Our Great Engraver – Parshat V’Zot haBeracha

Printable PDF available here. Previous pieces on V’Zot haBeracha can be found here and here.

Rav Kook (Based on Pinkesei haRe’iah, ח׳א ע׳ קצה–קצו)

He [the tribe of Dan] saw the first portion for himself, because there, the portion of the lawgiver (lit. מחוקק) [Moshe] is hidden. (Devarim 33:21)

Sealing and engraving are both ways of affixing words to an object, but they work in fundamentally different ways. A signet ring contains an engraved or raised design that is pressed into wax. The imprint of the seal is not apparent until the ring is removed and the wax has had time to set. Furthermore, the material that the seal is applied to must be weak and pliable, flexible enough to absorb the imprint of the seal and then harden. A strong and rigid substance simply cannot be used.

Engraving works in a very different way. The harder the material one engraves in, the more enduring and durable their message will be. Thus, what is a deficiency for the act of sealing is a necessity in the process of engraving. Furthermore, when one engraves words into a hard medium, the result of their work is apparent immediately, even before he has lifted his tools from the stone.

In this parshah, Moshe is referred to as a mechokek, an engraver. Moshe did not simply deliver the Torah to Israel at Sinai, like a prophetic mailman bringing a letter from heaven to an eager audience. Moshe’s Torah was engraved upon our very being while G-d held the mountain itself over our heads. According to the Midrash, interpreting the verse “the voice of the Lord sunders through fiery flames” (קול ה׳ חוצב להבות אש) (Tehillim 29:7), the Ten Commandments emanated from G-d as fire and became engraved on the stone luchot. The impact of the Divine word, in all of its might and force, was manifest immediately, both upon the luchot and upon Israel itself. For these reasons, Moshe is referred to as a mechokek, an engraver, and the very end of the Torah refers to his “strong hand” (lit. היד החזקה).

However, this is only one dimension of Torah. For the Torah is not only engraved upon our hearts, but sealed as well. In other words, the full impact of the Torah did not become fully manifest in Moshe’s generation or at Mount Sinai. Like wax that hardens gradually, only after being imprinted by a signet ring, there are depths of Torah that take generations to manifest and assume their form. This dimension of Torah is constituted by minhagim and rabbinic enactments, which developed only after the revelation at Sinai. Furthermore, like the soft wax that a signet ring is pressed into, these parts of Jewish life are dependent on the acceptance of the community for their binding force. Indeed, the Talmud speaks of various rabbinic enactments that were initially rejected by the broader community and did not receive universal acceptance until later generations. And although it took time for these dimensions of Torah to develop, once the ‘wax’ had ‘set,’ the G-dly design expressed in minhagim and rabbinic enactments became immutable, to the point that our Sages (Talmud Yerushalmi, Berachot 1:4) teach that rabbinic laws are treated even more strictly than those of the Torah itself.

Questions for Discussion

  1. What is the purpose of minhagim in Torah life? Why do we keep them?
  2. Many commentators ask why G-d had to hold the mountain over our heads at the giving of the Torah, inasmuch as the people had already willingly agreed to accept it. Based on Rav Kook’s insights, can you suggest an answer?
  3. What are some aspects of Torah life that only developed after the Torah was given?
  4. Rav Kook writes that not all dimensions of Torah became manifest immediately at Har Sinai. If that is the case, how do we distinguish legitimate developments in Torah from illegitimate ones?
  5. What is unique about Simchat Torah compared to other holidays? Is Simchat Torah part of the “sealing” of Torah or the “engraving” of Torah?
  6. The Torah says that the Ten Commandments were engraved (חרות) on the luchot. In Pirkei Avot, our Sages teach that “Only one who engages in Torah is free,” vocalizing חרות as cheirut (freedom) instead of charut (engraved). Does this fit with Rav Kook’s analysis that engraving is something imprinted on stone by force, as opposed to the soft and pliable wax used with a seal? If so, how?

The Measure of all Things – Sukkot

Rav Kook (Olat Rei’ah)

 “And you shall take for yourselves on the first day [the product of hadar trees, branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees, and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before the Lord your G-d seven days.]” (Vayikra 23:40) But is it the first day? Is it not the fifteenth day [of Tishrei]? So how is it the first? Rather, it is the first for the reckoning of sins (lit. ראשון לחשבון עוונות). (Midrash Tanchum, Parshat Emor)

Between Yom Kippur and Succos, from the perspective of supernal wisdom, this world and the world-to-come are integrated as one. Whatever strengthens the world-to-come strengthens this world; and whatever strengthens this world strengthens the world-to-come. In accordance with that illuminated [awareness], there is no room for severities at all, but only absolute, full and fragrant kindnesses.

However, from the perspective of the image of the spiritual world, which is in the process of being perfected by “Supernal Understanding, [a plane that] provides the initial parameters of levels of reality, this world and the world-to-come each acquires its own boundary. And clearly, since there is a dividing line, this world has no place at all wherever the world-to-come shines in the might of [its] fullness. That is the foundation of teshuvah that comes from an illumination of the world-to-come in all the fullness of its beauty.

