Vayeishev: Who Bought Joseph?

In this week’s Torah portion, Jacob’s sons sell their brother Joseph as a slave to be brought down to Egypt. The Torah makes reference to two passing caravans, one of Ishmaelites and the other of Midianites (Gen 37:27-28). While it says that the brothers sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites (Gen 37:28), it later says that the Midianites sold Joseph to Egypt (Gen 37:36). So who brought Joseph, the Ishmaelites or the Midianites?

Ramban has a fascinating way of reconciling these seemingly contradictory verses. He says that the Midianites hired the Ishmaelites to transport Joseph, but that he was exclusively purchased by the Midianites. He supports this by remarking that sometimes the Torah refers to actions being done by the principal (the one who commands) and sometimes by the agent. He provides as an example verses that refer to Moses carrying out miracles (an example of action being attributed to the agent) or the building of the Temple being attributed to King Solomon (an example of actions being attributed to the principal).

Ramban incidentally teaches us a vital lesson about the world. Nature proceeds in the way of cause and effect, and we are all causes and we are all effects, except for the Cause of Causes, i.e. Hashem. And yet, we can neither fully appreciate ourselves as causes of the future, nor fully understand the forces at work on us. The brothers’ actions on the one hand triggered waves of consequences they could not possibly have appreciated (as indeed they say “Let’s see what becomes of his dreams now!” (Gen 37:20)). On the other hand, Ramban emphasizes that the recounting of the man Joseph met in the field who directed him to his brothers was only to show the inevitability of these events in the Divine Plan (Gen 37:15).

In Judaism, we are called on both to take responsibility for ourselves as cause and effects. As causes, for example, there are many sins, such as speaking gossip, where the immediate consequences seem minor compared to the harshness with which the sages speak. As effects, the sages warn us against surrounding ourselves with people, sights, texts that exercise a negative influence. We may mistakenly think we can mentally resist such influences but in both cases humility demands that heed the words of the sages carefully.

Git Shabbos! 

Benjamin Miller

Vayishlach: On Sudden Reversals

• They gave to Jacob all the alien gods that they had, and the rings that were in their ears, and Jacob buried them under the terebinth (ha’eilah) that was near Shechem. (Gen 35:4)
  וַיִּתְּנ֣וּ אֶֽל־יַעֲקֹ֗ב אֵ֣ת כׇּל־אֱלֹהֵ֤י הַנֵּכָר֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר בְּיָדָ֔ם וְאֶת־הַנְּזָמִ֖ים אֲשֶׁ֣ר בְּאׇזְנֵיהֶ֑ם וַיִּטְמֹ֤ן אֹתָם֙ יַעֲקֹ֔ב תַּ֥חַת הָאֵלָ֖ה אֲשֶׁ֥ר עִם־שְׁכֶֽם׃

In this week’s parsha, Jacob and family return to the land of Israel only to have tragedy befall them. The prince of Shechem rapes Dinah, Leah and Jacob’s daughter. Jacob’s son, led by Simeon and Levy, trick the male population in the town into getting circumcised and then proceed to massacre the male inhabitants of the town. This experience leaves them spiritually polluted, as alluded to by Jacob’s deathbed rebuke of Simeon and Levy (Gen 49:7), not least because among the spoils of war are the idols of those they have slain.  

They are then faced by how to dispose of these idols. Ramban is puzzled by their chosen method of disposal. He explains that, in fact, idols and their accoutrement must be utterly destroyed by being ground into dust or thrown into the sea–burial does not generally suffice. Why then did Jacob feel this sufficed? Ramban concludes that the idols must have already been nullified (e.g. by having been abandoned by their owners fleeing). Furthermore, Ramban explains that they buried it under a terabinth because that location would never be tilled or sowed.

But this does not explain why the Torah saw fit to specify the kind of tree or why this tree was so well-known it merited a definite article (“the”). Perhaps we can say that Ramban does not feel the need to explain because he has already explained. In parsha Lech Lecha (i.e. concerning Eil Paran), Ramban explained that terebinths were customarily planted near cities, implicitly for the purpose of idol worship. We can understand this as the essentially political nature of idolatry.

Perhaps what this comes to teach us is that what was wrong with Shechem was not just one corrupt leader or even an aggregate of individually guilty people who abided by violence and injustice (which we don’t read about), but rather it was the city as a collective which fostered this corruption. Only by uprooting the very infrastructure of corruption and radically repurpose it to bury falsehood can we address it. This perhaps explains the otherwise seemingly gratuitous midrash that Jacob, in an incredible feat of strength, uprooted the tree with one hand (Midarkai Hailanos pg.261). 

Terabinths are trees with deep root structures that give them remarkable stability. This is precisely the image which corrupt systems wish to project. Ramban says at the outset of this parsha that this section is to teach future generations how to conduct ourselves. Jacob sends us a powerful symbol that no matter how deeply rooted a system may be, not only can it be uprooted but replanted for good ends. On a personal level, this sends us a powerful message about how to confront our deeply rooted negative habits, not by destroying them altogether, but by redirecting those energies towards positive things. For example, one who habitually gossips can speak at length instead about matters of Torah, etc.

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Vayeitzei: Beware Quick Fixes

• Reuben was taking a walk during the season of the wheat harvest and found dudaim (a certain flower) in the field. He brought them to his mother Leah. Rachel said to Leah, “Please give me some of your son’s dudaim.” (Gen 30:14)

In this week’s parsha Rachel desires “dudaim” which Leah’s son Reuben has found so much that she’s willing to give away a night with Jacob for it. This is by far one of the most perplexing exchanges in the entire Torah. What were these dudaim and why did Rachel want them so badly she was willing to pay such a steep price? 

As is the case with many plants in the Torah, there is considerable debate over what exactly “dudaim” refers to. Rashi states that they are Jasmine. Ramban and Ibn Ezra, following Onkelos’ translation, takes the view that dudaim are mandrakes. But even between Ramban and Ibn Ezra, there is debate over what Rachel wanted them for. Ramban simply says they brought her pleasure (and doesn’t explain why or how), and he notes that according to some scholars mandrakes can serve as an aphrodisiac. Ibn Ezra on the other hand seems to assume that Rachel wanted them because mandrakes help with fertility (a genuinely ancient view), but he expresses that he does not understand how they could do this. Ramban rejects the view that mandrakes help with fertility and modern science backs him up.

Ramban and Ibn Ezra appear to agree that mandrakes likely do not help fertility but they disagree about whether Rachel could be motivated by such a false premise. Perhaps then we could understand the debate as follows: Rachel was desperate for children. In her state of desperation, Ibn Ezra reasons, she was willing to rely on any solution people believed in whether or not it made sense and in the end behaved in an exactly self-defeating way by giving away her time with her husband. Ramban, though he can’t exactly explain Rachel’s actions, refuses to believe that our matriarch could be fooled.

A lot is at stake in this debate both in how we see ourselves and others. In desperate times, people do start to gravitate to solutions that may be exactly self-defeating, perhaps in part because we believe we cannot be fooled. How many times have we ignored a loved one because there was something we thought we absolutely needed in the moment? Did we? Especially when we are stressed and looking for quick solutions, it’s important to step back and ask whether that thing that feels so urgent really brings us closer to what’s important in life.

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Toldos: The Scent of Redemption

In this week’s parsha, Rebecca dresses Jacob up like his brother Esau in order to get his blind father Isaac to give him Esau’s blessing of the firstborn. In this context, Isaac pulls Jacob close, feels his clothes and smells them, saying, “See, the scent of my son is like the scentof a field that Hashem has blessed.”” (Gen 27:27). Ramban cites seemingly two contradictory explanations as if they were one (Midarkai Hailanos,:Trees, 256-57):

1. The clothes were scented with spices of the land of Israel, including calamus and cinnamon
2. They smelled like a field of trees, according to our sages, apple trees

These two explanations appear to correspond to two competing explanations offered by Targum Yonasan, who said the fragrance was the incense of the Beis HaMikdash, and Rashi, who says it was an apple orchard, the smell of Gan Eden. Why does Ramban appear to feel comfortable offering both explanations? 

We may explain it by a third explanation of the smell. Isaac smelled the Exodus from Egypt on Jacob (Midarkai Hailanos,:Trees, 257): 

“the apple’s leaves emerge only after it flowers; so too the Jews in Egypt placed their trust and belief in Hashem first… R. Azarayah says, from the time the apple tree begins flowering until the fruits are ripe fifty days go by; so too from the time the Jews left Egypt until they received the Torah was fifty days…”

How did the Jews demonstrate their faith in Egypt? The women did so by, notwithstanding their impossible circumstances, still actively encouraging their husbands to bring children into the world, which Rashi explains they did “in an apple orchard”. This process of liberation ultimately culminates with the building of the Beis HaMikdash in Jerusalem. So these two explanations are really book-ends of a process. 

What can we learn from this? The verse tells us that Jacob smelled all this and blessed him. No matter how difficult it is for us to see sometimes (and indeed I saac was blind), we must sometimes be able to smell how the lowest descents and highest ascents are all part of one process. To get from the descents to the ascents, we require the faith in the future of of our matriarchs. As the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe said, it is an obligation to spend at least 30 minutes a day thinking about the Jewish education of children! 

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Chayei Sarah: Abraham’s Tamarisk

• “Sarah died in Kiryat Arba, which is Hebron, in Canaan. Abraham came…” (Gen 23:2) (emphasis added)

This week’s parsha begins with Sarah’s death and Abraham coming to the site of her death to eulogize and bury her. This raises the question for Ramban, where was Abraham to begin with? Why wasn’t he with Sarah? Following the simple text of last week which specified after the binding of Isaac that Abraham returned to Beer-sheba (Gen 22:19). But this raises another difficulty, which is what was Abraham doing living in Beer-sheba when Sarah was living in Hebron? This forces Ramban to conclude that Abraham’s stop was only temporary. What then merited a visit in Beer-sheba? It was the tamarisk tree that Abraham planted after the covenant with Abimelech so he could pray (Gen 21:33). 

Now this tamarisk tree is so special that later when Rebecca meets Isaac Onkelos translates Isaac’s location as being in Beer-sheba and Ramban concludes from this that he must have been praying at this Tamarisk tree which was a suitable place for prayer (Gen 24:62). What makes this tree so special and why was it a Tamarisk? Interestingly, Rashi doesn’t explain that it’s a Tamarisk but instead cites a dispute in the gemarrah between Rav and Shmuel (Sotah 10a). One says it was an orchard for the purpose of feeding people and the other says it was an inn where many fruits were served. Typically, when Ramban disagrees with Rashi, he says so explicitly. Here, however, he doesn’t mention the apparent disagreement. Why? 

We can perhaps answer these questions by understanding more about the Tamarisk (of which there are 50-60 plants in this family). This type of tree is especially suited for land reclamation projects because it can survive under drought and highly salty conditions. It’s so good at absorbing salt that sometimes it’s evergreen leaves actually drip salt. Its wood is so salty, it can be used to stop the spread of fire. In short, it’s a tree particularly well oriented for rejuvenating the land itself, whereas the views brought by Rashi emphasize an already fertile environment rejuvenating others. Perhaps Ramban doesn’t disagree with Rashi’s interpretation of what Abraham built there. For what makes it a suitable place for prayer is that as with prayer when we make the environment good for others (i.e. when we pray for the needs of others first, we are answered first. 

May we all learn to be like the Tamarisk. When we have an important project coming up that we need to go well, stop first and think about what others need, pray for them and work to help them. 

Git Shabbos!

Vayeira: Responding to Destruction

• Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do? … For I have known him to the end, that he may command his children and his posterity to keep the way of G-d by doing what is just and right, in order that G-d may bring about for Abraham what has been promised him.” (Gen 18:17, 19)

Regarding parsha Genesis we discussed Ramban’s view that the species will exist forever. In this week’s parsha, Ramban reiterates his view of the perpetual survival of the species in order to explain what it means that G-d states he “knows” Abraham. Ramban explains that G-d’s Knowledge is identical with His Will in this world which is that all species should survive on the macro level and that human beings are subject to this same guarantee that governs ecological survival. But, according to Ramban, the notion G-d is introducing in the above quoted verse is that Divine Providence takes special account of the righteous. 

The above quoted verse comes from a curious set of verses in which we are privy to G-d explaining to the angels why He is about to tell Abraham about the pending destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham reasons that the whole society should be saved for the sake of a critical mass of righteous people, which perhaps alludes to the fact that the people of Sodom reasoned they would be saved by virtue of the general guarantee of the persistence of species. 

We may make the same mistake of Sodom that our individual conduct does not matter because the nature of the issues we face our systemic and global in character. If the issue is on the macro level and at the species level, perhaps for religious reasons we believe there is a guarantee of ecological survival or for secular reasons we figure ecological change is normal. Either way, such a train of thought is not only compatible with but encourages societal collapse.

G-d takes special account of the righteous and Abraham demonstrates this does not simply mean the righteous should build an arc and damn their neighbours. Rather, the righteous are meant to congregate in sufficient numbers to uplift the society around them. The lesson for us is clear, congregate, whether for prayer, study, to engage in a park clean-up, or other collective action that makes the world better.

Benjamin Miller

Lech Lecha: Would You Rather be a Forest or a Street?

• “…and the Horites in their mountain Seir, until the “Eil Paran, which is alongside the desert.” (Gen 14:6)

The above quoted verse is taken from a broader description of the set-up for the war of the four kings against the five kings, in which Abraham will intervene decisively in order to save his nephew Lot. This verse is the focal point of a disagreement between the Targum and Rashi on the one hand, and Ramban on the other over a number of places whose names contain the word “eil”. The Targum and Rashi refer to all these as plains of x (e.g. plains of Paran). Ramban says the above place refers to a place of terebinths (eilonei), a kind of tree. 

To support his position, Ramban cites the following verse from Isaiah (1:29): “For they shall be ashamed of the terebinths that you desired…”. Ramban further comments that it was the custom of these places to plant trees before their cities, such as terebinths and oaks. Interestingly, commenting on this verse from Isaiah, Rashi translates the word “eilim” as “elms”. Both Rashi and Ramban seem to understand the verse in Isaiah as condemning idol worship performed with trees. Consequently, the debate isn’t actually over whether the word can refer to a tree (though there is some debate over what tree it would describe), but whether it can also refer to a plain used in these other contexts. 

Perhaps we can understand the debate in the following way in light of a comment by Rav Adin Steinsaltz on the same verse in Isaiah that the worship was of trees or “great people”. The terebinth grows to 30 meters high, whereas the mediterranean elm grows to less than 20 meters high. Rashi then perhaps identifies the way in which the environment is conducive to sin as its lack of figures of significant authority (note in the immediate locale there were 9 kings warring because they could not come to a stable settlement amongst themselves). Whereas for Ramban identifies monarchy (i.e. a political structure defined by the tall ones), which he as the cause of the war. (He makes this connection more explicitly when he says Nimrod introduced both monarchy and war into the world. (Gen 10:9)).

Ultimately, both Rashi and Ramban highlight real moral dangers. A world without role models or leaders (a true “plain”) is a world of moral chaos. On the other hand, the worship of leaders who no doubt acquire their position by glorifying themselves, is a recipe for a different kind of violence. In the midst of it all, we are called on to be like Abraham acting when we are needed. So next time a messenger comes  to you (whether by email, phone, on the street, or some other means) and tells you that your intervention is needed to save a family member, consider Abraham’s example.

Git Shabbos! 

Benjamin Miller

Noach: The Pace of Healing

This week’s parsha tells the story of the world’s destruction and the salvation of human, land animals, and birds through G-d’s command to Noah to publicize the pending destruction and escaping it by building an Ark filled with living creatures who could not otherwise escape destruction. Interestingly, Ramban does not focus on Noah’s failure to convince anyone of the impending doom and repent. Although he does remark (in defence of Noah), that a person who lacks faith would not wait until the waters came up to their feet but rather until they were fully submerged to get into the ark (Ber 7:1). I won’t dwell on the implications such a statement may have for our own society’s inadequate action in the face of climate change.

