste the sweetness of the destination along the journey? What are some things we can do to change that?
Chazal (Gemara Sukkah 35a) teach that the esrog tree’s fruit tastes the same as its wood (lit. טעם עצו פריו שוה). How might this connect to Rav Kook’s insights above? Is there anything about Sukkot that helps us tap into the higher level of reality that Rav Kook describes?
Is Rav Kook saying something similar to the Lubavitcher Rebbe in ‘Food for Thought’ above? If so, how?
As noted above, Simchat Beit haShoeivah involved pouring out water on the mizbeach. Where else in the holiday of Sukkot does water figure as a prominent motif?
How does one strike the right balance between emphasizing accomplishments vs. effort when it comes to education? When it comes to parenting?

Seventy Faces – Parshat Ha’azinu

Printable PDF available here.

Rav Kook (Orot Yisrael 8:6)

When the Most High gave nations their lot, when He separated the sons of man, He set up the boundaries of peoples according to the number of the children of Israel. (Devarim 32:8)

According to our Sages, this verse is a reference to the seventy nations of the world, which correspond to the seventy souls who descended to Egypt with our forefather Ya’akov. Clearly, the Torah does not regards the division of humanity into nations as an arbitrary or purposeless convention. On the contrary, nationhood is part of Divine order. Each nation lives within Divinely drawn ‘boundaries’ – with its own distinct culture, mindset and special talents – and makes a unique contribution to the world. Each nation expresses a different dimension, a different facet of man’s stature as a tzelem Elokim. Of course, there is a common humanity that all nations share in common. But there is also an irreducible national ‘essence’ that belongs uniquely to each nation and remains foreign to all

Israel, however, is unique. Unlike the other nations, our spirit is not manifest in any bounded ‘form.’ There is no single discrete attribute that is uniquely ours as a nation. Instead, the unique attributes of all seventy nations are incorporated and subsumed within us. This is the deeper meaning of the above verse that G-d “set up the boundaries of peoples according to the number of the children of Israel.”[1]Within the soul of Jewish nation is a spiritual dynamism, a yearning to give expression to every holy value and every true facet of spiritual

This explains why the Jews are prone to fractiousnessand factionalism, more than any other nation. Yes, it is true that much of our history of machloket isan ethical aberration and a spiritual failing. But that failing is rooted in a deep and fundamental spiritual reality (even if we are not consciously aware of it). Jews cannot be satisfied with a one-dimensional approach to G-d’s world. In a clash between competing values – the physical and the spiritual, chesed and din, outwardness and inwardness, truth and peace, universalism and particularity, yirah and ahavah, etc. – other nations can settle on a national consensus. They can leave peacefully and prosperously with each other, content to ignore, or at least minimize, one or more competing perspectives. But Israel must give expression to and harmonize every true facet of G-d’s complex creation. This deep-felt spiritual urge raises the stakes of every clash in values, and accounts for much of the machloket in Jewish history.[2]

Ultimately, it is only through the Torah –through its supernal might, transcendent holiness, and Divine pathways –that competing perspectives can ever be properly refracted and harmonized. Only the Torah can unify Israel, empower it to avoid machloket and guide it to fulfill its supra-national spiritual purpose.

[1] In the Hebrew, Rav Kook also references the following teaching from Gemara Chullin 56b (which, incidentally, is also expounding a verse from Ha’azinu: “Has He not made you, and established you?” (Devarim 32:6). This teaches that the Jewish people is a city with everything in it. Out of it come its priests, out of it come its prophets, out of it come its chiefs, out of it come its kings, as it is stated: “Out of them shall come forth the cornerstone, out of them the stake, out of them the battle bow, out of them every master together” (Zecharia 10:4).

[2] In Midbar Shur, Rav Kook writes as follows – “The Sages noted that ‘The greater the person, greater his evil inclination’ (Sukkah 52a). This insight is true not only for the individual, but also for the nation. When a nation is blessed with great talents, it has a greater potential for internal strife.”