With [our] ascent on Yom Kippur, we are very much removed from this world, and we need to be guarded from all stumbling blocks when we confront matters of this world. The days between Yom Kippur and Succos were given to train [us to] return to matters of this world in a properly holy manner.

That is an accounting that is completed on the first day of Succos with the mitzvos of succah and lulav, when this-worldly matters gain a foundation and grasp on holiness. And therefore Succos is “the first day of the accounting of sins.”

It may be that the extremist inclination of Yom Kippur has caused the subtlest inclination toward the aspect of this world on those four days when the scale has not yet been properly balanced. But the holiness of Yom Kippur [then] covers everything.

Certainly, whoever senses the inner quality of Yom Kippur and the manifestation of the world-to-come within it and [then] the ferment within the days between Yom Kippur and Succos caused by the search to restore the role of this world to its position of power is literally far from all sin.

However, even the refined character of the scale is to be considered within the realm of transgression and sin when it is inexact. Therefore, only the first day of the holiday [of Succos] is properly “the first day of the accounting,” for then the scale returns to [its] balance, and it becomes possible to provide a measurement for the [sake of] building and guiding the world in the proper measure.

Rav Moshe Weinberger (Song of Teshuva, Vol. 2, Pg. 299)

The Torah calls Succos rishon – the first [day].” Yet Succos is the fifteenth day of the month and of the new year. Our Sages explain the word rishon to mean that Succos is the first day of the accounting of sins following the atonement gained on Yom Kippur (lit. ראשון לחשבון עוונות). We must look more deeply into what that means. It certainly does not mean that there is a time off from personal accountability.

From the perspective of truth on the highest level, there is no separation between this world and the next. Everything is one. From the perspective of supernal, unified perfection, anything that strengthens the world-to-come strengthens this world, and vice versa. From that ideal perspective, there is no separation.

However, from our point of view, a person who wants to earn entrance to the world-to-come must guard himself from the dangers of this world. We must indeed be careful, because we exist in a diminished state. On our level of apprehending reality, there is this world and the next, and we are afraid that our dealings with this world will prevent us from attaining the next. We see this world as an impediment in the way of the world-to-come.

It appears to us that these are two separate kingdoms – the kingdom of holiness and the kingdom of darkness – that have nothing to do with each other. But that is not true, Heaven forbid. From the perspective of higher wisdom, the perspective of tzaddikim, there is no conflict between above and below, between the world-to-come and this world. Therefore, any progress made in strengthening the world to-come strengthens this world. And any work that strengthens this world strengthens the world-to-come as well.

With this illuminated awareness, there is no room for any suffering. There exist only complete and total kindnesses – which tzaddikim are able to perceive even in every point of suffering.

The tzaddik who lives with the awareness that both worlds are one sees even a dysfunctional element in this world as part of a greater movement of both worlds progressing simultaneously – a movement that is entirely good and filled with kindnesses.

G-d wanted a universe in which people would be able to serve Him with free will and teshuvah. To that end, He created a reality in which we perceive boundaries that separate the world above from this world. G-d willed that there should be levels and separations, that there should be one o’clock and two o’clock, that there should be Yerushalayim and New York. From that perspective, the world-to-come and this world have each acquired its own boundary and realm, and there is such a vast distance between the two that they have no connection.

But on the innermost level, from the perspective of supernal wisdom, there is no difference. From that perspective, space and time do not exist. There is no separation between levels of holiness. It is all one.

With the exception of the exalted tzaddikim, we live in a reality in which a border separates this world from the next. From our perspective, this world has no relevance to the world-to-come shining in all of its splendor. Imagine a person in the middle of Neilah at the Kosel interrupted by someone who asks him, “Are you looking forward to going to Kosher Delight in New York?” If that person possesses the perspective of lower, diminished reality in which borders exist, he will be shocked. Because he is at present filled with the reality of the world-to-come, for him there is no room for New York and hamburgers. There is a dividing line between them. They are two separate worlds. But that is because he is not in a place of absolute oneness. If he were in such a place, he might generate a profusion of kabbalistic insights on how New York and the Kosel are one.

We are shocked even to hear such a thought. But that is only because we have experienced great descents. And that is not our fault, for G-d has created that line of demarcation. That line makes it possible for a Jew for whom the most important thing is Kosher Delight to attain a supernal taste of the Kosel during Neilah so that he can make the choice to do teshuvah. Even as a person stands in New York on a weekday, he can experience a taste of the Kosel during Neilah.

On Yom Kippur, a Jew enters the realm of the world-to-come, where “tzaddikim sit with their crowns on their heads and delight in G-d’s Presence” (Berachos 17a). There is no eating, no drinking, and no marital relations. He wears a kittel which is a garment of the next world.