Instead, I would like to call your attention to an extensive disagreement Ramban has with Rashi on the rate that the waters left the face of the Earth. The debate centers on the following verse:

• “in the seventh month, on the 17th day of the month, the ark came to rest on the Mountains of Ararat.” (Ber 8:4)

Rashi posits a linear incremental decline at a rate of a cubit every four days. Ramban posits that the water was in its full strength until the day stated in the verse, during which a great wind came and blew all the waters until the mouth of deep and heavens out of which they emerged were stopped up. Ramban rejects Rashi’s approach firstly because he disagrees with his interpretation of the seventh month, secondly because he disagrees that a constant rate of change in water decline is natural, and thirdly because he holds there were thousands of cubits of water which Rashi’s equation could not address.

What’s at stake in this debate appears to be one we’re very familiar with in contemporary policy debates about reversing environmental destruction, and many other societal harms. There are those who posit an incremental approach as the most realistic and effective and those who say such an approach could never be adequate to the task given the enormity of the problem and the shortness of the timeline. They, instead, posit an “overwhelming wind” that will stop up whatever they see as the very source of the problem.

If no halachic point turned on this disagreement about the waters of the flood, it would be possible for us to say “These and these are the words of the Living G-d”. But it’s interesting to note that Ramban also sees fit to mention Noah was unaware of the process (whatever it might have been). Only later, through the process of Moses’ prophecy, are we informed of what went on. This is perhaps a call for humility since our grasp of historical processes while they are underway is so feeble. Perhaps if Noah had spoken with those who had a radically different path earlier, he would not have ended up so shut up in his ark.

Benjamin Miller

Bereishis: Nature as a Path to Self-Understanding

Although we call Rosh Hashana the beginning of the new year, in several places Sukkot is referred to as the end of the year (e.g. Ex 34:22). One way we see this is in the cycle of Torah reading which both ends and begins again on Simchat Torah. To keep things interesting, this year I will be learning Ramban’s commentary with a focus on his environmental insights (working off the Shilo 1999 English translation). 

Why this focus? As I’m sure you’re all aware, the earth’s environments are being destroyed at an unprecedented pace and we are undergoing significant changes in our climate. At this crucial time, I believe we must systematically reflect on how the Torah envisions our relationship as human beings and Jews to nature. What’s more, in the introduction to his commentary, Ramban explains that there are 49 gates of understanding accessible to people, one for the minerals, one for vegetation, one for animals, etc. culminating in the rational soul (9). Understanding nature, therefore, is perhaps a precondition to understanding ourselves. 

But why read Ramban instead of just taking a walk in the woods? While I fully support taking walks in the woods (e.g. with Shoresh Jewish Environmental Programs), nature’s meaning, as experienced, is fundamentally ambiguous. I contend that one cannot derive from this experience any particular ethical or spiritual imperatives (as evidenced by the abundance of litter one habitually finds along hiking trails). Studying nature through the Torah puts nature in the context of our spiritual lives in a way that can not only deepen our appreciation of the world around but set direction in our encounters with it. 

With that in mind, this week’s parsha, which goes through the creation of the world, is obviously teeming with too many profound insights to share here, so I will confine myself to two observations that I hope will prove crucial throughout our exploration this year.

Firstly, on the verse “And G-d called the light day.” (Ber 1:5) Ramban observes “the matter of calling a name here indicates the division which bounded them when they assumed their form.” (33) As Adam will later be responsible for naming all the living creatures (according to their names and not Adam’s whims), we see the paradox of both our narrow vantage point and how it reinforces separateness and misses the bigger picture, but also how that separateness implies the integrity of the thing named, which we are called on to respect. 
Secondly, on the verse “And G-d said: Let the Earth put forth grass.” (Ber 1:11) Ramban comments that this introduced a force which bears seed so that a species should exist forever (40). This highlights the immense tragedy of biodiversity loss we have and continue to experience. But since mitzvot are likened to seeds, it’s also a reminder that our own collective thriving depends on encouraging constant growth through the mitzvot. Our natural and ethical lives are not distinct but one.

Benjamin Miller

Sukkot: The Joy of the Comeback

Sukkot is called in the prayers “zman simchatenu” the time of our rejoicing. Following on the heels of Yom Kippur, when we are confident we obtained a good judgment. The Shabbat Torah reading makes a fine point of this. The reading comes immediately after G-d has forgiven the Jewish people for the Sin of the Golden Calf and is now revealing to Moses the secret to forgiveness through his 13 Attributes of Mercy, as well as instructing Moses to scarf a second set of tablets. 

The Festival of Sukkot is a commemoration of the booths/clouds of glory the Jews dwelled in during the Exodus to Egypt. By making the Shabbat Torah reading about this moment after the forgiveness for the Sin of the Golden Calf, the Sages are perhaps calling our attention to a shared theme between the Exodus and Yom Kippur. Namely, that when the Jews were saved, they were on the 49th level of impurity. If they had sunk any further, they would have been irredeemable. The Jews were on the brink of destruction. That’s when they were saved. And indeed, with G-d’s help, we clawed our way back to the 49th level of purity, almost reaching a level of purity from which we could not possibly fall, a level sufficient to receive the Torah, and what do we do? Spit in G-d’s face, so to speak. To be forgiven after that, is truly a cause for rejoicing. 

This is a kind of joy which calls our attention that gratitude for G-d’s blessings should come with humility. Joy that comes with self righteousness and the corresponding sense of entitlement to G-d’s blessing is unfortunately understandable. Rav Sorotzkin points out that at first the Jews were hesitant to take the gold and silver of the Egyptians, just being happy to leave, but did so because they were commanded to do so. But by the time they made it to Sinai, these blessings had already taken their toll, so to speak, and eventually confused the vessel of the blessing for its source.

Seen from this point of view, our joy this Sukkot for the salvation we are constantly receiving should guide us not to conclude “we simply need to keep doing what we’re doing,” but instead cause us to realize we need to radically transform ourselves. We need to take the Tablets into our own hands. One practical way we can constantly remind ourselves of the need to do better is to commit to saying a blessing before and after any food we eat, as to fail to do so would be theft.

Git Shabbos and Chag sameach!

Benjamin Miller

Yom Kippur: Solitude in a Hyperconnected Society

At the heart of Yom Kippur is a profound tension captured in the Torah reading and Mussaf service that describes the service of the High Priest in the Temple. On the one hand, most people are complete spectators to the service of the High Priest. It is a highly publicized national event which Jews lined the streets accompanying the goat that would be sent to the wilderness and to watch the various sacrificial rites. The High Priest is a representative of the people. On the other hand, it is a highly personal experience in which each of individually is expected to fast and atone for our own sins. And indeed, the High Priest, notwithstanding his public office, or perhaps all the more because of it, must be isolated in the week leading up to the ceremony and part of the Yom Kippur service is his own sacrifices and atonement.

This dual nature of Yom Kippur, both collective and personal, takes on great meaning in our times when we are each personally so constantly exposed to many of problems that are so collective they escape any of our individual control, and on the other hand personal wrongs, especially of those in power, can very quickly become very public. 

In this both hyperconnected and lonely time, does the Yom Kippur offer any insights into how we allocate our energy? When the High Priest makes atonement, he does so “… for himself, for his household, and for all the congregation of Israel.” (Lev 16:17). The verse puts the order of atonement in the order both of personal responsibility and personal ability to change. And if this is true for the High Priest (when commentaries teach that if a generation sins it’s only because the leaders failed to rebuke them), how much truer is it for those not in public office? 

This is not, G-d forbid, to imply that a person should focus on private virtue at the expense of pursuing systemic justice. Such an approach will achieve neither–after all, the verse makes the High Priest responsible for all three (the personal, interpersonal, and systemic). Rather, it’s to note a particular application of a Chasidic teaching that the accuser will sometimes come in the guise of piety and demand insistently that we repent for a matter of less importance to distract us from the work that we really need to do.

So how can we tell the difference between self-destructive doom scrolling and pointless strife, on the one hand, and being an informed individual who is holding others to account? We can ask “is anything better as a result of this? In doing this, am I passing up on some mitzvah that would make the world better?”

We all have work to do. May we have the clarity this Yom Kippur to understand what our individual work is and have the strength and means to carry it out in this year. Opportunity Abounds!

Git Shabbos un gemar chatimah tovah!

Benjamin Miller

Ha’azinu: Teaching an Old Dog Old Tricks

• “They would slaughter to demons without power, gods whom they knew not, newcomers recently arrived, whom your ancestors did not dread.” 

Here comes a new year. With anything new, we tend to emphasize change. Maybe we’ll change our diet or take on a new exercise routine, maybe we’ll change where and how we pray, maybe we’ll leave and start new relationships, maybe we’ll change governments. As we consider how all that might be different this year will address what was broken last year, it is worthwhile to remember that newness is no inherent remedy for brokenness. 

Commenting on the above passage, Rav Sorotzkin goes through various utopian programs over the course of the 19th and 20th centuries that each in turn ended in disaster before being overtaken by the next program. If we fail to live up to our obligations in relation to G-d, trading in for some idol doesn’t solve that problem no matter how many times you do it. Similarly, if our relationship suffers because we do not communicate, finding a new partner “we don’t have to communicate with” is not only a fantasy but will come to the same thing. If we find the prayers dry because we have a limited understanding of them, a glossier version of something we still don’t understand will not make up for the lack of study. 

I wish everyone a sweet new year in which we have the courage and clarity to stop chasing after innovations that distract from the work that deep down we know we need to do.

Also Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Nitzavim-Vayelech: Harvesting Torah

In the second of this week’s double portion, we have the commandment of Hakhel, to gather all the Jewish people during the Sukkot following the Sabbatical year, to hear the king read special parts of the Torah. Rav Sorotzkin asks, “why Sukkot?” He answers that Sukkot is a harvest festival, but on the Sabbatical year, there is no harvest, since the Jews are not allowed to work the land. Instead, the Jews would study Torah all that year. Therefore Hakhel is commanded at this time in order to mark the importance of the harvest that comes from the study of Torah.

But this raises the question: what is the harvest of the study from Torah? And more pointedly, if the highest form of the study is for its own sake, is emphasizing a “harvest” really an elevation of the Torah study? 

One way we can understand the harvest of Torah is that even if we are studying for the sake of heaven, we must still do so in a way that imitates harvest. Namely, to set goals within a period of time and toil regularly in the work to see it come to fruition. And ultimately, once we have “completed” the work for that period, to enjoy the fruits with others. This idea is embodied in the custom of having a “siyyum” a festive meal when one completes a major work, such as a tractate of Talmud. At this time, one shares with others the fruits of one’s labour by teaching. Where joyous teaching is the harvest, we realize that the study itself was for the sake of heaven. 

There are many learning cycles out there these days, from Daf Yomi, to the daily Rambam, to the daily Torah portion. It behooves us all to be like farmers and rise early to tend to these daily studies that call to us.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Ki Savo: Is the Joy of Giving Selfish?

• “And you shall lay it before Hashem, your G-d, and you shall prostrate yourself before Hashem, your G-d. You shall be glad with all the goodness that Hashem, your G-d, has given you and your household – you and the Levite and the proselyte who is in your midst.” (Deut 9:10-11)

This week’s parsha opens up with the mitzvah of bikkurim, the first fruits. The first of our crops is not for us, but out of recognition that really everything from the land to the sun to the rain is a gift from G-d, we take these fruits to Jerusalem, make a declaration summarizing the good G-d has done for us as a nation, and give the first fruits to a Kohane for his enjoyment. Rav Sorotzkin asks the question, “if the donor who brings the first fruits consumes none of them, in what way does he share in the enjoyment?” The answer of course is that it is purely a spiritual enjoyment. 

I’m sure we’ve all heard about the idea that if you do a good deed for someone else, one of the benefits is that you will feel good. Indeed, this rationale is presented by some philosophers as proof that one never truly acts altruistically even if the one we benefit cannot reciprocate our action. Is this true? Are we secretly just chasing a certain self-righteous high when we do mitzvahs? 

The process of bikkurim gets at the heart of this issue.The selfish sense of satisfaction one gets from giving assumes that the beneficence originates in the self. I must be pretty great to be magnanimously giving to someone in a position to receive from me. But I doubt that a bank teller feels the same glow when they hand out money to someone who has made a withdrawal from their account. After all, they’re just giving them their due. 

But even though the bank teller may be handling other people’s money, they may still feel satisfaction for a job well done. The spiritual satisfaction Rav Sorotzkin describes is not, and should be confused with, the selfish though morally enlightened self-satisfaction described by some philosophers. Rather, it’s a satisfaction that is accompanied by a declaration that we are only flow-throughs. We are neither the Beginning nor the End. But the Beginning of all Beginnings and the End of all Ends has chosen to make us part of the story. Once we have passed on the fruit and discharged our role, we can indeed bask in the wonder of this grand process we are privileged to be a part of.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Ki Seitzei: Overcoming Economics

• “If a bird’s best happens to be before you on the road, on any tree or on the ground –young birds or eggs – and the mother is roosting on the young birds or the eggs, you shall not take the mother with the young. You shall surely send away the mother and take the young for yourself, so that it will be good for you and prolong your days” (Deut 22:6-7)

In this week’s parsha we find what some commentators have called the easiest mitzvah in the entire Torah. If you happen upon a bird with young or eggs, send away the mother before taking the eggs. Rav Sorotzkin is curious about why the Torah feels the need to say that of you find the bird on “any” tree. Would it occur to you to think this mitzvah applies to an oak tree but not a maple? 

Rav Sorotzkin explains that the apparently superfluous “any” may be an allusion to a parable in which a King instructs his workers to plant trees but doesn’t say how much He will pay for each kind. After the first day, they receive a gold coin and reason they’ll get even more for the fancier trees (referring to the stated reward for this simple mitzvah). But does this analogy really work? If the goal was to get the workers to plant more of the serious trees why not just state the high price from the beginning? How does mystery in spiritual reward incentivize us? 

Pirkei Avos teaches that it encourages us to be as careful with a minor mitzvah as with a major one as we don’t know the reward for each. This would explain the mystery but it doesn’t explain why the Torah states the reward for this minor mitzvah. And if you want to say it states the same reward for a major mitzvah, honouring your parents, then I would say this incentivizes focusing my time on theminir mitzvahs and does away with the mystery. 

Perhaps there is no fixed fee structure precisely to avoid the perverse incentives of any economic structure. If the goal at the end of the day is to embody the whole Torah, it means there will be times when one mitzvah earns far more reward than another and vice versa. It’s telling that rewards are stated only for matters outside our control, such us as happening across a bird’s nest, or having parents. The way to maximize reward in life is not to focus on the reward at all but rather to ask what is the right thing to do in this moment.

Shabbat shalom!

Benjamin Miller

Shoftim: Torah and the Administrative State

• “Judges and officers shall you appoint… You shall not pervert judgment, you shall now respect someone’s presence, and you shall not accept a bribe.” (Deut 16:18-19)

In this week’s parsha, we have a series of directives to judges and officers. Rav Sorotzkin comments on the above verse:

“We can understand these commandments as applying not only to the judge but to the court officer as well. When he is sent to carry out  the court’s judgment, he may not pervert justice, nor give deferential treatment to anyone. Neither may he take a bribe in order to “soften” the judgment to be executed (such as to give lashes with a relaxed arm, or the like), or postpone execution of sentence and “interpret” it as he might see fit.”