Food for Thought

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks: What the entire episode shows is the destructive nature of argument not for the sake of Heaven – that is, argument for the sake of victory. In such a conflict, what is at stake is not truth but power, and the result is that both sides suffer. If you win, I lose. But if I win, I also lose, because in diminishing you, I diminish myself. Even a Moses is brought low, laying himself open to the charge that “you have killed the Lord’s people.” Argument for the sake of power is a lose-lose scenario.

The opposite is the case when the argument is for the sake of truth. If I win, I win. But if I lose I also win – because being defeated by the truth is the only form of defeat that is also a victory.

In a famous passage, the Talmud (Eiruvin, 13b) explains why Jewish law tend to follow the view of the School of Hillel rather than their opponents, the School of Shammai:“[The law is in accord with the School of Hillel] because they were kindly and modest, because they studied not only their own rulings but also those of the School of Shammai, and because they taught the words of the School of Shammai before their own.

They sought truth, not victory. That is why they listened to the views of their opponents, and indeed taught them before they taught their own traditions… Judaism has sometimes been called a “culture of argument.” It is the only religious literature known to me whose key texts – the Hebrew Bible, Midrash, Mishnah, Talmud, the codes of Jewish law, and the compendia of biblical interpretation – are anthologies of arguments. That is the glory of Judaism. The Divine Presence is to be found not in this voice as against that, but in the totality of the conversation.

In an argument for the sake of truth, both sides win, for each is willing to listen to the views of its opponents, and is thereby enlarged. In argument as the collaborative pursuit of truth, the participants use reason, logic, shared texts, and shared reverence for texts. They do not use ad hominem arguments, abuse, contempt, or disingenuous appeals to emotion. Each is willing, if refuted, to say, “I was wrong.” There is no triumphalism in victory, no anger or anguish in defeat.

Maharal (Be’er haGolah, 1:5-6): Hashem is the Master of all entities, and from Him comes a composite world made of opposing properties. The world is not simple; it is composed of disparate aspects. G-d created everything, and everything has multiple aspects to it. But for halacha l’ma’aseh, one aspect is unquestionably more significant than the others… Even though any single issue has disparate aspects to it, all given by Hashem, one of them aspect is most significant, and that is determinative of the halacha.

Sometimes, the disparate aspects are absolutely equal, in which each halachic conclusion derived from the Divinely created reality is equally valid. And this was the nature of the disputes between Beis Hillel and Beis Shamai…

Rabbi David Wolkenfeld (contemporary): In the time of Rav Kook, he saw these forces expressed in three competing factions. Orthodoxy, Zionism, and Humanism. The yishuv ha-yashan, the ancient Orthodox community of Jerusalem, attacked Rav Kook mercilessly because of his willingness to accommodate modernity and to cooperate with Zionist pioneers. The most prominent Zionist activists were notable for their loyalty to their people, and also for their rejection of Jewish tradition and their scorn for the Jewish religion. All the while, enlightened Jews in Europe organized behind the principle that freedom for Jews was inseparable from freedom for all the world’s peoples and attainable within a modern democracy.

Rav Kook wrote that these factions, these parties, were expressing three ideas or were the product of three forces. These three forces were the force of the sacred, the force of the nation, and the force of humanity. Kodesh. Umah. Enoshiut…

Rav Kook wrote with pathos and passion that the salvation of Israel and our flourishing as a people depends upon the unification of all of these ideals. Each ideal, (1) holiness and tradition, (2) the nation itself and its renewal, and (3) the common bonds that connect all human beings to one another, is a profound truth.

“We would be miserable,” Rav Kook wrote, “if we were to allow any of these three forces to suppress another since they must become united.” And yet, as he wrote those words, the Jewish people were divided between Orthodox Jews, Zionists, and Humanists. Instead of uniting and forming a perspective that was informed by each of the three movements, adherents of each movements saw, as Rav Kook understood things, only the flaws of the other movements rather than the ways that the other movements were expressing something indispensable.