Because G-d has placed us in a world of borders and separate realities so that we may have free choice, after our great ascent on Yom Kippur we are far from this mundane world, and from our perspective there are no compromises. A person is religious or secular, spiritual or brutish. Sometimes when a person in such a state of consciousness returns to this physical world, when he realizes that he is no longer solely a spiritual being, he goes to the other extreme and indulges in the coarsest sins. A person must therefore descend gently, in a proper and holy manner. And the time for that gentle descent is provided by the four days between Yom Kippur and Succos.

Succos is the “time of our joy” (Siddur) – our joy in this world. We shift from inhabiting the world-to-come to immersing ourselves in this world. Succos comprises our most this-worldly festival. On Succos, holiness is expressed with taking the products of the earth: waving the lulav and esrog and dwelling in the succah. If a person were to go straight from Yom Kippur to Succos, he might not stop with enjoying the succah and lulav and esrog, but connect to physical pleasures in an unbridled way. Thus, he descends slowly during the four days between Yom Kippur and Succos. That period concludes with the first day of Succos, when we dwell in the succah, wave the lulav and esrog and celebrate with Simchas Beis HaShoevah, strengthening our connection to this world by lifting it up to holiness.

That is not to say that there is a time when sins are not taken account of. There are no days off from Yiddishkeit…[But Sukkot] is the first day that a person is properly balanced so that he can exercise his free choice by functioning as a world-to-come person in this world…

During these four days between Yom Kippur and Succos, the proper balance between the world-to-come and this world has not yet been established. But during that time, the holiness of Yom Kippur still hovers above everything. There is an effervescent excitement during these four days, as this world once again asks to be properly and fully recognized.

As a person went through Yom Kippur, he rejected this world. Now, during the days between Yom Kippur and Succos, the world is saying, “Come back. G-d wants you to be here. He wants you to perfect this world and make proper choices in it.” Anyone could be on a Yom Kippur level. Even non-religious Jews fast on Yom Kippur. But the ultimate goal is to eat in holiness. That is represented by Succos. The purpose is not to be celibate but to be married and holy. The purpose is not to sit crying under a tallis but to dance and rejoice with one’s friends under a tallis.

Because a person is no longer in the world-to-come, because he has left Yom Kippur and has returned to this world, some distortion can take place. It is only on the first day of Succos that he is restored to a healthy, proper understanding and balance in this world.

The Harmony of Israel – Parshat Ha’azinu

Printable PDF available here. Previous pieces on Ha’azinu are available here and here.

We are approaching the end of the third year of Mareh Kohen. If you are interested in having Mareh Kohen continue (or have any suggestions/feedback), please leave a comment to this post.  

Rav Kook (Based on B’sadeh haRe’iah, Pg. 194)

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 for Me as a witness for the children of Israel. (Devarim 31:19)

And Moses came and spoke all the words of this song into the ears of the people, he and Hoshea the son of Nun. (Devarim 32:44)

On a simple level, the “song” referred to here is the parshah of Ha’azinu. However, a deeper interpretation offered by our tradition is that the entire Torah is referred to a song. This is the basis of the mitzvah that every Jew must write their own sefer Torah. It is unclear, however, why G-d has to speak in code and refer to the Torah as a “song,” as we don’t find this usage anywhere else. There must be some deeper meaning intended, but what is it?

It seems that the answer is latent in the broader context in which Ha’azinu appears. Immediately before, in Parshat Nitzavim, the Jews entered into a new covenant with G-d at the Plains of Moav. At that time, Moshe declared:

You are all standing this day before the Lord, your G-d the leaders of your tribes, your elders and your officers, every man of Israel, your young children, your women, and your convert who is within your camp both your woodcutters and your water drawers, that you may enter the covenant of the Lord, your G-d, and His oath, which the Lord, your G-d, is making with you this day…

Although Israel was already bound by the covenant at Sinai, our Sages teach that this covenant added a new dimension of obligation. At Sinai, the people had pledged fealty to G-d as individuals. Each person assumed responsibility for their own individual spiritual successes and failures – but nothing more. However, according to the Talmud (Sotah 37b), at the Plains of Moav the people accepted responsibility for each other’s fulfillment or non-fulfillment of the Divine covenant. The Talmud refers to this is arvut, literally “guarantorship.” Just as a lender can collect from the guarantor when the borrower fails to pay, each Jew is a guarantor for his or her fellow’s loyalty to the Divine covenant. A laissez-faire policy of “live and let live” is not a Jewish concept.

Our Sages also teach (Sanhedrin 43b) that the additional covenant of arvut did not come into force until the Jews entered Eretz Yisrael. For it is only in Eretz Yisrael that Torah life is a totalizing affair undertaken by the collective (lit. הכלל), instead of the pursuit of a conglomeration of like-minded individuals.

Thus, as Moshe prepares to teach Parshat Ha’azinu to the people, the higher collective dimension of Torah stands ready to emerge, beckoning from just beyond the Jordan River. For this reason, it is only now that the Torah can be referred to as a “song.” As the Maharal taught, true song emerges from a state of wholeness and completeness (lit. שלימות). The Torah can only rise to this level in the Land of Israel, but nowhere else. Thus, it was only in anticipation of Israel’s imminent entry into the Land that Torah became a song. Only in Israel can the song of the Torah be written on our hearts.