Rav Sorotzkin’s words bring alive how the Torah’s injunctions are not just designed for ancient court systems presiding over comparatively less legislated societies. The Torah’s words are relevant even in our societies in which law is so “thick” that administrative decision-makers (i.e. officers) like tribunals or public servants preside over most decisions rather than courts directly.

The Torah teaches us that it’s not enough to have just laws and even just judges. The laws must be carried out in a just manner. Furthermore, Rav Sorotzkin points out that even in what seems like the clearest judgment (i.e. give lashes), there is always room for discretion in how the law is applied. This is part of why the Torah could never just be a written tradition and why that’s even more true in modern times when our capacity for print is so much greater. Who a person is, their character traits, their fear of heaven, will be poured into how the law is carried out without ever being articulated or even being capable of articulation. We are each the parchment on which the Torah is inscribed. 

Additionally, as we enter Elul and start planning more actively for Rosh Hashana, we are apt to take on positive resolutions, thereby decreeing “laws” upon ourselves. However, We should recall it’s not enough to have good laws, we must be in the habit of implementing our resolutions with a good eye and a full heart. 

Shabbat shalom!

Benjamin Miller

Re’eh: Mockery and Idolatry

• “And you shall obliterate their names from that place” (Deut 12:3)

In this week’s parsha, Moses gives instructions to the Jewish people about how to completely obliterate idolatry from the Land of Israel. One of the instructions is to obliterate the names of the various places of worship. As I’m sure our generation is particularly sensitive to, the naming and renaming of various places is a politically charged act, which is supposed to both express the values of the community that does the naming and also thereby help to inculcate those values.

Following this logic, one might have expected the old idolatrous names to be replaced with new holy names. Interestingly, Rav Sorotzkin brings Rashi’s explanation that obliterating the names means replacing them with derisive names, for example the Eye of All should be called Thorn in the Eye. Rav Sorotzkin picks up on how shocking this strategy is when the Torah generally prohibits derisive nicknames altogether. Rav Sorotzkin explains that people love a good derisive nickname and so use it often. Consequently, the old names are quickly lost in the joke. This is only permitted with regard to idolatry.

Behind this seemingly juvenile strategy lies great political insight. The theorist Leo Strauss explained that the Enlightenment succeeded at the popular level in undermining the Church, not through rational argument, but through clever and biting plays and pamphlets. One can’t really argue with a joke and indeed for a venerable institution to even wrestle with such material is already to force it lo shed its dignity. This is a compelling strategy, but for this very reason, the Torah clearly saw a need to limit it to prescribed outlets. For once mockery becomes the go to that people (with different ideas) relate to one another, there’s truly no end to the matter. This indeed is a recipe to obliterate and not to build. 

So let’s be careful with our words!

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Eikev: The Wheat Varieties of Postmodernity

• “You will eat bread without lacking.” (Deut 8:9)

This week’s parsha features many blessings if the Jews keep the Torah. One such blessing is that the Jews will eat bread without poverty. Rav Sorotzkin has much to say about this, including the following which he cites in the name of his nephew R’ Shmuel David Walkin. 

“In our days, when someone consults a doctor he is often warned not to eat bread.  The doctor will tell him to “eat of every tree of the Garden” – every nutritious food is to be permitted– “only of the Tree of Knowledge” – which was wheat, say some of the Sages (Sanhedrin 70b) – “he must not eat,” or not much. Yet King David praised “bread”, that sustains man’s heart” (Tehillim 104:15). How can things have become so topsy-turvy until bread is accused of harming man’s health by causing overweight?

He answers that perhaps this is because the variety of wheat in the Land of Israel is entirely different (and sold for more at that time because it’s good for making pasta) and doesn’t carry with it the same threat to health. 

I cannot comment on how heirloom varieties of wheat in Israel may have different health implications than the now dominant global varieties (primarily cultivated after World War II). Nevertheless, symbolically, bread represents halacha. The globalization of grain, historically, goes hand-in-hand with an intensification of international trade networks and international law. All of these represent an attempt at universalizing or at least standardizing peoples’ legal and cultural systems. 

Since Rav Sorotzkin wrote the above passage, the reaction against bread has only intensified. Gluten intolerance has been on the rise for the last 50 years. One of a number of possible theories for this is that our stomachs have not yet adapted fully to these new varieties of grain, as we not have developed the right gut bacteria. 

Seen in this light, the meaning of “eating bread without lacking” could be taken to mean “eating bread without lacking anything in ourselves”. This would be consistent with the overall theme of the parsha which emphasizes how our inner world, what we say in our heart, must be consistent with our outer world, the land of Israel, in order for us to remain blessed and healthy. 

How can we put this into practice, especially here in Canada? If we find in our studies that we are consuming the dominant varieties of “bread” and we are having trouble digesting, consider sampling some halacha. And remember, it’s not just about the bread but whether we are cultivating the inner life needed to make the most of the nutrition in the halacha. 

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Tisha b’Av

Tisha b’Av always falls on the same day of the week as the first night of Pesach. What is the connection between these two events? Indeed, there are several kinnos (dirges) we traditionally read on Tisha b’Av that explicitly draw out the “Going out of Egypt” with the “Going out of Jerusalem”. As I’ve shared many times before, we are commanded to remember the day we left Egypt all the days of our life. Rashi is puzzled by the use of the phrase “the day” we left Egypt. After all, wasn’t it a centuries long process beginning, according to Rashi, when G-d promised Abraham descendants a year before Isaac’s birth?

Rashi’s question could be asked about any historical event. Do we treat it in its singularity or only part of the much broader process that produced it? Indeed, on Tisha b’Av we explicitly link it to at least a three week process. Furthermore, why does Rashi need to posit when the process started in order to ask his question? It seems like a totally extraneous detail the start of the process to Isaac’s birth.

Rashi’s answer to this question is that mentioning the day emphasizes how sudden the redemption was because if the Jews had stayed one moment longer, they could not have been redeemed. This sudden premature and radical break from a historical process that was “supposed” to take 400 years emphasizes how suddenly things that completely change notwithstanding all long-term historical indicators pointing in another direction. Herein lies the secret of Tisha b’Av’s promise of redemption. Even in the moment of apparent absolute destruction, we are reminded that a redeemed world is possible.

Hope is nice, but it’s not a plan. How do we actually change things? Rashi may offer us an answer in his peculiar dating of when the exile in Egypt began (a year prior to Isaac’s birth). According to Tractae Sotah, the Jews were only saved in the merit of the women. Their special merit consisted in the lengths they went to ensure a next generation existed even during the height of slavery when no future seemed possible. If we pay close attention to Eichah, we see too the focus on the violence towards children.

If we want things to be radically better for the Jewish people, it starts with ensuring every Jewish child has the education and surroundings they need to not only flourish, as every child should, but be equipped to lead to Jewish people to untold heights. May this redemption come speedily in our days.

Benjamin Miller

Devarim: Astronomy for the Messianic Era

“I said to you at that time, saying, “I cannot carry you alone. Hashem, your G-d, has multiplied you and behold! You are like stars of heaven in abundance.” (Deut 1:9-10)

This week’s parsha begins the book of Deuteronomy in which Moses re

views much of the Torah in his final address before he dies and the Jews cross the Jordan to conquer the Land of Israel. In so doing, he reiterates one of the most famous promises G-d has ever made to the Jewish people, i.e. that they should be like the stars in the sky. Various commentators find this blessing puzzling as Jews were then and remain a fairly small nation, certainly far less numerous than the stars in the sky. 

To address this conundrum, Rav Sorotzkin picks up on the fact that Moses connects this blessing in the above verse with his choice to ask G-d for help in judging the people. He suggests that the Jews were not like stars quantitatively, but qualitatively, they were learned and so unlike an unlearned litigant, they would not simply accept Moses’ ruling but find endless grounds to dispute the judge’s decision. To support this, Rav Sorotzkin adds humourously that when two stars collide it can end worlds. 

Rav Sorotzkin’s insight has special significance in modern times. One of the scientific pillars of modernity is the heliocentric model of astronomy (i.e. the Earth revolves around the sun). The ultimate effect of this has been quite ironic. This model initially contributed to a metaphysics that de-centered humanity, replacing Aristotelian and Church thinking that put humans literally at the centre of the universe. But in so doing, it crowned an idea of human reason as supreme which would no longer be humbled by or felt bound to any particular theology. Seen through this lens, Rav Sorotzkin’s insight that being “like a star” symbolizes both brilliance and the resulting unwillingness to accept any external judge has special resonance. His humorous conclusion that when stars collide worlds are destroyed is simply the endless and unavoidable reality of conflict under a polytheistic metaphysics. 

But then how, on Rav Sorotzkin’s account, is this at all a blessing? The question is even stronger in our parsha because Moses wishes the Jews “a thousand-fold” the blessing (Deut 1:11). Perhaps we could say that Joseph’s dream in which all the stars bowed down to his star models for us a truly supernatural vision of universal harmony, in which notwithstanding the brilliance of each individual nevertheless, there is still the humility necessary to allow for judges who can resolve disputes (but it must be stressed, given that this is expressed through a dream, that this is a supernatural vision). Alternatively, the blessing that we be like stars can only work if we’re capable of being like sand, i.e. humble and on the shore of the sea (the Torah). 

May we all see the brilliance in each other and have the humility to accept rebuke.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Matos-Massei: Our Word is Our Bond

• “Moses spoke to the heads of the tribes of the Children of Israel, saying, this is the thing that Hashem has commanded: if a man takes a vow to Hashem or swears an oath to establish a prohibition upon himself, he shall not desecrate his word…” (Num 30:2-3)

This week’s Torah portion begins with the law of oaths and Rav Sorotzkin begins by asking why the Torah specifically names that these laws were especially addressed to the leaders. He offers two answers. Firstly, those who run for office often do so by making promises, which upon achieving office they find are harder to keep than they realized. Secondly, this Torah portion highlights the incredible power of human speech to render something halachically prohibited. It is this power to change the spiritual properties of something which is also the basis of the human ability to elevate someone to a position of leadership such that others are halachically obligated to treat them differently, i.e. with more respect, by conferring on them a title. Both of these answers have much to teach us both in how relate to political leaders of today, as well as in our own personal conduct.

The Torah combines suspicion and mistrust of political leadership with a realistic appraisal of how difficult it actually is. On the one hand:

Be careful about the government, as they approach a man only when they need him. They seem like good friends in good times, but they don’t stay for him in time of his trouble. (PA 1:10)

On the other hand:

And Rava bar Meḥasseya said that Rav Ḥama bar Gurya said that Rav said: Even if all the seas would be ink, and the reeds that grow near swamps would be quills, and the heavens would be parchment upon which the words would be written, and all the people would be scribes; all of these are insufficient to write the unquantifiable space of what government must consider.” (Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Shabbat 11a)

The law of vows reflects this dynamic. For on the one hand, we are strongly discouraged to make vows, the penalty for violating them is fairly stiff, but on the other hand, one can be released from a vow by a beis din simply by finding that one took it on a false premise (i.e. one did not realize it was difficult or impractical for some reason). Taken together, this allows us to keep a healthy distance from becoming overly enthusiastic about anyone’s political promises without falling prey to the kind of cynicism and mistrust that undermines the ability of a society to deliver on any promise.

This leads to Rav Sorotzkin’s second point, our very ability to create social and political structures, i.e. to enact laws and appoint officials, depends on the ability of speech to bind. This is a spiritual quality. When we lose trust in others and consequently become lax in our own promise keeping, when we stop holding leaders to account to, at the very least, “dissolve” their vows when they prove impractical, society becomes impossible.

Rambam goes so far as to say that even if you don’t make a promise, but simply commit to something in our head, we should treat it as binding. May we all achieve such a discipline.

Git Shabbos! 

Pinchas: Weakness and strength

Last week’s Torah portion ended with the Jews being drawn into acts of sexual immorality and idolatry by the daughters of Midian (Num 25:1-3). As a result, G-d’s “wrath flared up” (ויחר אף). Pinchas zealously kills one of the leaders who very publicly entered into privacy with a Midianite princess, and this turns back “G-d’s wrath” (חמת) (Num 25:11). 

Picking up on this difference in the Hebrew terminology, Rav Sorotzkin explains that the first term is a higher level of wrath and Pinchas’ act only diverted a lower level of wrath. What is the difference between these two levels? Idolatry is generally a public sin whereas sexual immorality is generally a private sin. Consequently, whereas the court system could generally effectively prosecute the idolatry part of the Israelites’ sin, it is much harder to get the required witnesses and evidence of sexual immorality because of its private nature. It is only for this latter sin that the extra-judicial role of the zealot comes in. 

In last week’s Torah portion, the prophet Bilaam praised the Jews for their tents, and Rashi explains this was due to the private nature of the tents (the windows/doors not facing each other) (Num 24:5). There, Rav Sorotzkin explains that Bilaam was looking at the tents to see if he could provoke adultery, but finding the tents set up to prevent this he was forced to look for external sources of temptation and therefore advised Midian to send in their daughters for seduction. What Rav Sorotzkin doesn’t point out is that it’s precisely the praiseworthiness of the Jews (their privacy and modesty) which made Bilaam’s plan especially hard to respond to (since the immorality happened in private the court system could not respond to it).

This teaches us both a general lesson about “good” and “bad” traits and a more specific lesson about modesty. Generally, it teaches us that there is no quality which could not be put to either good or bad use. Consequently, the sages teach us, we cannot blame our sins on our nature (or indeed even our social setting) for a person who has a bloodthirsty nature could become a ritual slaughterer or a surgeon. More specifically, we see that sometimes people can hide behind standards of modesty in order not to publicize issues of, for example, abuse. We should therefore know that it is lashon horah to speak of a situation if speaking serves no purpose, but if it is to help someone out of a dangerous situation, then we are obligated to intervene.

Git Shabbos! 

Benjamin Miller

Balak: Choosing the Path of Blessing

In this week’s parsha, Balak, the temporary king of Moab (Num 22:4), hires Balaam to curse the Jewish people. As part of the back and forth, he makes the following request.

“Please come and curse this people [Israel] for me, for it is too powerful for me; perhaps I will be able to strike it and drive it away from the land. For I know that whomever you bless is blessed (מברך) and whomever you curse is accursed (יואר).” (Num 22:6)

Rav Sorotzkin asks why Balak’s statement starts with uncertainty, i.e. “perhaps”, and ends with a definite statement, i.e. “whomever you bless is blessed…”. Although it doesn’t come across in the English, in the Hebrew it is clear that “blessed” is in the present tense whereas “accursed” is in the future tense. Practically speaking, Balak believed that Balaam could only bless someone who was already in a blessed state but his curses could bring about someone’s being accursed. Why this distinction?

Rav Sorotzkin explains that blessings work by inspiring people to improve their spiritual state and thereby become worthy of the benefits that are already waiting for them on high for when they merit it. Conversely, a curse works on someone only when their spiritual state declines to the point that they become worthy of misfortune. So Balak trusted in Balaam’s ability to corrupt others and bring them to the point of meriting a curse (which he does succeed in (Num 25:1-3)), but did not trust him to raise up Balak’s own people to merit a victory. This is very different from the Torah’s laws of war that involve a special kohane blessing the people when they go to war, not cursing the enemy (Deut 20 in which the special priest’s address to the soldiers is immediately followed by the proposal of peace to the enemy).

Rav Sorotzkin’s analysis reminds us of something crucial. It is precisely because Balaam was so effective at cursing that he was so ineffective at blessing. Someone who debases others can hardly be relied on to elevate others. If only because we have limited time or energy, any time we spend debasing others, mocking them, bringing them low, is time taken away from improving ourselves, building community, becoming more worthy of the enormous blessings we receive. In our times, when social media platforms so favour the instant gratification of negative content (however clever, and perhaps even sometimes well deserved it might be), it is important to remember that idol worship always presents itself in the form of shortcuts and instant gratification. 