Questions for Discussion

Are you convinced by Rav Kook’s understanding of where machloket comes from? Why or why not?
Where in the upcoming holiday of Sukkot does the number 70 figure prominently? Is that connected to the concept of there being 70 nations?
When does the Torah regard nationhood/nationalism as positive? When does it become a force for evil?
Our Sages (Bamidbar Rabbah 13:16) teach that there are “seventy facets (lit. פנים) to the Torah.” How does this connect to Rav Kook’s insights above?
Read the Maharal above in “Food for Thought.” How is he similar to Rav Kook in his understanding of machloket? How is he different?

Hearing Our Song – Parshat Vayeilech

Printable PDF available here.

Rav Kook – Ginzei Re’iah 137; Shemonah Kevatzim 8:124

And now, write for yourselves this song, and teach it to the Children of Israel. Place it into their mouths, in order that this song will be My witness for the children of Israel. (Devarim 31:19)

If you want to understand the inner life of a nation, you must examine its songs. While there is much to learn from a nation’s writers, it is song that truly expresses the essence of a nation’s spiritual life. Song is the deepest and most profound conception of inner truth. Song is the domain of holiness, while prose belongs to the world of חול.

What then is the song of Israel? Where do we find the root of our existence, salvation, wisdom and comprehension? What raises us above the constricted lowliness of physical reality and into the world of the spirit? In the above verse, Moshe Rabbeinu reveals the answer – “And now, write for yourselves this song.” According to the plain sense of the verse, G-d was referring to the song of Ha’azinu in the following chapter. However, our Sages have a different and much wider interpretation, understanding it as a command for every Jew to write, or at least take some part in writing, a Sefer Torah. The Torah is our song.

This is counterintuitive. Torah is many things, but a song does not seem like one of them. Torah is G-d’s revealed wisdom – but not music. It is prose – but not poetry. To refer to the Torah as a ‘song’ seems to ignore its commandments. It also seems inconsistent with how the Torah presents itself – i.e. a body of rigorous, precisely defined and exacting Divine laws. Where in the edifice of the 613 mitzvot does this ‘song’ emerge from?

A broader perspective will help resolve these questions. Yes, the Torah is a collection of words and laws that G-d expects us to follow – but that is not all it is. Its words and laws reflect a higher spiritual order and revelation of G-dliness. That higher dimension of the Torah is what Moshe refers to as a song. The precisely defined categories of Torah law – the world of chochmah – flow from the higher reality of song. Law comes to articulate and expand on the Torah’s song, to create ‘vessels’ for it.[1]A song must have structure and rules, or else it will degenerate into disorder and mere discordant noise. Every mitzvah, every halachic detail,[2]and every line of the Shulchan Aruch is a note in this G-dly symphony.

We must teach ourselves that the Torah’s song is always there, and habituate ourselves to its truth. If we are sensitive enough, we will realize that Torah is not burdensome. To serve G-d as if compelled, as if one is a slave, is small-minded blindness. The Divine Law is the greatest imaginable perfection. As our Sages put it,[3]שכר מצוה מצוה, “The reward for a mitzvah is the mitzvah.” Or, to put it differently – just as there are rules of poetry, so too, there is poetry in rules.

[1]Indeed, according to Radak and Maharal (גור אריה, בראשית א:א), the very word ‘Torah’ comes from the word הוראה, i.e. ‘instruction,’ ‘law.’

[2]It is clear from many places in Rav Kook’s writing that this is true of all aspects of religious observance – not only Torah commandments, but also rabbinic ordinances and even minhagim.

[3]Pirkei Avot, Chapter 4.

Food for Thought

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks: The Netziv interprets… that the whole Torah should be read as poetry, not prose; the word shira in Hebrew means both a song and a poem. To be sure, most of the Torah is written in prose, but the Netziv argued that it has two characteristics of poetry. First, it is allusive rather than explicit. It leaves unsaid more than is said. Secondly, like poetry, it hints at deeper reservoirs of meaning, sometimes by the use of an unusual word or sentence construction. Descriptive prose carries its meaning on the surface. The Torah, like poetry, does not.