Food for Thought

Rabbi Josh Flug (Arvut: The Responsibility to Ensure that Other Jews Observe Mitzvot): The Magen Avraham seems to be of the opinion that the obligation of arvut is more important than fulfilling one’s own mitzvah in a preferred manner. He rules (671:1) that if one has the exact amount of oil to fulfill mehadrin on Chanukah and one’s neighbor doesn’t have any oil, one should give some oil to the neighbor and both will fulfill the basic mitzvah. R. Chaim Sofer (1822-1886, Machaneh Chaim 3:19) explains that Magen Avraham’s ruling is based on the concept of arvut. Magen Avraham (658:12) also rules that if one owns an etrog in a place where the community has one available for everyone to use and there is another community that doesn’t have any etrogim, he should send his private etrog to the other community and fulfill his obligation with his community’s etrog. R. Shammai Gross (Shevet HaKehati, Orach Chaim 5:108) explains that Magen Avraham’s ruling is based on the idea that the etrog owner’s obligation of arvut demands that he forgo the preferred method of fulfilling the mitzvah in order that other people should be able to fulfill the basic requirement.

Rambam (Hilchot Tefillin, Mezuzah and Sefer Torah 8:1): It is a positive commandment for each and every Jewish man to write a Torah scroll for himself, as it says (Devarim 31:19): “And now, write down this song for yourselves,” i.e., write down the [entire] Torah which contains this song. One may not write only a few parshiot of Torah [and therefore the command to write Ha’azinu translates is in effectively a command to write the entire Torah].

Rabbi Zushe Greenberg: In the ‘60s, a rabbi from Connecticut had a personal audience with the [Lubavitcher] rebbe. This rabbi had been very instrumental in establishing the local Jewish day school and was well respected in his community. He asked the rebbe if he should make aliyah to Israel. The rebbe responded, “If you made up your mind to go, you have my blessing. But if you ask my opinion, I think you should stay in Connecticut.” The rebbe concluded, “There are plenty of rabbis in Israel. Connecticut needs you!” The rebbe inspired generations of young couples to leave their hometowns and go off into the world to share their Jewish experience with others. In my own family, many of my siblings moved to far-flung corners of the world just to be part of the building of a new Jewish community.

Rabbi Ezra Bick: We have all been brought up in an extremely individualistic ethos, which pervades the western world today. Man is responsible for himself. Of course, most of us – and most western societies – accept that I should help my fellow man. This is called altruism, and serves to moderate extreme individualism to some extent. But altruism is very different from the ethos that lies behind arvut; in fact, it is almost the opposite. Arvut declares that I am responsible for others just as I am responsible for myself. It is not goodheartedness to help others, it is collective self-interest. The failure of my neighbor is not merely a lost opportunity for me to have practiced philanthropy, it is simply my own failure.

For the forty years in the desert each Jewish individual had a relationship with G-d based on the fact that he too had received the Torah. At this point, before entering the Land of Israel (i.e., before entering on the road of national destiny), G-d molds these disparate individuals into a nation, a collective, a community. … The covenant is not between the individual and G-d, but between the metaphysical entity called Israel and G-d. The nation as a whole and as a unity is given the Torah this time; hence the conclusion of arvut – if the nation as a whole and as a unity does not keep the Torah, the covenant has not been fulfilled…

In the beginning of this week’s shiur, I began with the application of “arvut” to a ritual matter, in order to demonstrate that the concept should be taken seriously and not merely as a sort of metaphor for a general obligation to look out for others. But of course, the concept has immediate applications in many other areas as well. My attitude towards other Jews is one of obligation – mutual obligation and responsibility. If another Jew is in trouble, I will go to help him, not merely because I think that helping others is an ethical imperative, and I am a generous and helpful soul, but because we both belong to a greater unit which binds us and defines my own identity. Were I not to help him, I would not only sin against him, but I would be untrue to myself, to my identity as a Jew. I do not mean to belittle generosity, not at all. Giving to others, “chesed,” is itself a powerful and essential trait, one defined halakhically as basic to the image of G-d in which all of us are created… The concept of arvut is a parallel one, based not on love and giving, but on responsibility. Think of it as family – above and beyond, and totally separately from the obligations of giving and feelings of love, one takes care of one’s children because one is responsible for them, because one belongs to a unit – the family – that is part of one’s individual personality and identity. I think that if we knew a mother who took care of her children, in a perfectly wonderful manner, only out of the pity and love that one has for one’s fellow man, or even out of the love that one naturally has for one’s offspring, there would be something missing. The practical difference perhaps is what happens when one is tired or grouchy, or if the child is unworthy or unwilling, but I think the point is true even if there is no immediate practical difference at all. Arvut seeks to raise the responsibility of family to a higher level.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (Covenant and Conversation, Ha’azinu 5777): Music has extraordinary power to evoke emotion. The Kol Nidrei prayer with which Yom Kippur begins is not really a prayer at all. It is a dry legal formula for the annulment of vows. There can be little doubt that it is its ancient, haunting melody that has given it its hold over the Jewish imagination. It is hard to hear those notes and not feel that you are in the presence of G-d on the Day of Judgment, standing in the company of Jews of all places and times as they plead with heaven for forgiveness. It is the holy of holies of the Jewish soul… Faith is more like music than science. Science analyses, music integrates. And as music connects note to note, so faith connects episode to episode, life to life, age to age in a timeless melody that breaks into time. G-d is the composer and librettist. We are each called on to be voices in the choir, singers of G-d’s song. Faith is the ability to hear the music beneath the noise. So music is a signal of transcendence. The philosopher and musician Roger Scruton writes that it is “an encounter with the pure subject, released from the world of objects, and moving in obedience to the laws of freedom alone.” He quotes Rilke: “Words still go softly out towards the unsayable / And music, always new, from palpitating stones / builds in useless space its G-dly home.” The history of the Jewish spirit is written in its songs…