G-d has put before us the path of blessing and of cursing. May we always choose the path of blessing.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Chukas: The Paradox of Life

In this week’s parsha we have the most incomprehensible of commandments. The Kohen gadol is instructed to burn a perfectly red cow that has no blemish and has never worn a yoke, take its ashes, then sprinkle them over water. This water is then used to purify those who have come into contact with a corpse. At the heart of what makes this commandment so incomprehensible is that while the sprinkling of the ashes with water purifies the one sprinkled on, it makes impure the priest who does the sprinkling. This strange mitzvah is followed by recounting the death of Miriam.

Following the Sages, Rav Sorotzkin asks why the death of Miriam is contrasted with the passage on the red heifer (Moed Katan 28a). They answer that it’s because the death of the righteous effects atonement as does the red heifer. The Alter Rebbe finds it perplexing why the red heifer which is used to purify would be used as an example of atonement as opposed to for example a sin offering (ch. 28 Iggerot haKodesh). Rav Sorotzkin, like Rashi and Tosafot, answers that 1/3 of the ashes were kept in a safe place as the atonement for the sin of the golden calf. Consequently, the red heifer did not just atone for one particular sin but atoned for the major underlying sense of people, which the Midrash teaches G-d adds a bit of punishment from the sin of golden calf to all punishments we receive.

 We could ask further why Miriam is specifically the righteous person who merited to be contrasted with the red heifer. We might humbly suggest that Miriam specifically merited to be connected with the Red Heifer because she, like the ashes of Red Heifer, had to go outside all the camps of Israel when she rebuked Moses for divorcing his wife. And why did she rebuke him? She did not find it satisfying that he needed to be pure all the time such that he could not be involved in the life giving process of procreation. Just like the kohane who sprinkles himself becomes impure so too the woman who gives birth to life (the ultimate source of purity) herself becomes impure (Lev 12:1). Life in short depends on paradox. It was precisely this principle that Miriam championed. 

Moses is one thing, but as Rabbi Israel Salanter once said “my neighbour’s physical needs are my spiritual needs.” Let us never yet purity be an excuse to give the help only we can.

Git Shabbos!

Bemjamin Miller

Sh’lach: Going and Coming With the Right Intention

• “Ascend here in the South and climb the mountain.” Num 13:17

In this week’s Torah portion, Moses sends 12 spies to scout out the Land of Israel. Ten of the 12 come back with a negative report and this convinces the Jewish people that conquest is impossible. They cry. G-d punishes them with 38 more years in the desert for their lack of faith.

In instructing the spies, Moses tells them to start with the mountains and deserts and to work towards the more habitable and pleasant parts. Rav Sorotzkin explains that the psychological rationale of Moses’ direction was that the last part of a journey is usually what people remember the best and Moses wanted them to recount the most attractive parts to the Jewish people. They reversed the order (showing their intention to subvert their mission from the beginning).

This advice of beginning with the hard things when traveling “to the Land of Israel” is counter-intuitive to us. Usually, when we’re in spiritual growth mode it makes most sense to start with what is attainable for us now and work our way up to scaling mountains. But Moses’ instructions also have other powerful psychological benefits. For example, when we have to work through something difficult in order to get to something easy and pleasant, we may have more motivation to work through the difficult. Whereas, when we start with the easy and there is nothing on the other side of the difficult we may never take those final steps. Additionally, as the Yiddish song says “all beginnings [in Torah learning] are hard”. Meaning just starting out (whether it’s learning for the first time or joining a new shul, etc.) can feel like climbing a mountain, but once we’ve gotten over the fear and trepidation and we get into the swing of things even more challenging terrain can appear easier.

Ultimately, though, wherever we start or end our journey, we need to go with the right intentions. This is one of the reasons it’s so important to have a mezuzah on our doors, so that when we leave the house and come in we do so with the awareness that it is for a Divine purpose.

Shabbat shalom!

Benjamin Miller

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BeHa’alos’cha: If I am Not for Myself?

“Then I assigned the Levites to be presented to Aaron and his sons from among the Children of Israel to perform the service of the Children of Israel in the Tent of Meeting and to provide atonement for the Children of Israel, so that there will not be a plague among the Children of Israel when the Children of Israel approach the sanctuary.” (Num 8:19)

This week’s parsha continues with the inauguration of the Temple, starting with a special focus on how the Levites replaced the firstborn as priests in the Temple. Rashi explains regarding the above verse that the expression “Children of Israel” is repeated five times to show God’s love for the Jewish people corresponding to the Five Books of Moses. Rav Sorotzkin asks why did God choose here to express His love for the Jewish people and what does this have to do with the five books of Moses?

Rav Sorotzkin answers that the Children of Israel realized that they would have no direct part in the sacrificial service. The function of ritual leadership have been completely centralized and the tribe of the Levites. God was therefore concerned that the children of Israel would become upset. So God assured the Jewish people by alluding to the five books of Moses in order to say that while the ritual function had been centralized, anyone who wished to study Torah and achieve the crown of Torah could do so. 

This teaching has great relevance in our time. Modernity is characterized by the centralization of authority through large scale institutions. This has been true in many modern Jewish movements. However, this centralized and top-down approach while it enjoyed some success until the mid 20th century has been in decline ever since. We, like the Children of Israel in the days of the Mishkan, have become upset over how little role we play in the leadership of our spiritual communities. But here Rav Sorotzkin presents a clear solution. In the absence of a temple the inheritance of Moses’s Five Books remains open for all of us to study and our claims to leadership must be grounded in taking up the chain of its sincere study.

But this claim to leadership comes with a corresponding responsibility. For the firstborn lost their right the priesthood by staying silent in the face of the worship of the Golden Calf. If we are not satisfied with what is going on around us in our community, it is incumbent upon us to learn and teach Torah and then so doing help make the communities we want to be a part of. 

May we merit to find each of our places in the Torah.

Shabbat Shalom!

Benjamin Miller

Naso: We Are All Ambassadors

• … he shall make restitution for his guilt in its principal amount and add its fifth to it, and give it to the one to whom he is indebted. If the man has no kinsman to whom the debt can be returned, the returned debt is for Hashem, for the Kohen…” (Num 5:7-8)

The above verse describes what happens when a lender comes to claim a debt from a borrower and a borrower denies having ever borrowed. The lender is entitled to have the borrower take an oath. If he takes a false oath, he is subsequently liable to pay not only the principal but a fifth as well. However, if the lender was a convert and had no heirs and dies before he can collect from the borrower, then the borrower is liable to pay the principal and fifth to the kohanim.

Rav Sorotzkin points out that typically when a convert without heirs dies, his estate becomes ownerless and whoever claims it first gets it. Why, therefore, in this case is the debt owed to the kohane? Rav Sorotzkin replies that this payment helps repair the damage done to the convert’s soul by the borrower. After all, the convert went through enormous sacrifice to join the Jewish people because they believed the Jewish people was a nation of priests and a holy people and then witnessed a Jew borrow, fail to repay, deny the money was even owed, and then take a false oath to that effect. Surely, this would cause any convert to doubt their initial belief in the righteousness of the people. And yet, the payment shows that notwithstanding that a Jew may not be perfect, there is a path to repent and they take it.

Whenever we behave wrongly, and perhaps particularly when we spread falsehood, it can cause serious damage to the souls of the people who see the falsehood and consequently think less of the Jewish people. Indeed, as I discussed last week, the very life of the oral tradition depends on the trustworthiness of those who live by it. We celebrated Shavuos this past week, acknowledging that revelation is a constant event that depends on our truthfulness to reach people. Rav Sorotzkin’s words remind us that we are all ambassadors on behalf of the Jewish people as a whole in our dealings with others and we owe it to the Jewish people (and indeed the people we deal with) to speak and act truthfully.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Bamidbar: Who Do You Trust

• “The sons of Naphtali, their offspring according to their families…” (Num 1:42)

In this week’s parsha, we have one of the censuses of the Jewish people. In this case, we have all the men 20 years or older of all the tribes that would inherit land (i.e. excluding the tribe of Levi). The Torah goes meticulously through each tribe that was counted beginning in almost every case with the same expression “for the sons of (e.g Simeon, Gad… Asher)…”. Two exceptions are the first (Reuben) and last (Naphtali) tribe counted. For Naphtali, it simply begins by stating “The sons of Naphtali”. 

For some reason, Rav Sorotzkin does not address the first exception, but regarding the second he says that an answer is brought in the name of the Ari (Rabbi Isaac Luria). When all the names to be counted were written down, they were put in a single box (one can imagine it must have been a big box). After the census was completed, each tribal prince took out the names belonging to his tribe. When it came to Naphtali, there were no names from any other tribe left, so the prince from Naphtali didn’t need to select those belonging to him, he just took what was left.

Rav Sorotzkin shares this explanation then adds something fascinating, “If this is a tradition handed down from the supremely holy Ari, we accept it.” In one line, he both seems to express his doubts about the authenticity as a genuine teaching of the Ari (maybe because there’s another exception to the list, a point the Chatam Sofer picks up on), but at the same time displays how he subordinates his own reason in the event that it is a genuine teaching of the Ari. 

In this single line, Rav Sorotzkin beautifully embodies the delicate dance of reason and tradition in Jewish teaching. On the one hand, there may be elements of the text for which we have no satisfying explanation, and indeed for which no satisfying explanation could be obtained simply by engaging with the text. Unlike with natural science, the Torah communicates truth through a singular mode of expressing singular events, which no reader can confirm from themselves. This renders us dependent on oral traditions of explanations whose only greater authority over our own reason could be inheritance from those with a closer connection to events and the trustworthiness and competence of those who received and transmitted the tradition.

On the other hand, our oral tradition is written precisely because of a constant awareness of its fragility. Integral to its vitality is the willingness of its scholars to hold one another to account through reasoned challenges. Especially in our age, when there are so many competing information bubbles on so many issues, we should never lose sight of the question of who we place our trust in and why and how this trust is not anathema to but dependent on good faith challenges.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Behar: Advice on Responding to Economic and Social Decline

• “If your brother becomes impoverished and his means falter in your proximity, you shall strengthen him” (Lev 25:35)

Rav Sorotzkin explains that the language “in your proximity” or literally “with you” means that your means are faltering at the same time. This verse serves as a basis for the Sages recommending that someone whose income is declining should give tzedakah and concluding that even someone whose income is from tzedakah is obligated to give. 

The latter idea is one of those ideas in Torah that provides two starkly different reactions. On the one hand, against those who accuse charity of being a paternalistic and patronizing division between rich and poor, this mitzvah insists that all are equally within the community of tzedakah. (Indeed, it’s worth noting that even today, low income households proportionally give more to charity than higher income households.) This mitzvah, could be understood as a Torah basis for mutual aid networks. On the other hand, to demand of someone who is already in poverty to give away part of their meager income may seem cruel.

It’s worth noting that this discussion of economic decline comes in the midst of this parsha’s broader discussion of shemita (the sabbatical year in which the land becomes ownerless and debts are forgiven) and Yovel (the Jubilee year in which additionally Jewish slaves are set free and most ancestral land returns to families who sold it). Shemita and Yovel both remind us that the land and the wealth that derives from it is not ours, and this is true both for rich landowners and for the poor who had to sell it. Tzedakah is not meant to instill pride but humility that the property was only ours in trust in the first place. 

But the sages’ first idea, if your income decreases (not necessarily that you’re already poor), give tzedakah, also helps us address the second. Times of economic decline are perpetuated by people’s feelings of insecurity and consequent decision to save rather than spend. As I believe I’ve shared before, an economist pointed out to me that the halachic requirement of tzedakah provides an economic cushion to ensure there’s a minimum level of activity (this has a “counter-cyclical” effect). Seen this way, the sages’ recommendation is not just about personal prosperity (the reward for tzedakah is economic) but general prosperity. 

Giving in Canada has been on the decline for decades as has volunteering, this trend may be worsened by more recent trends to greater pessimism about the future. It is imperative we heed the call of the sages and give tzedakah (and I would add volunteer) for our fellows’ hands are surely faltering even if we find it difficult. If we act in a manner consistent with a certainty of a better future, we will merit to see it faster!

Shabbat shalom!

Benjamin Miller

Emor: When Right is Wrong

• “Hashem said to Moses: Say to the Kohanim, the sons of Aaron, and tell them: No one may contaminate himself to a dead person among his people…” (Lev 21:1)

This week’s parsha begins with a command to the kohanim to make sure they don’t come into contact with the dead. The title of this parsha comes from the double expression of “saying” in this opening verse. Rav Sorotzkin says that the Talmud teaches (Yevamos 114) that this double expression teaches that the mature kohanim must teach the immature kohanim to observe this law.

Rav Sorotzkin asks, “why do we learn from this particular mitzvah that the mature kohanim must teach the immature kohanim? After all, adults are enjoined to teach children all the mitzvot.” The answer he offers is that it’s not about adult and children but about educated and uneducated kohane. Because burying the dead is such a great mitzvah that one who even may be needed for it is exempt from other mtizvahs like tefillin and saying the shema, an uneducated kohane could easily conclude that it takes priority over his personal state of purity (which it would only if there was no one else to bury the dead). Consequently, the educated kohane has to specifically teach him that purity takes priority in this case.

This teaches us a more fundamental lesson about the mitzvot. In every moment, there is some particular mitzvah calling to us. One way in which we get distracted from our particular mission is not even necessarily by doing negative things, but by doing other positive things at the wrong place or time. Consider, for example, a father who’s baby is crying for him. Studying Torah is a wonderful thing but at that moment changing the baby’s diaper is the priority. To ignore the baby in order to study Torah would be to shirk one’s duty and turn an otherwise positive action into something inappropriate. 

Now, you may say, doesn’t that example of sticking to “purity” of Torah study over the “dirty work” of changing a diaper sound exactly like what the Torah is telling the kohane to do? By specifically instructing the kohane to do this, it perhaps reinforces that a special commandment is necessary. If a person was not first “educated”, i.e. if they weren’t specifically told this mitzvah in this limited case, they perhaps would not be able to reason to it. 

If we ask in the abstract “what should be done?” we can easily get lost amongst the many competing valid priorities out there. If instead we focus on, “what can only I do in this moment?” Like the kohane, what is it I’m specially called on to carry out, then the field will considerably narrow.

May we always find our calling.

Shabbat shalom!

Benjamin Miller

Kedoshim: What’s Mine is Yours and What’s Yours is Yours

• “When you reap the harvest of your land, do not complete your reaping to the corner of your field and do not take the gleanings of your harvest. Do not pick from the undeveloped twigs of your vineyard and do not gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard, for the poor and the proselyte shall you leave them. I am Hashem. your God (19:9-10)

Rav Sorotzkin comments on this verse that this mitzvah is designed to make it psychologically easier for the wealthy landowner to recognize that the corner of the field is not only an act of benevolent charity on his part towards the poor (and this verse comes even before tax receipts had been invented!), but rather that the corner of the field actually belongs to the poor. How so?

Rav Sorotzkin begins by acknowledging that the wealthy person is apt to start from the position that they deserve their wealth and the poor are only poor because of their own laziness (or we might expand this to “bad life choices”). But Rav Sorotzkin says this is not so as both rich and poor alike may work all day and all night with equal effort and it wouldn’t necessarily guarantee any particular result. Rather, Hashem decides who receives what. If a person has more than they need, therefore, it is a sign from G-d that they are in fact holding the income of the poor in trust, so to speak, on their behalf.

Rav Sorotzkin’s words are fascinating firstly because they invite us to sincerely ask “what do we need?” It may turn out that many things are not necessities but distractions from the essential work of life. Secondly, his words remind us that when we give tzedakah, we are working for those in need, in the same way, for example, a bank works for us when it holds our money. What kind of customer service do you expect from you bank? You should provide no less when giving tzedakah. 