A completely different aspect is alluded to by Rabbi Yechiel Michel Epstein, author of the halachic code Aruch HaShulchan. Epstein points out that the rabbinic literature is full of arguments, about which the Sages said: “These and those are the words of the living G-d.” This, says Epstein, is one of the reasons the Torah is called “a song” – because a song becomes more beautiful when scored for many voices interwoven in complex harmonies. I would suggest a third dimension. The 613th command is not simply about the Torah, but about the duty to make the Torah new in each generation. To make the Torah live anew, it is not enough to hand it on cognitively – as mere history and law. It must speak to us affectively, emotionally.

Judaism is a religion of words, and yet whenever the language of Judaism aspires to the spiritual it breaks into song, as if the words themselves sought escape from the gravitational pull of finite meanings. There is something about melody that intimates a reality beyond our grasp, what William Wordsworth called the sense sublime/Of something far more deeply interfused/Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns/And the round ocean and the living air.Words are the language of the mind. Music is the language of the soul.

The 613th command, to make the Torah new in every generation, symbolizes the fact that though the Torah was given once, it must be received many times, as each of us, through our study and practice, strives to recapture the pristine voice heard at Mount Sinai. That requires emotion, not just intellect. It means treating Torah not just as words read, but also as a melody sung.

Zohar (Beha’alotkha 152a): Woe to the person who says that the Torah comes to give instructions and tell descriptive stories or simple tales. If this were true, even in our own time we would be able to make our own ‘Torah’ out of simple stories, and embellish them even better than the Torah’s stories… Of course this is not the case. Every word in the Torah reflects higher wisdom and higher secrets… The narratives of the Torah are only the ‘outer garments’ of the Torah. Whoever thinks that this outer clothing is in fact the Torah and there is nothing underneath is spiritually backward and has no portion in the World to Come. So it was that King David begged, “Open my eyes, that I may see wondrous things in Your Torah.” (Tehillim 119:18)

This ‘body’ of Torah is dressed in stories from this world. The fools of this world only look at this outer clothing of stories. They don’t delve into what is contained beneath the outer shell. Those who know better gaze upon the body beneath the outer shell. The wise ones, servants of the Highest King, those who stood at Mount Sinai, see through to the soul of the Torah that is truly her essence…

Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo: Our Sages teach (in Gemara Megilla 32a) that “If one reads the Torah without a melody, or repeats the Mishnah without a tune, of him Scripture says: ‘So, too, I gave them statutes that were not good and laws by which they could not live.’” When one learns Torah without spiritual sweetness symbolized in a melody, which takes the words far beyond their literary meaning, the biblical text turns into a deadly poison. Similarly, to observe a commandment without sweetness is like consuming a medicine in which the healing components have gone bad. They are not only neutralized but have become mortally dangerous.

The function of music is to connect the Word with Heaven. It is not so much the music that man plays on an instrument or sings, but the music of his soul, which is externalized through the use of an instrument or song. It leads man to the edge of the infinite and allows him to gaze, just for a few moments, into the Other. Music is the art of word exegesis. While a word on its own is dead, it is resurrected when touched by music. Music is the refutation of human finality. As such, it is the sweetness that G-d added to His Word when the Word alone was wreaking havoc. It is able to revive man when he dies as he is confronted with the bare Word at Sinai. Life without music is death—poignantly bitter when one realizes that one has never really lived.

There is little meaning in living by Halacha if one does not hear its grace…We need… a life of experiencing Halacha as a daily living music recital. Observance alone does not propel man to a level of existence where he realizes that there is more to life than the mind can grasp.

Questions for Discussion

In what part of Torah observance is it easy or hard for you to hear the ‘song’ Rav Kook describes? Why?
How can we train ourselves to hear the Torah’s song, as described by Rav Kook?
Rav Kook highlights one way that Torah is like a song. Can you think of others?
In one of his famous poems (titled משורר התשובה, lit. ‘Singer of Teshuva’), Rav Kook refers to teshuva as a ‘song.’ In what way is teshuva like a song?
What kind of person is drawn to the song of the Torah? What kind of person is drawn to its prose, i.e. meticulous halachic observance?
Do you have a role model who exemplifies the Torah’s song in their life? If not, how could you find one?