Questions for Discussion

  1. How is Jewish life in Eretz Yisrael different than in the Diaspora?
  2. Read the story about the Lubavitcher Rebbe in “Food for Thought” above. How did arvut shape his relationship to Eretz Yisrael differently than Rav Kook’s?
  3. What can you do to take responsibility for the spiritual or physical welfare of other Jews?
  4. Rav Kook’s teaching is based on the Maharal, who writes that “True song emerges from a state of wholeness and completeness.” What do you think this means?
  5. In what way is it true that “a state of wholeness and completeness” is only attainable in the Land of Israel? Conversely, are there things that the Jews can accomplish in the Diaspora that they can’t accomplish in the Land of Israel?
  6. What are some other ways that the Torah can be considered a “song”?

Might and Right – Parshat Vayeilech

Printable PDF available here. A previous piece on Parshat Vayeilech is available here.

Be strong and courageous! Neither fear, nor be dismayed of them [the Canaanite nations], for the Lord, your G-d He is the One Who goes with you. He will neither fail you, nor forsake you. (Devarim 31:6)

Rav Kook (Based on Orot haMilchamah 2)

Our ancestors are depicted in Tanach as deeply involved in warfare, and at the same time, they are the same towering spiritual personalities whom we cherish and glorify. We understand that warfare is not an intrinsically detestable pursuit, for the spiritual spark [that drives one toward warfare] is the determining factor. That state of the world at that time made war indispensable for our very survival. This gave rise to mighty souls who rushed into battle with a complete and ethical inner disposition. With an inner discernment, they realized that Israel’s battle for existence against its enemies was a Divine War (lit. מלחמת ה׳).

Mighty in spirit, they knew to choose good and eschew evil in the depth of darkness. “Though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil.” Notwithstanding the spirituality that we yearn for, contemplating these warriors spurs us to long for their strength, for the powerful force of life that immaculately dwelled within them. Out of this very longing, our spiritual strength is fortified, our physical might is refined, and the great souls [of Biblical warriors] return among us as in days of old.

Rav Kook (Orot haTeshuva 12:2)

The more that a person delves into the essence of teshuva, he will find the source of gevurah and the most essential foundation of life in all of its practical and ideal aspects.

Rav Kook (Based on Orot haTeshuva 13:8)

A person’s conscience cries out to him “Son of man! Return from your sins!” – but sometimes this voice becomes so noisy that it downs out all of life’s harmony. The demands of our inner ethical voice are sometimes so powerful that they confound us, making us feel that there is no escape from the confinement of our negative character traits and deeds that have strayed from the path of Torah and morality. Our way seems fenced in with thorns and we see ourselves as beyond repair. Often, one feels that the only respite from this crisis lies in leaping to lofty spiritual levels that will ultimately prove unsustainable. But this is not the way. In the midst of bitter spiritual crisis, a person must support himself with holy gevurah. From the midst of distress, a “sun of righteousness [with healing in its wings]” (Michah 3:20) will emerge.

Rav Kook (Orot haTeshuva 16:4)

According to our Sages (Gemara Avoda Zara 19a), the highest level of teshuva is performed when one is still possessed of youthful vigor, and not in old age when one is no longer possessed powerful drives and temptations. In their words, “Praiseworthy is one who does teshuva when he is full of life and vigor” (lit. אשרי מי שעושה תשובה כשהוא איש). By implication, it is equally true that “Praiseworthy is one who is full of life and vigor when he does teshuva”! The ideal of teshuva is thus inseparable from gevurah.

Rav Kook (Midot ha’Reiah, Pachdanut)

Fearfulness is utter foolishness. A person’s task is not to be afraid, but rather to be careful. The more that a person lives in trepidation, the more he is liable to stumble. And many times, frightfulness itself is a cause of failure and error. Therefore, a person must strengthen his intellect to comprehend that there is nothing to be afraid of. Impressions of terror come from scattered brushstrokes of a great painting that must be seen in its completeness. When integrated as part of a larger whole, these impressions bring confidence and vigor instead of trepidation. After being transformed, what was once perceived as demonic and nightmarish shadows become a source of support and assistance. Once their vile and destructive character becomes eliminated, they bring joy and broaden a person’s mind, and their life force is transformed into an encouraging force of holy courage. “They will attain joy and rejoicing” (Isaiah 35:10). “The joy of the Lord is your strength” (Nechemiah 8:10).