According to CJN, 8.9% of Jews live below the poverty line in Ottawa. After family, halacha generally favours those who live in one’s city. How the city is conceived, however, may mean those one is personally connected to (according to some). The bottom line is that being in a community comes with special responsibilities. Chassidus teaches that this is what is meant by the passage in Pirkei Avos (5:10): “What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is yours, this is a pious person.”

May we always be able to recognize when we hold something on behalf of others!

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Acharei Mot: Remember we Were all Prophets Once

• “And the Lord spoke to Moses after the death of Aaron’s two sons, when they drew near before the Lord, and they died. And Hashem said to Moses…” (Lev 16:1)

According to Rav Sorotzkin, one version of Rashi comments that we do not actually know what G-d said to Moses in the first instance (presumably because the phrase “the Lord spoke to Moses is doubled). Rav Sorotzkin offers that this verse is perhaps reiterating G-d’s warning to the kohanim at Mount Sinai not to approach the Mountain as only Moses could approach. As the encounter point of G-d and the Jewish people had been transported from Mount Sinai to the Mishkan, the same rules applied. What was a cloud on the mountain is now a cloud of incense in the Mishkan. This starts Rav Sorotzkin on a long discussion of the different levels of prophecy that Moses (who could enter the Holy of Holies at all times), Aaron (who could enter only on Yom Kippur), and the Jewish people (who could not enter but saw G-d only through a thick cloud at Mount Sinai) have.

Rav Sorotzkin’s discussion reminds us of something crucial as we count our way through the omer from Pesach to Shevuos. One of the Six daily remembrances is not to forget what we saw at Mount Sinai. One of the things Shevuos reminds us of is that we can all aspire to a certain level of revelation because we have all been there. Indeed, following Rav Sorotzkin’s logic, the site of encounter changed from the Mishkan to the Beis HaMikdash and from the Beis HaMikdash to our prayer.

Rav Sorotzkin helps us to understand something that is perhaps perplexing. Why in the daily prayers dealing with the sacrifices do we read about Yom Kippur? Without a Temple, in our times Divinity is through a very thick cloud indeed. And yet, this is the special merit of the Jewish people that we can see G-d even through the thickest of clouds. Whereas the Kohen Gadol can only technically enter the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur, we can choose to daily repent without needing to be restricted to a particular time or place.

May we all merit to see the constant Revelation through every cloud. 

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Metzora: Change Must Come From Within

• The Kohen shall look, and behold! – the tzaraas has been healed from the metzora. (Lev 14:3)

In this week’s parsha, we continue discussing the laws of tzaraas, the Biblical punishment for gossip. You may recall last week we discussed how a kohen could pronounce someone as having tzaraas even if they themselves were not learned by relying on the advice of an expert. This raises the question, what value does the kohane add?

We see in this week’s parsha that the kohen must go outside the camp to meet the one with tzaraas. The kohen is, in a sense, a foil for the metzora. Indeed, he becomes impure as a result of the metzora though it’s not exactly the same impurity. Just as the kohen can rely on the advice of others but fundamentally do the pronouncing itself, Rav Sorotzkin explains that the expression in the verse quoted above “…from the metzora” means that he must bring the healing about himself.

Indeed Rav Sorotzkin speaks at length about how the sages call gossip even worse than idolatry, adultery, or murder, precisely because it’s so common because people don’t recognize the problem. 

This reminds us of a very fundamental point in Judaism. We have all these elaborate structures, the seder being just one example, that are there to help us grow. But the structures and the Kohanim can only help. The thing that matters at the end of the day is our choice to change. This is especially true for actions that we perhaps deep down know are destructive but can always explain away as “insignificant” each time we do it.

Git Shabbos! 

Benjamin Miller

Tazria: Knowing How to Take Advice

• “The Kohen shall look at the affliction… it is a tzaraas affliction; the Kohen shall look at it and declare him contaminated.” (Lev 13:3)

In this week’s parsha, we learn about the law of tzaraas, the Biblical leprosy that the sages say comes as a spiritual punishment for “lashon hara, bloodshed, vain oaths, illicit relations, arrogance, theft, and envy.” (Arachin 16). Given the spiritual nature of the ailment, the person with the possible affliction must be brought to a kohane who declares him pure or impure. It is only by the declaration of the kohane that the person in fact takes on this status. If a person is brought to a learned scholar who can identify whether a lesion is tzaraas or not, their diagnosis does no good, and yet the diagnosis of an unlearned kohane makes the status official. 

Commenting on the above verse, Rav Sorotzkin asks why the phrase “the kohane shall look at it [the affliction]” twice? He suggests that perhaps, because a kohane could simply rely on the advice on an expert scholar, perhaps such a kohane need not even look at the lesion. After all, what would it add? This repetition comes to teach us that he does, in fact, need to look at the lesion. Rav Sorotzkin supports this point by citing Tractate Shevuos (6) “Unless a Kohen is familiar with them and their names, he cannot look at [i.e., make valid declarations about] the afflictions.” 

This may seem like an odd arrangement, but in fact it should be very familiar to us. Across government, business, community, and in our personal lives, people who are responsible for others are often in the position of making decisions that affect other people’s lives on the advice of experts. While we certainly cannot be experts in everything, we are nonetheless required to have some basic literacy when making a decision and not to “look away” when making it, simply relying on the advice of others. 

This is not only good advice for how to make decisions in our own best interests, but particularly if we are responsible for others, Rav Sorotzkin perhaps teaches us we have a duty to still have a basic understanding of the decisions we are making, particularly when it affects others. How might we apply this in practice? Here are some examples where this principle could apply: 

• When we give tzedakah, doing some basic research into the institutions to which we give.
• When we set someone up, making reasonable investigations into the people involved and whether they would be a suitable match.
• When buying food products without a heksher, making a reasonable investigation into their origins and whether they in fact need a heksher.

And certainly, when someone asks us for our advice about an issue they are dealing with, we must both be humble and not abdicate the responsibility that comes with the fact that they asked us in particular.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Shemini: What’s Tastier Than a Golden Calf?

   

Tzav: The Blessing of Thankless Work

In this week’s parsha, we continue to learn about the service in the Temple. This includes how every morning a priest would come in and clear the ashes that had accumulated from the offerings burning on the altar all night. As Rav Sorotzkin explains, unlike all other jobs on the Temple, this priest did his job in the dark unseen by all the other priests (Lev 6:3-4). In connection with this, Rav Sorotzkin makes a fascinating comment “Blessing is bestowed especially on things that are not exposed to the public eye.” 

Obviously, this comment needs to be taken with a certain circumspection, since public scrutiny also means at least some kind of accountability. But this comment should bear special relevance to us, since, now more than ever, our actions are exposed to the public eye through recording devices and digital means of mass dissemination. What then are we to make of this idea? 

On the one hand, the people who “take out the ashes” in our society often do completely go unseen and this is very much to their and our detriment to the extent that it leads to ingratitude. When it is brought into the spotlight (e.g. think the water crisis in Flint, Michigan) it is often because of serious neglect on some level. On the other hand, when these functions become too politicized or flashy it is often at a higher cost for essentially the same product or worse (think e.g. the nursing staffing agencies through the pandemic). 

Perhaps we can understand Rav Sorotzkin’s point as follows. Every society consists of functions that would be most efficiently done without a lot of fanfare. Consequently, every society depends on people being willing to do work that perhaps is not adequately appreciated. But the way the work was divided in the Temple was according to lottery. Consequently, every priest had to be trained to be as ready to do that work as the most public-facing roles. 

Each of us is a miniature temple. In our own lives, whether it is childcare or elder care, whether it is doing those things in a relationship that perhaps will not get noticed but will make things better for our partner or colleague, we all should be doing work that is “away from the public eye”. Nevertheless, this work should be distributed fairly and not just consistently fall on the same people who are forced to do it every time as this is neither sustainable nor effective in the long-run. 

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Vayikra: Why Don’t we Sacrifice Fish?

•  “Speak to the Children of Israel and say to them: When a man among you brings an offering to Hashem: from animals – from the cattle or from the flock shall you bring your offering.” (Lev 1:2)

We begin the book of Vayikra with the laws of sacrifices. We learn a number of fundamental things from the first law quoted above, most obviously the scope of acceptable animals. Rav Sorotzkin comments, that all categories of creation (from the mineral world, to plants, water, birds, and animals) are represented in the sacrifices except for fish and wild animals*. 

The first reason he gives for why fish are not offered is pretty mind blowing. According to Rav Sorotzkin, “the kabbalists maintain that fish were not actually a part of this creation. They function in this world only as a memento of an earlier world that existed before our own.” Setting aside the awesome potential for some kabbalah-based sci-fi, this raises a simple question “why would the fact that fish are not of this world preclude them from serving as sacrifices?”

The sage Reish Lakish teaches that studying the laws of sacrifices is considered as if he has actually made the sacrifice (Menachos 110a). Typically, Torah study is not enough to consider a mitzvah fulfilled. I have heard some people explain this exceptional statement to show that really sacrifices are a thing of the past. These individuals cite, for example, Maimonides in the Guide for the Perplexed, who says that the sacrifices were intended to wean Jews off of idol worship by imitating the religious practices of the day but departing from them in crucial respects. According to these views, Judaism has “progressed” beyond sacrifices to the more pure form of intellectual worship embodied in prayer. 

How does this help us answer our question? Rav Sorotzkin also quotes the midrash to explain that the animal being sacrificed is a stand in for the person, so perhaps we can understand one of the implications of the kabbalists’ teaching to be that if someone thinks the sacrifices are of a former world and only continue as a remnant of that world, then one cannot be “fit” for sacrifices like the fish. 

As foreign (and perhaps even cruel) as sacrificing an animal may seem to us now, there is no question that its literal implementation has the potential to bring us in direct and brutal confrontation with the cost of our sins as well as the weight our rejoicing carries. In our more modern world, our supposedly more refined ethical sensibilities exist alongside an unimaginable quantity of animal suffering for purposes sometimes no higher than mere gratification (think, hot dog eating contests) from which we are totally divorced. 

If we have truly been brought to a higher form of worship in prayer, we would do well to reflect on the words we pray. Our daily davening includes a repeated call to restore our Temple service “as in former years”, and I personally believe that uttering these words sincerely requires reflecting on what the literal Temple service entails. Personally, I am not vegan, but we should at least be honest with ourselves about the moral weight of eating meat, even kosher meat with a blessing! Just as taking seriously the weight of tefillin has led modern practice to wear it only during prayers, I suspect reflection on meat may entail reducing its consumption for at least some. 

Git Shabbos! 

*doves and pigeons are a bit of an exception to this but he addressed why they’re offered.

Benjamin Miller

Pekudei: Don’t Wait to be Asked

• “Moses saw the entire work, and behold! – they had done it as Hashen had commanded, so had they done! And Moses blessed them.” (Exo 39:43)

Commenting on this verse, Rav Sorotzkin tells the story about how a Rabbi had raised considerable sums for the building of a new building for a charitable institution. At the inaugural dinner, this Rabbi thanked the donor. Rav Sorotzkin was asked to speak and he talked about what a topsy turvy world it was for really the donors should be thanking the Rabbi for the opportunity for such a mitzvah. In truth, both the donor and the Rabbi should be thanking each other and Hashem, for the contribution of each is necessary for the contribution of the others. 

In modern day terms, charities spend quite a bit of time thanking their donors in the hopes that the gratitude will encourage the donors to give more. Donors should also take the time to see “the entire work” and see that it was good and take the time to publicly thank the people who do the work. Indeed, this also happens in many ways through online reviews and testimonials. If there’s an organization that means something to you or someone doing work in the community you believe in (particularly if you have supported it or benefited from it), don’t wait for them to ask you for a testimonial. It will be much more powerful if you take the initiative in making the blessing.

Git Shabbos! 

Benjamin Miller

Vayakhel: Worshipping the Temporary

In this week’s parsha, Moses relays G-d’s commandments to the entire Jewish people first concerning keeping Shabbat and secondly concerning the building of the Mishkan. One of the classic explanations for this ordering is that because the Mishkan could not be built on Shabbat (and indeed the archetypal actions of what is prohibited on Shabbat are those involved in building the Mishkan.). 

Rav Sorotzkin goes further and, in a passage reminiscent of A.J. Herschel’s “The Sabbath” points out that Shabbat is about the sanctification of time, whereas the Mishkan sanctifies spaces (Eco 32:3). The sanctification of time takes priority over the sanctification of space, because a Temple can be destroyed (may it be speedily re built soon!) But the Sabbath cannot. He connects both the Mishkan and the Sabbath to a form of repentance for the sin of the Golden Calf. If we understand the sin as resulting from the desire for a visible god, then the Mishkan offers a kind of concession to this need for attachment whereas Shabbat emphasizes what is beyond. That is, what is most permanent is also most intangible.

What can we take away from this? We should remember how much of the things in our lives are temporary, from jobs and tests at school, to political movements, fashions, and fads. And yet we should understand that the mitzvot are a way to engage with the temporary in a way that honours what is permanent within them. When we see past the shallow interaction to smile genuinely at someone whose soul is an eternal part of the infinite, when we give tzedaka, precisely because we realize our privilege to be able to do so is fleeting, when we rush to a minyan because we know someone will never get another chance to say that particular kaddish, then we have understood why the fragility of the temporary both means we must not worship it but we must see past it to sanctify it.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Ki Sisa: Money is Evil

This week’s parsha begins with a census by collecting a half-shekel by Jewish men over 20. Many commentators, following the view that the Torah is not organized chronologically, explain that this half-shekel census was done specifically as an atonement for the Sin of the Golden Calf which is described later in this parsha (Exo 30:11-13). Midrash Tanhuma explains that G-d took out a coin of fire that He took from beneath his Throne to show Moses what he meant.

Rav Sorotzkin asks the question, “what was Moses so confused by that he needed an illustration of what G-d meant by a shekel?” Rav Sorotzkin answers that: 

“Moses’ difficulty was not with the physical form of the coin, but rather with the concept of money, the root of all evil, providing spiritual atonement. G-d used the coin of fire to show that money, like fire, has a dual nature…. It is man’s choice to use it for good or evil. … If a man abstains from feeding his desires and uses his money for holy, charitable causes, putting the spiritual before the physical, then he achieves “spiritual atonement”.

What is novel in Rav Sorotzkin’s wording is his contrast between “desires” on the one hand and “holy purposes” on the other hand and physicality with spirituality. Are these really opposing concepts? Do we not sometimes desire what is holy? Indeed, arguably, the entire process of a Torah education and character development is towards cultivating the kind of person whose desires are aligned with what is right. As it says in Pirkei Avos “Do His will as though it were your will, so that He will do your will as though it were His” (2:4).

Rav Sorotzkin can contrast these two things because while we should cultivate our desires for what is right more fundamentally we should do what is right because it is right. That is, if we pursue the spiritual because we desire the spiritual, (and not, for example, because we have been commanded to seek out Torah) we are actually engaged in the “physical”. [Now the sages also comment that it’s still worthwhile to do the right thing for the wrong reasons  because we will eventually do it for the right reasons, but we should still know the difference (Pesachim 50b).]

What does any of this have to do with money? The market system assigns value by preference. So the price of a Torah is driven by supply and demand in a similar way to pork and its holiness is only an incidental contributor to the price. Economically, a certain amount of pork will eventually be equal in “value” to Torah, though their spiritual values are obviously fixed and incommensurable. The same gold that could have been used to build the Mishkan was used to make the Golden Calf. This equivocating aspect of money is in itself spiritually problematic (you can see me discussing this in greater detail here).

So next time someone gives you the opportunity to give tzedakah or the cost of an item required for a mitzvah seems “a bit much”, ask yourself “am I asking myself this question from a strictly economic perspective or a Torah perspective?  

Git Shabbos! 