Food for Thought

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks: There is a line early on in the Bible that encapsulates precisely the dilemma of the war in Iraq. Jacob is returning home after an absence of many years. He hears that his brother, Esau, is coming to meet him with a force of 400 men. It does not augur well. Jacob had left home in the first place because Esau was threatening to kill him. Was he now about to carry out that threat?

We read that “Jacob was very afraid and distressed”. An ancient rabbinic commentator, puzzled by the apparent repetition, made a distinction between the two emotions: “Jacob was very afraid — that he might be killed. He was distressed — that he might be forced to kill.” The first fear was physical, the second moral.

Later commentators raised a question about this interpretation. Why, they asked, should Jacob be distressed at the prospect of killing if it was to save his own life? The right to life presupposes the right to self-defence. If so, he should have had no qualms. Yet those who care for life must be distressed at any loss of life, even when justified. It is one thing to be faced with a choice between good and evil; another to be forced to choose the lesser of two evils. No decent human being takes the latter lightly. There are times when even doing the right thing involves distress.

Yisrael Kashkin (Seforimblog.com): One finds in some parts of the frum world an intense focus on divine wrath. It may work successfully for many people. However, it is not productive for some, particularly when administered in large doses. I know of people who literally suffered nervous breakdowns from the continuous feeling of failure and terror. Moreover, the “terror of Heaven” approach does not go well with the… sensibility of optimism, responsibility, self-respect, and healthy ambition as primary motivations in life.

Sridei Eish (The Torah of Life, As Understood by Rav S. R. Hirsch): [Rabbi Weinberg discusses medieval European Jewish life, and the effects of persecution, pogroms, banning of Jews from trades, and expulsions.] Judaism no longer drew direct sustenance from life; it no longer was synonymous with the abundant power which dwells in the Jewish soil. Rather, it began to be viewed as being nourished by fear -‒ of death and of awesome punishments in the world to come. It is true that belief in reward and punishment is a fundamental of Judaism, and indeed, no religion worthy of the name can dispense with a concept which logically follows from the idea of an omniscient and omnipresent Supreme Being, as clearly elucidated by Saadia HaGaon in his Emunot V’deiot. However, the use of this belief as a central pillar or religious feeling and the sole motivating force for the fulfillment of one’s duty served only to cast a pall over religious sensibility and weakened any spiritual vitality, as decried by the Chassidic masters.

Maimonides (Hilchot Teshuva 2:1): What is complete teshuvah? A person who confronts the same situation in which he sinned when he has the potential to commit [the sin again], and, nevertheless, abstains and does not commit it because of his teshuva alone and not because of fear or a lack of strength.

For example, a person engaged in illicit sexual relations with a woman. Afterwards, they met in privacy, in the same country, while his love for her and physical power still persisted, and nevertheless, he abstained and did not transgress. This is a complete ba’al teshuvah. This was implied by King Solomon in his statement (Kohelet 12:1) “Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, [before the bad days come and the years draw near when you will say: ‘I have no desire for them’”].

If he does not repent until his old age, at a time when he is incapable of doing what he did before, even though this is not a high level of repentance, he is [still] a ba’al teshuvah.

Questions for Discussion

  1. Rav Kook says that both warfare and teshuva require gevurah. What other areas of Jewish life require gevurah in order to be carried out properly?
  2. According to Rav Kook, Tanach contains many “towering spiritual personalities whom we cherish and glorify” that were involved in warfare. How many can you name?
  3. What are some dangers of religious observance that is excessively focused on divine wrath?
  4. In the pieces above, Rav Kook talks about the connection between gevurah and teshuva. What do you think is the best way to translate the word gevurah?
  5. Are there any individuals that you know or have read about whose lives embody the principle of gevurah and overcoming obstacles?
  6. Rav Kook writes that “A person’s task is not to be afraid, but rather to be careful.” What do you think this means?
  7. What does Pirkei Avot say about gevurah?
  8. Why is gevurah necessary for teshuva?

Standing Before G-d, on One Leg – Parshat Nitzavim/Vayeilech

Printable PDF available here. Previous years’ pieces on Nitzavim/Vayeilech are available here and here.

Rav Kook (Based on Midbar Shur, Drush 9)

“You are all standing this day before the Lord your G-d, the leaders of your tribes, your elders and your officers, every man of Israel, your young children, your women, and your convert who is within your camp both your woodcutters and your water-drawers…” (Devarim 29:9-11)

The essence of Rosh haShanah, the dominant motif of the entire day, is G-d’s judgment of the entire world. However, the Talmud Yerushalmi teaches that G-d does not render His judgment until the daytime. Thus, we must wonder about the nature of Rosh haShanah night. Are we simply sitting in the ‘waiting room’ until the Heavenly Court convenes the next morning?

It seems that this is not the case. Rosh haShanah night has a distinct character and avodah of its own. Specifically, it is a time for each individual to join their heart to the other members of G-d’s nation. Indeed, as long as person is judged as an individual, tremendous merits are needed to earn a favorable judgment. And if one needs to entreat or beseech G-d for forgiveness, our tradition teaches that G-d is always close to the collective (lit. ציבור), while an individual must seek out opportune moments, such as the Aseret Yemei Teshuva.

Thus, in anticipation of standing before G-d in judgment, we attempt to draw on the merit of the collective, and thus ensure our inscription in the Book of Life. We do this by fortifying our love for other Jews – the mitzvah of ואהבת לרעך כמוך. This mitzvah is rooted in, and also results in, a transformation of identity. Someone who loves other Jews ceases focusing on the external divisions that separate us from one another. He realizes that all of Israel partakes of a single collective soul, like strands of a rope that are bound together.[1] Our spiritual essence is one; it is only in the physical world, the world of externals that we are we separated from each other.

But collective merit is not sufficient on its own. A person cannot lead a deficient and unexamined spiritual life and then opt to fall back lazily on being a member of Israel. He must also do his own spiritual work and accrue his own merits.

Hillel, the Talmudic Sage, expressed this duality when a prospective convert asked to be taught “the entire Torah on one foot” (lit. על רגל אחת), and Hillel invoked the mitzvah of ahavat Yisrael (ואהבת לרעך כמוך). On a simple level, this is a Hebrew idiom, comparable to the English “thinking on your feet.” But there is a deeper meaning as well. Every person has two ‘feet’ on which his spiritual persona ‘stands.’ One is his status as a Jew and a member of Knesset Yisrael. The other is his individual spiritual accomplishments and good deeds. Hillel was teaching that love of one’s fellow Jew isenough to stand on – even if you don’t have another leg to stand on because your own spiritual house is not (yet) entirely in order. King David also alluded to this truth in Tehillim (26:12), when he declares “My foot [singular] stood on a straight path; I will bless the Lord in assemblies.”

Granted, one is not supposed to lean on the ‘leg’ of collective merit in perpetuity. In order to walk, two legs are indispensable. Or, as our Sages (Alfa Beita d’Rebbe Akiva) put it, emet yeish lo raglayim – “Truth has legs [plural].” However, joining with the community is not just a source of merit, but also a catalyst for transforming one’s own individual spiritual persona. After all, sin is not just a personal failure, but also a setback and a harm to all of Israel. Inasmuch as the souls of all Jews are bound together, one’s own shortcomings are bound to reverberate and hold the entire nation back from achieving its telos. Conversely, when I perform mitzvot and avoid transgression, I am not only augmenting my own spirituality, but propelling the entire nation forward toward its destiny. An honest and profound commitment to ahavat Yisrael will spur individual religious growth as well.

This dynamic is built into the auspicious period that we are about to enter. On Rosh haShanah – and especially during the evening our job is to focus on ahavat Yisrael and submerging our identity in the collective. By contrast, the following period of Aseret Yemei Teshuva – and especially Yom Kippur is a time to take stock of our own failures and spiritual shortcomings. Each of these times contributes to one indispensable and sacred unit. Thus, the worlds of Truth and Peace are bound together inseparably. For G-d’s name is Shalom is his seal is Emet.

[1] In the Hebrew, Rav Kook references a midrash (cited by Rashi on Bereishit 46:26), which notes that Ya’akov’s descendants are described in their descent to Egypt as seventy nefesh, in the singular, while Esav’s family are described with the plural nefashot.

Food for Thought

Rav Ya’akov Beasley: We fail to appreciate the revolutionary significance of the declaration that Hashem created the human being in His image and likeness. In fact, it is quite possibly the single most radical consequence of monotheism. Just as Hashem is singular and alone, man is also singular and alone. With Bereishit’s opening story we witness the birth of the individual in Western civilization. Clearly, the supreme and unique importance of the individual was unknown in the pagan world. Instead, they viewed the significance of the individual solely through the lens of the individual’s relationship to his/her value to society as a whole. A worthwhile point of comparison is between our ethics, as expounded in Tanakh, and those of ancient Greece. In Greece, the highest value was the polis, the group. As such, ethics was a code for singe-minded devotion to the city (Athens, Sparta), and the supreme glory was heroism in the field of battle, or the willingness to die for the city’s sake: dulce et decorum est pro patria mori (“It is pleasant and proper to die for one’s country”). Not surprisingly, the Greeks developed the “custom” of abandoning elderly, feeble parents or handicapped children on mountainsides to perish. They argued that this freed them of the “shame” of being dependent on others for their sustenance. The group takes precedence over the individual. Once a person ceased to benefit society, his life lost its value and was no longer protected by law.