Benjamin Miller

Tetzaveh: Dress for Success

• “You shall make vestments of sanctity for Aaron your brother, for glory and splendor.” (Exo 28:2)

In this week’s parsha, Moses is commanded concerning the making of the priestly garments. Ravo Sorotzkin explains that the garments had a two-fold purpose, the second purpose being an extension of the first. Firstly, the purpose of the garments was to cause people to repent. Secondly, the purpose of the garments was to elicit respect among the people for the priests. The people honoured the priests because of his garments, so they took his teachings seriously, so they came eventually to repent. Rav Sorotzkin explains that were the priest ot be dressed in filthy despicable garments his wisdom would also come to be despised.

As much as we’d like to pretend they don’t matter, shallow aesthetics have an impact on perceptions of leaders. The shulchan Aruch is not crazy for prescribing halacha down to the shoelaces (i.e. not to have red shoelaces), because, as the study linked above shows, people can send strong messages through even shoelaces alone (note even today red shoelaces on black doc martens may indicate someone identifies as a neo-Nazi).

The deeper philosophical insight is that truth doesn’t sell itself. Much of modern philosophy was predicated on the rationality of human beings and the inevitable triumph of truth in a marketplace of ideas. This faith was naive to say the least and dangerous at worst because it fooled people into ignoring the various ways their outlook is shaped by purely irrelevant factors. The world, in its sense of independent existence, by definition starts from a position of obscuring Truth. Although certain Jewish philosophers like Maimonides believed Abraham penetrated into the apparent contradictions in the physical world could lead to an understanding of the Divine, most people never attain perfect reason. 

Abraham is unique in that he physically and spiritually left his father’s home, community, and country.  What’s more, even if one could both spiritually and physically remove oneself from one’s place of origin, Maimonides is clear you cannot reason yourself to the laws of the Temple, including the priestly garments. You cannot reason your way to every mitzvah. The Torah is something that has to be given and with a sound and light show to accompany precisely because of the limits of reason and its susceptibility to extraneous factors. 

Herein lies the ethical lesson. The Jews had to be removed from all societies and taken into the desert to receive the Torah. But that was not the point. The point was to form a society (and not simply an aggregate of individuals) whose laws and customs, such as dress, express to the minutest material detail the message of the Torah. The wisdom of the priest (and we are a nation of priests) must be evident in our dress as in our every action or else indeed our wisdom (which is the Torah) would be worthy of being despised. For what good is a holy book if we cannot see it in action? The Torah is not an academic exercise. 

So let’s all dress for success! 

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Terumah Special Edition: Lessons in Fundraising

It is always a pleasure to share with you the teachings of Rav Zalman Sorotzkin on the weekly Torah portion, but sometimes I take special joy. This week is one of those weeks. For this week’s portion begins with G-d commanding Moses to collect for the Mishkan and Rav Sorotzkin’s considerable experience shines through in his candid and incisive lessons on fundraising and community leadership. Here are just a few of those lessons and their ongoing relevance to us.

It says “let them take me a gift”. Rav Sorotzkin asks shouldn’t it say “give”? The use of the word take alludes to the fact that the problem is not a lack of givers but a lack of takers. There is no shortage of willing donors but there is a lack of effective fundraisers. The lesson for us is that not only should we give to the causes we believe in but we should not be bashful to ask.

G-d says the gift is “for Me”. Rav Sorotzkin explains that not only could the donors have no ulterior motive but also the fundraisers. How did they show this pure motive? They fundraised in a manner even though it may have not resulted in the highest return because G-d did not desire the gifts of those who need to be persuaded by “silver-tongued” fundraisers. 

This is a very hard lesson for nonprofits to learn these days. If they chase every grant and every donor they will almost inevitably compromise who they are. Sometimes fewer donor who are “mission-aligned” lead to bigger impact than bigger donors who are not. 

This is true in our personal lives too. It can be hard to turn down a job with a higher salary, but if, for example, it asks us to work on Shabbos or compromise ourselves in other ways, then we would be better off taking less money because it will go farther.

The gifts must come from those of a willing heart. Rav Sorotzkin goes on a fascinating discussion of why public infrastructure like this would make most sense to be funded by taxes, but G-d insisted that it be built by gifts because the foundation of the Mishkan is not the gold but the generosity. The same could be said of many institutions today that do not benefit from registered charity status. We should be willing to give even if there’s no tax benefit.

Rav Sorotzkin tells a fascinating story about one time that he was fundraising for poor Yeshiva students at a big conference. A journalist asked him why another famous Rabbi of the time, Rav Meir Shapiro, was so successful at raising money for New yeshivas. Shouldn’t he have been fundraising for the existing Yeshiva students? Rav Sorotzkin responded that it is easier to raise money for new yeshivas because donors like to give to buildings but don’t like to support the essence of the work. Here too, G-d raised an excess of capital for the building of the Mishkan and then imposed a tax when it came to raising the money for the daily offerings. 

It is uncanny how relevant this lesson still is.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Mishpatim: The Tragedy of the Five Fold Theft

In this week’s parsha we get many civil and criminal laws, among them, the above quoted law. Why must a thief who steals, slaughters or sells an ox pay five fold? Rav Sorotzkin explains that the ox was not just an ox to its owner but the means by which he worked the field and therefore got bread (the essential), whereas the thief who slaughters or sells the ox clearly indicates by doing so that he was looking to increase his wealth.

Rav Sorotzkin is pointing out the asymmetry between what is gained by the thief and what is lost to the victim (and we might say the world). This reminded me of a very sad phenomenon I recently learned about from a friend of mine who is an HVAC technician apprentice. He explained that it often happens in commercial buildings that HVAC units, and other equipment, are stripped of their copper. The thief, who apparently is most likely to be someone facing a severe substance use issue, may get fifty to a few hundred dollars, but the damage they cause may take $10,000-20,000 to repair or replace.

This tragic situation captures a possible tension in Rav Sorotzkin’s very next comment. In the next verse, Rav Sorotzkin enumerates different levels of theft, the lowest level being a thief who steals food because of hunger, “Although in legal and punitive terms, he is equal to any other thief, the Bible teaches, “Let us not despise  the thief who steals to restore his famished soul” (Mishlei 6:30). The fourth level is the thief who steals and sells (or slaughters) what he steals. Since the sale roots him in his sin, he faces a steeper penalty of four or five fold damages. What of the person who steals something to sell it in order to address an addiction? 

Perhaps we can understand the distinction by addressing the question of how the higher level thief is rooted in his sin economically. By selling stolen goods, he not only brings others into the sin but contributes to an underground economy which further incentivizes his own theft and the theft of others. Someone who makes immediate use out of what they steal does not contribute to this overall structure.

What then is to be done? Surely the solution lies in supporting our fellow before they stumble. Though it no longer occupies headlines as it once did, the opioid crisis is as bad as it has ever been with 22 people a day dying in the first 6 months of 2023. Consider what you can do to help.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Yisro: How Quickly Things Change

• “I have borne you on the wings of eagles.” (Exo 19:4)

In this week’s parsha, the Jewish people receive the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. Commenting on the verse above, Rav Sorotzkin exclaims the wonder of how a nation steeped in an idolatrous culture for a few centuries (and significantly assimilated to it) should turn around so quickly. 

Seen from this perspective, the sin of the Golden Calf shouldn’t surprise anyone. Rather, the ability and willingness of the Jewish people to come back from it should. As historians have sometimes observed, there are long periods in which time appears to move slowly and short periods in which time appears to speed up to breakneck speeds. 

I think this bears a simple lesson for us. It is possible for things to be radically different for the better in no time at all. The idea that the final redemption depends “simply” on the Jews doing teshuvah (Deut 30:1-5) is not poetic exaggeration or mere hortatory rhetoric. It is a recognition of the fact that injustice and evil in this world is an artificial circumstance whose power is therefore ephemeral. 

This is perhaps why the miracle at the Sea was necessary preparation for Sinai. For surely if the actual natural, unchangeable state of the Sea could be changed, then certainly the artificial “natural” state of our social arrangements and spiritual state could be transformed. Perhaps this is what it means “you shall be a kingdom to me of princes…” (Exo 19:6) for princes do not merely passively follow the character of their kingdom, but are actively responsible for setting it.

Let us therefore not lose heart and never delay to do teshuvah or to inspire and help those around us!

Shabbat shalom!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Beshalach: An Untenable Situation

In this week’s parsha, the Jews finally leave Egypt, 210 years after their collective entrance. There are various ways that commentators account for the seeming discrepancy between this period and the 400 years the Jewish people were supposed to be in Egypt. The Rebbe explains that the redemption was hastened because if the Jews had stayed they would have reached such a depth of impurity that they would not have been able to leave. Rav Sorotzkin explains that Pharoah’s decree that they provide their own straw was unbearable and was truly sent by G-d so the Jews would have no option but to leave (Exo 13:18). 

These explanations are two sides of the same coin in some sense. Only once a situation becomes undeniably untenable does necessity itself inspire the virtue to do things radically differently. One step short and this inspiration is not a guarantee. Rav Sorotzkin points out, citing the Mechilta, that the titular verse of this parsha “Pharoah sent out” implies he did so with honour (Exo 13:17). This very honour was the thing that put the Jews on such shaky ground that G-d sent them on a roundabout route to Israel as opposed to a direct one, lest the Jews become afraid and decide to return to Egypt.

We all experience habits, personal, and communal situations in need of deep change sometimes. However, often they are tempered with “Pharoah’s honour”, things that make us think these horrible situations are not yet untenable. This parsha comes to remind us that Pharoah’s honour is a trap. If you or someone you know is struggling with a challenge, don’t wait for the situation to become untenable. It is a mitzvah to support our fellow not only after but before they fall and to do so with haste.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Bo: Getting off a Bad Path

In this week’s parsha, we have the final 3 plagues that finally brought Egypt to its knees. While Pharoah starts to weaken, Pharoah’s servants enter the picture to pressure him to continue. Rav Sorotzkin cites Midrash Tanchuma (Shemos 5) which said that Pharoah was afraid that if he did not take a hardline with the Jews, the Egyptians would depose him. 

You might think that after the Egyptians had suffered so much they might support Pharoah letting the Jews go. The midrash, commenting on the fact that “a new king arose” to persecute the Jews explains that this new king was actually a usurper that had been installed when the previous king refused to do evil to the Jews (Exo 1:8).This Pharoah, therefore, was “elected on a persecution platform”, so to speak. Consequently, it was very difficult for him to depart from it. 

This is what’s referred to by public policy scholar John W. Kingdon as a “path dependency”. Meaning to say, a decision or institutional arrangement is set up earlier that significantly constrains what decision makers can do later on and perhaps encourages certain kinds of behaviour over others. 

These path dependencies are inevitable and can be good or bad, but there is two crucial things to note about them. Path dependency is not destiny. Even if circumstances make certain decisions easier or harder than others, we still always have a choice to make. Once we know about these path dependencies we can make a choice about which path to go down.

The halacha is acutely aware of path dependencies. For example, it warns us to live in area with Torah scholars, mikvahs, kosher food, etc. Even when it comes to where we sit in shul the halacha warns us not to sit next to someone who talks during davening. Our neighbours, our friends, all of these things have an impact on us and make it easier or harder to change in the long-run. We must, therefore, be careful, but always remember that regardless of our circumstances, like Pharoah we do have the power to change, and as the leaving of the Jews bears out, once it happens the change can be radical and immediate.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Vaeira: Pharoah’s Hard Heart

In this week’s parsha we have the famous verse in which God promises to harden Pharaoh’s heart. In fact Rav Sorotzkin comments that Moses actually told Pharaoh that God would harden his heart. This passage of hardening his heart is troubling to many because it suggests that God maybe took away Pharoah’s Free Will and then brought about all these punishments as results. Is that really fair to punish someone who did not have free will? Last year, I suggested that in fact far from taking away his free will by hardening his heart, God gave Pharaoh exactly what he told the masses he already had; namely, the position of a God who could make decisions without needing to be influenced by anything external, in some ways the ultimate free will. Now, Rav Sorotzkin actually points out something very similar in saying that Pharaoh’s hard heart made him resistant to the coercive effects of the plagues and therefore freed him up to make a true choice about whether he wanted to let the Jewish people go or not.

Basically, Pharaoh was like many political leaders then and since who could make decisions without regard for the heavy cost it might have on his people. Now the Torah tells us that the reason God hardened Pharoah’s heart is to increase his signs and wonders so the world would see. The question is what exactly did he want the world to see? If we follow this line of thinking that God was in fact giving Pharaoh free will, then perhaps what he wanted the nations to see was regardless of the circumstances of adversity there is always a choice that could be made. One can always choose to do the just thing or the unjust and the cruel thing regardless of the structures of coercion and so on. Now you might say God in fact taught the exact opposite because Pharaoh’s hardened heart was a supernatural phenomenon. The ordinary king, faced with the various pressures brought on by the plagues in fact, would be significantly constrained and this is the ordinary circumstances of decision making. And this would be right in the sense that obviously people are influenced by their environment, but the hardening of the heart was not a categorical change it was a change of degree. What God’s hardening of Pharaoh’s heart did was to bring out an aspect of agency which may always be there but which became predominant when isolated from outside forces.

Those who would say otherwise perhaps simply don’t want the decision maker to be held responsible. 

This bears an important lesson for each of us today as our situations may become easier or harder in any given mitzvah we may face different pressures of different kinds: economic, social, etc. Fundamentally, however, what Pharaoh teaches us is that we do have a choice in how we respond to those easier difficult circumstances. May we always make the right choice. For instance if it snows this Shabbos will you still come to shul?

Good Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Shemos: Pharaoh’s Pyramid Scheme

In this week’s parsha it says “they oppressed them with crushing labor” (Shemos 1:13). Commenting on this, Rav Sorotzkin explains that pharaoh not only enslaved the Jews in the building of the store cities, but also put the jews to work in the houses of every Egyptian including the poorest, the lepers, and the other members of society considered the lowest. This accomplished two things according to Rav Sorotzkin. The first thing it accomplished was to crush the spirits and pride of the Jews further and the second thing was it was meant to accomplish was to make every Egyptian feel more elevated by virtue of being able to lord themselves over the slave. 

This describes a situation which some scholars on the experience of American slavery have called “racial wages”. In the US South, some white people were, economically speaking, about as oppressed as could be, but nevertheless they could always console themselves with the thought that at least they were not slaves they were free men. This was a way for those who benefited from keeping those individuals poor to discourage them from challenging the status quo. We see a similar logic with pharaoh. As long as everybody feels there’s somebody beneath them they don’t look above themselves and don’t try to change things too much.

Now the halacha warns us against exactly this kind of psychology. We should not be comparing ourselves to other people, raising ourselves up and giving ourselves a sense of pride by virtue of being somehow better than somebody else. This isn’t just a matter of individual pride or individual psychology we see that exactly the psychology is exploited to maintain unjust systems. Rather the sages instruct us to look at the spiritual virtues of others everybody is being a higher than a spiritually and we should strive to attain their level and to be envious of that but on the other hand when it comes to material matters to look at those beneath us and strive to in fact help them.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Vayehi: Serving One’s Master Not for a Reward

In this week’s parsha, Jacob blesses Joseph’s sons Ephraim and Menashe before his death. One of the blessings he gives them is “May the angel who redeems me from all evil bless the lands.” (Gen 48:16) Rav Sorotzkin comments that Jacob gave this blessing to Ephraim and Menashe more than the other tribes because Ephraim and Menashe would suffer more under the Egyptian enslavement than the other tribes. Why would they suffer more? 

Because they were the children of royalty, and what’s more Joseph had served Egypt loyally and augmented its power in a difficult time. Consequently, they were used to being treated much better, so that when they were treated so poorly it caused a level of psychological suffering that far exceeded the other tribes. Why is it that Jacob’s angel in particular was the angel to protect them? Because Jacob too was mistreated by his employer that he had served so faithfully, Laban.

Rav Sorotzkin’s insight reminds me of the following Mishna which I think carries special meaning for our times:

Antigonus leader of Socho, received the tradition from Shimon the Righteous. He used to say: Be not like servants who serve their master for the sake of receiving a reward; instead be like servants who serve their master not for the sake of receiving a reward. And let the awe of Heaven be upon you.  (PA 1:3)

Our times are characterized by two contradictory trends in how we relate to work. On the one hand, people rely on work for a sense of meaning and identity. This of course makes sense given how many years people now spend training for a truly astounding diversity of potential jobs, most of which would be unimaginable to past generations. On the other hand, probably now more than ever employees cannot expect a sense of loyalty from employers as frequent changes are the norm. I’ve heard that the average person in North America will go through 7 career changes in their lifetime. 

On a surface level, Antigonus teaches us that we should do mitzvahs for their own sake and not for some kind of external reward. But perhaps Antigonus is also warning us that if we expect to be rewarded by our employers fairly for our work we may be dangerously disappointed. 

Especially during vacation times, people talk about work-life balance, it’s important to recognize that one way of achieving this is by sanctifying our work is appreciating it in its proper place. We must therefore do our work well and honestly, of course, but we should always maintain a certain sense of detachment, an awareness that there is something above and more important than “our master” in this world. Practically speaking, we can do this by making sure we dedicate time for davening and Torah study before we start work each day.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Vayigash: A Prescription for Motivated Reasoning

In this week’s parsha, Joseph reveals himself to his brothers and sends them back to bring their father, Jacob, to tell him the good news. Joseph warns them “Do not become agitated on the way (back to our father).” (Gen 46:24). What would they get agitated by? Rashi explains, halachic debate.

Rav Sorotzkin explains that now that the brothers realized G-d not only saved Joseph but made him a ruler, they would be prone to re-examine their initial halachic reasoning for sentencing him to death in the first place. Of course, the plain text of the Torah does not explicitly discuss any such reasoning. Indeed, we find in numerous places passages which Rashi interprets as having the explicit purpose of putting one or more of the brothers in a good light (e.g. Reuben getting dudaim which were ownerless rather than stealing from the harvest). Why does the Torah not here set out that notwithstanding the extreme actions the brothers took it was at least in their own minds justified by some principled analysis (e.g.Joseph had testified falsely against them)?

Perhaps the answer is that when people are motivated by underlying resentment, they can engage in all the “principled reason” they want, but it’s not even worth mentioning for it will most likely just serve to justify that initial feeling. In the literature of moral psychology this is called “motivated reasoning”.

This carries important lessons for us today. Two strategies that the Mishna prescribes to get around such problems is to acquire oneself a master/teacher and friend (i.e. to study with). Both are designed to get us out of our heads and make sure our reasoning is subject to external accountability. Of course, these strategies only work if we are careful in choosing teachers and friends. 

Git Shabbos! 

Mikeitz: Living Without Illusions

• “Pharoah was dreaming that behold! He was standing over the river.” (Gen 41:1)

In this week’s parsha, Joseph interprets Pharoah’s dream and is appointed viceroy over all Egypt. Rav Sorotzkin comments:

“ It does not say that “Pharoah dreamt,” but that he “was dreaming,” the continuous form. All Pharoah’s life was one long dream, an illusion that he was an unrivaled god. He imagined that even the River, his god, and the source of survival for Pharoah and his kingdom, he himself had created for his own benefit.” 

Rav Sorotzkin goes on to explain that the result of this was that his own personal needs came ahead of the nations so all of his advisors interpreted his dream in terms of what would happen to him personally (e.g. giving birth to and burying seven daughters). Only an outsider like Joseph could dare interpret in terms of the fate of the nation as a whole. 

Pharoah exemplifies the extreme end of a spectrum that holds true of many kinds of political, communal, and other kinds of leaders. Namely, when people assume positions of authority (whether they are born into them or must work to assume those positions), there is a risk that their personal interests will be put ahead of those their position is intended to serve. 

In the worst case, such leaders may come to confuse their interests with the interests of those they are there to serve. In this context, one’s “god”, that which one is apparently or actually dependent upon for one’s position, whether it is one’s stated principles, a movement, a god, or indeed even Hashem, becomes just a cynical tool to maintain one’s position.

The most miraculous aspect of this story though is that Joseph’s explanation, as Rav Sorotzkin explains, woke Pharoah up, and he both acknowledged a Higher Power and became interested in the welfare of his nation (Gen 41:39-40). How did Joseph do this? How can we wake up from our illusions and serve those who need us? Joseph said what all the necromancers and astrologers wouldn’t. He said “this is not about you, Pharoah, but it has been entrusted to you.” Joseph ultimately included in his interpretation what Pharoah was to do about it, perhaps indicating that the correct interpretation of events includes with it also a prescription of action. 

I work with nonprofits big and small and I can tell you that when we make things about ourselves, we are consumed in bitter disputes. When we take every offensive thing online personally, we are paralyzed and distracted from the “imminent famine” in front of us, which are the people around us who are starving, sometimes literally, for connection and for support, and for other essentials of life. 

So to quote the kabbalat Shabbat service “Wake up! Wake up!”

Git Shabbos!

Vayeishev: Love That Lasts

In this week’s parsha we have the story of how Joseph’s brothers sold him as a slave to Egypt. Rav Sorotzkin asks why this story is juxtaposed to the list of Esau’s descendants at the end of last week’s parsha. He answers that it comes to show us that the wicked people of Edom were able to establish 8 generations of kings before the Jews were able to establish even one because the Jews were not unified. It was necessary to go through the crucible of Egypt unfortunately to be forged into one. 

This is of course deeply regrettable. As the Mishna teaches, any love that is for a reason, when that reason ceases so too does the love. If unity were merely the result of common suffering we would expect to disappear in good times, which indeed such unity often does. But there is a deeper message, I think, in Rav Sorotzkin’s words. Because just as love based on a particular reason is temporary so too is hate, and we know that the hatred Joseph’s brothers had for him, as inexcusable as it was, had discrete reasons behind it (i.e. Jacob’s favouritism, his presumptuous dreams of rulership). 

Indeed, it’s interesting to note that the example that the Mishna gives of an everlasting love not dependent on a reason is the love of David and Jonathan for Jonathan was willing to set aside his own claim to the throne for David. This is paralleled in this week’s parsha as Reuben, the firstborn entitled to the firstborn rights saves Joseph from the other brothers knowing full well Joseph’s claim to rulership was a most direct threat to him. This is the underlying love and unity of the Jewish people that unfortunately too often gets obscured.

What does this practically meanfor us? If we find ourselves giving tzedaka or volunteering on an ad hoc basis, consider how we could make this more permanent (e.g.monthly gifts, joining a board). If our Torah study with others is irregular, we can make it a fixed practice. Indeed there is no reason to wait for dark times to bring light!

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Vayishlach: Rescue me from the Hand of My Brother

In this week’s parsha, Jacob prepares to meet Esau, his brother who intended to kill him, after decades of separation. Jacob is very afraid and Rashi tells us he prepares for war, prayer, and appeasement (Gen 32:9). Jacob’s prayer is fascinating:

• “Rescue me, please, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau.” (Gen 32:12)

Rav Sorotzkin explains that this prayer is not only for Jacob but for his descendants who would be attacked by the descendants of Esau (the Roman Empire and its spiritual descendants) in the same way Jacob was. He continues:

Esau uses two means of attack: first, excessive closeness to the Jewish people, bringing them spiritual death with the fatal “kiss” of assimilation; and second, outright murder, with pogroms and violence, destroying the Jews physically. So Jacob prayed that his children would be delivered from “Jacob’s brother,” on the one hand, and from “Esau,” on the other. Since he mentioned the brotherly approach first, we can assume that it is the more dangerous of the two. (emphasis added)

It should not be lost on us how incredible it is that Rav Sorotzkin who lived through the Holocaust and afterwards wrote this commentary would still learn from Jacob that assimilation is more dangerous than outright destruction. How could this be? This is further perplexing given that Rav Sorotzkin himself points out that Jacob prepared for war before prayer. Is this consistent?

We can answer the first question by addressing the second. Rav  Sorotzkin explains Jacob’s choice to begin to prepare for war before prayer as reflecting the fact that Jacob was “very afraid” (Gen 32:8) and so couldn’t concentrate on his prayers. The act of preparing for war calmed him. Furthermore, Rav Sorotzkin explains that even after all these preparations, the “angel of Esau” who came to wrestle with him all night showed that he could neither rely on his wealth nor his strength to confront Esau (Gen 32:25).

Assimilation begins by lulling a people into a false sense of security so that when signs emerge that it may face various kinds of destruction it does not even become frightened, much less “very frightened”. Indeed, even if one could recognize the signs, from an assimilated perspective one does not even appreciate what might be lost or see how it is anything to be concerned about. And then, finally, even if the person recognizes the challenge, they are incapable of responding in a distinctly Jewish way for lack of knowledge and sensitivity. So, for example, Jacob departed from the standard practice and decided to attack during the day rather than the night to avoid unjust killing (Gen 32:14), or the tools of Esau (wealth and strength) ultimately came to nothing. 

Practically speaking, what can we learn from this? Jacob teaches in the short-term it is necessary to use a wide variety of tools to meet acute challenges. But in the long-term, responding to any Jewish challenge must always be accompanied by investment in Jewish education. 

May we merit to see an end to all challenges soon.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Vayeitzei: Will Struggles Never Cease?

“But now, you have gone away, for you longed for your father’s house, [but]why have you stolen my gods?” (Gen 31:30)

In this week’s parsha, Jacob works 20 oppressive years for Laban, marries Leah and Rachel and their maidservants, has many children, before finally being commanded to return to Israel. A furious Laban pursues Jacob as a thief (although he has done nothing wrong to Laban) with the intention of killing him. When he catches him he makes a list of complaints, explains that Jacob’s G-d has told Laban not to harm Jacob, and then finally asks Jacob why he stole Laban’s idols. 

Rav Sorotzkin is troubled by the order of Laban’s words. Shouldn’t another claim of theft go in the list of complaints rather than after the conclusion that Laban will not harm him? Rav Sorotzkin explains that this order can be explained in terms of the ancient understanding of polytheism, that every people has its own gods and these gods war when they war and the victor’s god defeats the loser’s god. Laban is underscoring that it was not a fair fight because Laban couldn’t even appeal to his god. 

It is vital for every Jew today to understand this aspect of idolatry for as Max Weber said in his lecture, Science as Vocation, concerning the modern condition:

We live as did the ancients when their world was not yet disenchanted of its gods and demons, only we live in a different sense. As Hellenic man at times sacrificed to Aphrodite and at other times to Apollo, and, above all, as everybody sacrificed to the gods of his city, so do we still nowadays, only the bearing of man has been disenchanted and denuded of its mystical but inwardly genuine plasticity.

In Weber’s time the gods were things like nation, economics, or a scientific theory of history. These and other more popular and recent gods predominate. But his essential point is that when the world is viewed purely empirically, we have nothing to decide between these gods but conflict (i.e. there is no final arbiter). From Laban’s perspective, even G-d coming to him and literally telling him what to do was not decisive of anything, but merely reflected a moment in the battle in which he presumed Jacob had gained the upper hand. 

As Jews, our basic commitment is to the existence of a Final Arbiter, an overarching standard of Truth that expresses itself out of the multiplicity of life. This is why, for example, it’s so important to sanctify the division of day and night in our morning and evening prayers, because though they may seem opposed they are part of one process. This is perhaps why for example, we don’t start the grace after meals with a blessing of the one we have most directly to be grateful towards (e.g. the hosts), but make our way from the Ultimate Provider to the land, eventually to the hosts. 

If we simply understand Judaism as one aspect of who we are, as opposed to an organizing principle identical with our very selves, then we have demoted G-d to simply another in the fray. And unfortunately, there is no rational basis for expecting any end to this inner or outer turmoil.

May the peace of Shabbos permeate our week! 

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Shabbat shalom

Toldos: What’s in a Name

As we had the distinct pleasure of naming our baby this week (our son’s name is Hatzkel Dovid ben Baruch Yosef v Tamar Miriam), I thought I’d reflect on the following line of this week’s parsha, “When Esau was forty years old, he took to wife Judith daughter of Be’eri the Hittite.” (Gen 26:34) Rav Sorotzkin comments “Apparently, not every “Yehudis” is actually a jewess. A name does not always accurately describe its holder.”

I believe Rabbi Sorotzkin is reminding us that it’s not enough just to say we are something or claim to believe something. For those names to be accurate, we must act in line with them. Indeed, being Jewish is not a mere passive fact, Jewish individuals and communities that do not actively grow through bringing people together for simchas, learning, mitzvahs, acts of kindness, and justice inevitably atrophy and fall apart. 

Esau is in some way the paradigm case of one who did not live up to his name. As it’s been explained to me, the reason Isaac favoured Esau is not because he was blind to his flaws, but because he felt that if someone which such faults could overcome them then surely they would establish the strongest foundation for the Jewish people. But this hope was shattered when Esau became “married” to this gap between his potential and current spiritual level, that it caused bitterness to his parents (Gen 26:35).

What then is the solution? Isaac’s hope teaches us that we can all acknowledge that these gaps between who we currently are and who we ought to be exist, they may even exist for 40 years, but we still have a choice whether to be married to them or not. Once we do get married, it’s of course still possible to divorce but obviously it’s more complicated. To put this in modern psychological terms, it’s important to have an open concept of oneself as long as one feels a cognitive dissonance between what one is doing and who one ought to be.

How can we do this practically? Do not be afraid to do teshuvah no matter how many times you need to do it. As individuals and as communities we need to constantly strive for more and nothing quite accomplishes this like a circumcision of the heart.

Benjamin Miller

Chayei Sarah: Personal and Communal Rejoicing

“Abraham came to eulogize Sarah and to bewail her” (Gen 23:3)

Rav Sorotzkin commenting on this verse cites the Talmud (Moed Katan 27) which says “Three days of mourning are for weeping and seven for eulogy.”. Rav Sorotzkin explains that in the first three days people cry out of a natural reaction and personal pain. But after this one must take stock of the loss that has occurred in a public eulogy and consider the full loss to the community and world. In the case of Sarah, her contribution was so great as a prophet, as one who brought people closer to G-d, as one who did the bulk of the work of hosting guests, and the one who birthed and educated Isaac. Consequently, Abraham was compelled to first eulogize her and only after cry privately. 

Now, if this is true of mourning, how much more so of celebration! Our little boy was born on the 21st of Cheshvan (Sunday November 5th) at 10:42 am at 7 lbs 9 ounces. We have been rejoicing ever since for our personal blessings, but now it is time to take stock for the community! 

Our baby, like his ancestors, Abraham and Sarah, has merited to bring out kindness and devotion in so many around us. We are humbled and grateful for such a loving family and wider community. Now, we always knew how fortunate we are to have the Jewish community, but a baby has a way of raising the stakes. Every life is precious and I am so looking forward to our wonderful community being a part of our child’s life.

There is a teaching that one must pray for others first, and I wish no less for anyone else. So may we all merit to be surrounded by love, kindness, and good examples, and may we all spread light in this world.  

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Vayeira: How Do We Change?

In this week’s parsha we read the famous story of the destruction of Sodom and Amorah. An angel is sent to destroy Sodom and another angel is sent to get Lot and his family out of Sodom before it is destroyed. The rescuer says to Lot:

“Whom else do you have here – a son-in-law, your sons, or your daughters? All that you have in the city remove from the place…” (Gen 19:12)

The order appears peculiar. Why should the son-in-law come first? Even if we were to say that the list simply favours the males, then we would still expect the sons to come first. The verse places the emphasis on the son-in-law. Why?