Rav Soloveitchik (On Repentance): A Jew who has lost his faith in Knesset Israel even though he may, in his own litte corner, sanctify and purify himself through severities and restrictions-this Jew remains incorrigible and totally unequipped to partake of the Day of Atonement which encompasses the whole of Knesset Israel in all its parts and in all its generations…. Only a Jew who believes in Knesset Israel will be privileged to partake of the sanctity of the day and of atonement as part of the community of Israel… A Jew who lives as part of Knesset Israel and is ready to lay down his life for it, who is pained by its hurt and is happy at its joy, wages its battles, groans at its failures, and celebrates its victories… A Jew who believes in Knesset Israel is a Jew who binds himself with an indissoluble bond not only to the People of Israel of his generation, but to Knesset Israel through all the generations.”

Rav Yehuda Amital: When Elisha tried to repay the Shunamite woman for her kindness, she said to him: “I dwell among my people” (Melakhim Beit, 4:13). Regarding these words, the Zohar says (Noach 69b): “When the world is being called into account, it is not advisable that a man should have his name mentioned on high, for the mention of his name will be a reminder of his sins, and will cause him to be brought under scrutiny. This we learn from the words of the Shunamite woman. It was Rosh HaShana, when God sits in judgment on the world, that Elisha asked her: “Can I speak to the King on your behalf” (ibid), i.e. to the Holy One, blessed be He, for on that day He is… King of Judgment. She answered: “I dwell among my people” – that is, “I do not wish to be remembered and to have attention drawn to me, save among my own people.” He who keeps himself in the middle of his own people does not draw attention upon himself, and so escapes criticism.

The underlying message is that a person should try to avoid standing out from the community in which he lives. When a Jew stands before God, he recognizes his insignificance, and prefers not to be judged as an individual, but as part of the Jewish people. In his everyday affairs as well, a person should strive to be part of his community, and not allow himself to stand out more than necessary. Making oneself conspicuous testifies to arrogance, for a person who makes himself noticeable demonstrates that he views himself as fit to stand individually and on his own before God as well.

Rav Joseph Soloveitchik (“Community”): The community in Judaism is not a functional-utilitarian, but an ontological one. The community is not just an assembly of people who work together for their mutual benefit, but a metaphysical entity, an individuality: I might say, a living whole. In particular, Judaism has stressed the wholeness and the unity of Knesset Israel, the Jewish community. The latter is not a conglomerate. It is an autonomous entity, endowed with a life of its own.

Rabbi Shmuel Goldin (Unlocking the Torah Text, Vayikra): During his lifetime (1903–1993), the Rav expressed deep concern over the spiritual survival of Diaspora Jewry and the physical safety of the Jewish community in Israel. He maintained, however, that faith in Knesset Yisrael mandates against despair, requiring each Jew to believe in the continued existence of our people until the coming of the Messiah. One can’t help but wonder, however, how much more fearful the Rav would be today, witnessing not only an exacerbation of the crises he noted in his lifetime, but also the growing pressures within the Jewish community upon the very integrity of Knesset Yisrael.

Fragmented for years, we have become a people increasingly divided against ourselves as the fault lines between us, both in Israel and the diaspora, grow into seemingly unbridgeable chasms. Charedi, Zionist, Secular, Conservative, Reform, Orthodox, Settlers, Peace Activists – we continue to retreat into homogeneous groups, seeking the safety of those who share our ideas and our own life outlook. And the groupings grow even narrower… Even within the Orthodox community, for example, do Charedi and Religious Zionist Jews feel kinship with or antipathy towards each other as they pass on the street? Do Modern Orthodox Jews and Satmar Chasidim truly see themselves as part of the same people, with the same dreams?…

I can hear the Rav’s voice whispering in my ear of the importance of Knesset Yisrael. His vision of shared origin and shared destiny is one that we lose, God forbid, at our peril.

Johann Hari (Lost Connections, pg. p. 81-84): When we talk about home today, we mean just our four walls and (if we’re lucky) our nuclear family. But that’s never been what home has meant to any humans before us. To them, it meant a community—a dense web of people all around us, a tribe. But that is largely gone. Our sense of home has shriveled so far and so fast it no longer meets our need for a sense of belonging. So we are homesick even when we are at home… [W]e haven’t just started doing things alone more, in every decade since the 1930s. We have started to believe that doing things alone is the natural state of human beings, and the only way to advance. We have begun to think: I will look after myself, and everybody else should look after themselves, as individuals. Nobody can help you but you. Nobody can help me but me. These ideas now run so deep in our culture that we even offer them as feel-good bromides to people who feel down—as if it will lift them up. But… this is a denial of human history, and a denial of human nature. It leads us to misunderstand our most basic instincts. And this approach to life makes us feel terrible.

Questions for Discussion

  1. Where in Chumash do we find someone walking (or limping) on one leg? How might that episode tie to Rav Kook’s insights?
  2. Why is it important to be a member of a Jewish community?
  3. In what way is the Jewish community different from other religious communities or groups with common values/goals?
  4. How would our religious observance be different if we were conscious of the idea that all Jews share one soul?
  5. What are some dangers of an overemphasis on the individual? Of an overemphasis on the community?
  6. Where during the Yamim Noraim do we highlight the role of the individual? The role of the community?