When Lot goes to speak to his son-in-law and the betrothed of his daughters, to tell them Sodom would be destroyed, it says “…he seemed like a jester in the eyes of his sons-in-law.” (Gen 19:14). Rav Sorotzkin comments that Sodom had responded to the prophecy of doom with contemptuous partying: 

“Showing him the festivities, they said, “What a great food you are! Here are harps and lyres and merrymaking in the city, and you say Sodom shall be overturned?” (Midrash HaGadol). 

Here we have fools who do not believe prophecy because they believe celebration somehow precludes destruction. But we also find the opposite in the Torah.

“Then Miriam the prophet, Aaron’s sister, picked up a hand-drum, and all the women went out after her in dance with hand-drums.” (Exo 15:20)

As Rashi explains, the women brought instruments because they fundamentally believed that notwithstanding the destruction they witnessed, there would be a future redemption for the Jewish people. This is explicitly connected to Miriam’s status as a prophet. 

The lesson we take from both episodes is not to get trapped in the limitations of the moment, believing that whatever the tone of the moment is will simply continue inevitably. The exact opposite is true. Indeed, had the people of Sodom repented, destruction could have been avoided, whereas if the Jews had stayed a moment longer in Egypt they would not have been saved. 

How can we ensure that we are capable of changing when we need to? As Rav Sorotzkin explains it, Lot was only inspired to change by the presence of guests. That is, it’s not by staying stuck in our own head or our own bubble, that we change. Rather it’s by helping others that we expose ourselves to the opportunity to be better.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Lech Lecha: The Resident and the Alien

“… a deep sleep fell upon Abram… And he said to Abram, “Know with certainty that your offspring shall be aliens in a land not their own…” (Gen 15: 12-13)

Rav Sorotzkin suggests that just as Adam was put to sleep so he didn’t feel the pain of having his rib removed to make Eve, so too here Abram was put into a deep sleep so he wouldn’t feel the pain of hearing these words. For Rav Sorotzkin, these words hint not just at the temporary exile of Egypt but of the seemingly endless exile that is being called by the nations an alien everywhere, even in our own land. To support this, Rav Sorotzkin points to Abraham’s statement to the sons of Heth when negotiating for a burial place for Sarah, “I am an alien and a resident among you,” (Gen 23:4).

The bitterness in Rav Sorotzkin’s words is palpable, and yet as the Mitteler Rebbe taught, when the curses are read with the tenderness of a father, then the blessings beneath are revealed. 

In a sense, G-d commands us to be both aliens and residents wherever we are. When we get too comfortable, either in exile or at home, we are liable to grow lax and even cruel (Deut 32:15). On the other hand, it is with “alien things” that we are enticed away and we forget our home (Deut 32:16). So we are commanded to make a home in the most alien of places. This is reflected in the pragmatism of the halacha. For example, Rambam teaches that if you have a choice to purchase chattel or land, purchase land. Furthermore, it is reflected in the essence of the kabbalistic account of creation. As the Alter Rebbe taught, we are commanded to make this very alien physical world a dwelling place for the spiritual.

When we are feeling most unsettled, most alienated, from those around us, from ourselves, from any sense of what to do, the next line is instructive “afterwards they shall leave with great possessions…”. In what merit were the Jews redeemed from Egypt? In the merit of the women. And what was their great merit? That they fundamentally believed in a future beyond the oppression of the moment and were prepared to act on that through bearing children. This was G-d’s great blessing to Abraham, to allow him to see the moment in its fullest context. 

Whether we feel angry in a moment towards our children, a family member, or friend, whether there is dispute on a communal level, or indeed war on a national scale, that shocks us into realizing how precarious our relationship is, how tenuous our place is in this world, how fundamentally alien we are, it is by acting consistently with a full trust in that future redemption that we return to ourselves. 

I write these words expecting a child any day. All I can do in these times of grief is to share with you my joy. For every child (and indeed every human being) is a world unto themselves and presents the possibility of a radically new and better world. May we each work to make this world a better place for children.
Shabbat shalom!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Noach: Actions Speak Louder than Words

The downward spiral of violence and self-destruction begun in last week’s Torah portion continues. In this week’s parsha, G-d floods the world because of its corruption, destroying almost all life on land. Rav Zalman Sortzkin asks why G-d chose an ark as the source of salvation. 

Rashi tells us that Noah built it for 120 years and when people asked him what he was doing he would explain that G-d was planning to destroy the world due to wickedness and they should repent. No one repented. This forces Rav Sorotzkin to ask a further question: were G-d’s efforts in vain? No, he says, because:

“In lieu of the violence which had filled the earth, the kindness of Noah and his sons filled the Ark, as day and night they fed all the animals out of their own store. So a “new world” was built upon kindness, just as the old had been. … a new world emerged, far better than that which had preceded it.” 

We live in times where people feel the threat of destruction, personally, nationally, ecologically, acutely. Rashi and Rav Sorotzkin’s explanation of the Ark as an agent of change I feel holds many lessons for us all.

Firstly, it teaches us a lesson about the time scale of change. G-d did not expect the world to change from a place of violence to a place of kindness overnight. He allocated 120 years. On the other hand, let us compare Noah to the Torah’s other seafaring prophet, Jonah. In the story of Jonah, he is sent to the sinful city of Nineveh facing destruction in another 40 days (paralleling the flood of 40 days) (Jon 3:4). They in fact did repent rapidly and were saved. We learn both that anyone committed to building a better world must have the patience and commitment to be involved in the long-run, and that there come about special moments in which whole societies are susceptible to rapid change. 

[This, of course, begs the question, if Jonah was so successful by being sent, why did G-d not send Noah anywhere? The answer perhaps is that where do you go when the whole world is corrupt? Nineveh could collectively repent, because there was a centralized government responsive to the people capable of instituting a public fast (Jon 3:6). Whereas Noah’s world was fundamentally divided, and in fact, we see the generation of the Tower of Babel compensating for exactly this flaw.]

What is striking about G-d instruction to Noah instead in both the construction of the Ark and the kindness within the Ark is that the Torah puts the emphasis on individual transformation. Noah did not draft a constitution nor did he disseminate his ethical teachings over the internet. It is ultimately through each animal’s individual experience of a human’s kindness that the foundation for a new world is laid. Indeed, the contrast between Noah and Abraham is striking in this regard. For whereas Rashi tells us that Noah offered words and was unsuccessful in persuading anyone, we are told that Abraham fed people and was very successful (Gen 12:5, 18:2). 

If we want a kinder world, we must do acts of kindness. Our ancestors teach us that by meeting the needs of those who are deprived we teach a much more fundamental lesson than words can.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Bereishis

This week, we read again parsha Bereishis, a portion on creation and humanity’s foolish self-destruction and violence. The parsha ends with what Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (obm) calls one of the most bitter lines in all religious literature, “And the Lord regretted that He had made man upon the earth, and He became grieved in His heart.” (Gen 6:6). 

There is one moment in this cycle of tragic decline and violence that I would like to reflect on.

“Now the man had known his wife Chava (Eve), and she conceived and bore Cayin (Cain), saying, “I have acquired a man with Hashem.” And additionally she bore his brother Hevel (Abel).” (Gen 4:2)

Rabbi Zalman Sorotzkin comments on this verse that when Cayin was born Chava still thought the curse of mortality may only have applied to her and Adam and that Cayin would be born unique, but when Hevel was born she understood that human beings were to be mortal. Chava then decided that she had borne “Hevel”, a breath that passes. 

What was Chava feeling as she cradled her baby? Perhaps sadness. The name proved prophetic in the most horrific way possible. Her precious child was murdered by her other precious child. Perhaps she felt a sense of responsibility or guilt. After all, it was the parents who had introduced this mortality into the world. Sometimes, despite our best efforts, we leave a broken world to our children. On the other hand, perhaps it was simply with clarity. Chava blessed her child with the understanding that a human’s short life, a passing breath, leaves no time except for what’s important. Clearly Hevel did offer his best to G-d (Gen 4:4). And through her pain, perhaps Hevel’s name was even pronounced with joy. Chava understood that it was out of, and not despite, the fragility and vulnerability of human life, that so much of life’s beauty grows. It is this fragility that gives meaning to the preciousness of every act of kindness and the necessity for every act of justice.

No one needs to hear from me that this past week has been extraordinarily painful. But perhaps many of us could use a reminder that in our social media-plagued times, the week has also been full of useless distractions that do nothing but deepen anger and grief. Precisely in times when we are bitterly reminded that life is a passing breath, we must redouble our efforts to focus our time and energy (“the firstlings of our flock”) on those things which are most important in life, Torah, tefillah, and tzedakah. There is no shortage of opportunities to help those in need. May we have the strength not to pass over those opportunities. 

Git Shabbos.

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Bereishis/Simchas Torah/Succos: All Trees Bear Fruit

Note to reader: Two birthdays ago, I was gifted Oznaim laTorah, the Torah commentary of Rabbi Zalman Sorotzkin (188-1966). Rabbi Sorotzkin was the Rav of Lutsk and the head of the Vaad haYeshivos (council of Yeshivas). For this coming Torah cycle, I will respond to his commentary in my divrei Torah. I am doing this not because I particularly agree with everything he says, but because his commentary is so clearly addressed to the communal problems of his day, and because I think there is value in studying in dialogue with a single viewpoint you might not regularly hear from.

–

Shemini Atzeret is on the eighth day of Sukkot, but it is also an independent holiday. It’s a bit half in/half out, depending on which sources you look at, and as reflected in various customs, such as whether or not people eat on the sukkah on Shemini Atzeret. Shemini Atzeret is combined with the holiday of Simchas Torah, in which we celebrate restarting the cycle of Torah readings by dancing with Torahs. 

Perhaps the linking of these three events is alluded to in the verse:

“Let the earth sprout vegetation: herbage yielding seed, and trees yielding fruit (“Eitz pri”) each after its kind…” (Gen 1:12)

Rabbi Zalman Sorotzkin, the Rav of Lutsk in pre-War Poland quotes Ramban who asks “why did the Torah not mention shade trees as well?” Ramban answers “at first all trees bore fruit. Fruitless trees came into being only when the earth was cursed.” He cites as support of Ramban’s view that Onkelos translates the G-d’s curse on the earth that it will bear “Dardar” which Ralbag equates with the atad, which the gemarrah in Sotah (13a) says “has no threshing floor” (i.e. humans do not harvest anything from it). On the other hand, Rabbi Sorotzkin says, the term “fruit trees” may include even not apparently fruit bearing trees, for as the Talmud Yerushalmi says, even the growth of wood is a “fruit” in the sense that it is useful (Shevi’is 1:1). 

What we might add to this discussion is that Rambam takes the view that Adam and Eve had not eaten a particular fruit, but rather, they had introduced the subjective concepts of good and evil into the world by preferring one fruit over another (Guide for the Perplexed 1:2 commenting on Gen 3:6). By inserting their own personal preferences to the world they made a distinction between one tree being “fruit bearing” and another not (i.e. they couldn’t see its usefulness). In reality, all trees are fruit bearing, and only once we have overcome Adam’s sin (i.e. in messianic times) will we again be able to relate to nature in a way that fully sees the fruit of all things.  

Succos, which is a holiday of exile, is also a holiday of the beautiful fruit (“pri etz hadar”), the etrog. This focus on beauty seems to reinforce the sin of Adam, perhaps to teach us the very lesson of exile is certain mitzvahs are only possible after spiritual descents and from our limited vantage point.

In our own times, if we can’t understand the point in something or someone, we are apt to be wasteful and destructive of the world. Rather, we must understand that everyone was created to bear their special fruit and we curse the world when we fail to see that potential. This is particularly important in the context of Jewish community. We must each appreciate that we have fruit to bear and our communal institutions must find as many ways as possible to provide people the outlets they need to fully express their true contribution to the world.

Git Shabbos and chag sameach!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Sukkos: Life is Short

It is customary to read the Book of Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) on Sukkot. Along with Song of Songs, this book is probably the most surprising inclusion in the Tanakh. On the surface, it basically reads like a series of philosophical musings on the futility of the word, captured in the first line “Vanity of vanities. All is vanity.” Although the book ends with the line “The end of the matter, everything having been heard, fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the entire man.” And while this is of course a pretty central message, we can find it in many places in Torah, so its inclusion hardly justifies the inclusion of an otherwise seemingly secular nihilistic rant.
Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz (obm) wrote that the question in fact answers itself. That is, it is precisely because the Men of the Great Assembly chose to include Kohelet in the Tanakh that the book’s nihilism is situated in its proper context. As is written “I am G-d and there is no other” (Isa 45:5). Kohelet is a sustained contemplation of the nothingness of the other. As Rabbi Steinsaltz points out, Kohelet’s musings are restricted to what is “under the sun”, that is the emptiness of a purely material outlook. What then is the connection with Sukkot? 

Kohelet focuses on the temporariness of life and the inevitability of death in order to emphasize the futility of material existence. On Sukkot, we are also reminded of the temporariness and fragility of life through dwelling in a temporary structure. The irony, however, is that whereas Kohelet derives from this temporariness the vanity of life, the halacha says the temporary structure of the sukkah actually creates a holy space within. Consequently, we cannot do things that dishonour this holy space. There are different opinions about what this means in practice, but it includes for example, not bringing in undistinguished vessels or leaving dirty dishes in the sukkah (Kitzur Shulchan Aruch 135:2).  

How can we derive seemingly opposite conclusions from the same fact of life? Rabbi Steinsaltz points to a passage in the Mishna, “Better one hour of repentance and good deeds in this world and the entire life of the world to come” (PA 4:22). It’s precisely the scarcity of time and our unique ability to elevate this world that makes it so precious, but this world and the next must nevertheless bear some relation to each other for this to be accomplished. Ultimately, the sukkah is supposed to remind us of our Exodus from Egypt. If life were just cycles, then Kohelet would be right. We are reminded that we are headed somewhere. 

It’s written in the shulchan aruch that the mitzvah of dwelling in the sukkah means that if one wants to have a conversation with one’s friend, one should do so in the sukkah (135:1). Perhaps the lesson this halacha is trying to teach is that when we engage in friendly talk we must do so conscious of how scarce and sacred time is. This is especially important on Shabbos throughout the year when one may feel one has more time.

Git Shabbos and Chag sameach! 

Benjamin Miller

Ha’Azinu: The Idolatry of Novelty

“They sacrificed to demons, which have no power, deities they did not know, new things that only recently came, which your forefathers did not fear.” (Deut 32:17)

The highlighted part of this verse from this week’s parsha has always captivated me. Rashi explains it as follows: 

[These deities were so recent, that] even the heathen nations were not familiar with them. Indeed, if a heathen saw them, he would say, “This is a Jewish idol!” (Sifrei)

The verse warns us against chasing trends. The verse warns us against forsaking our heritage in the hope that some new untested thing will come along and offer salvation. 

I believe this verse has special relevance as we approach Yom Kippur. We may be tempted into long, complicated, and subtle analyses of this profound day of atonement. Complex spiritual formulas and prayers that will access ever loftier heights of spiritual development. We could study the machzor for months on end and still not feel prepared. The truth is, the whole day comes down to three words “teshuvah, tefillah and tzedakah.” Often translated as repentance, prayer, and charity. 

While I hope we all did an amazing job this year, speaking for myself, there’s a good chance that what we have to atone for this year isn’t too different from last year. We know what we need to do, we just need to figure out why it hasn’t already happened.

While there is a veritable buffet of prayers, sophistication matters far less than sincerity as we stand or sit in awe before the King. If novel interpretation was the aim of the day, we would not summarize the prayers in a simple shofar blast. So let’s focus on listening to that simple sound that underlies all the complex poetry.

Finally, we come to tzedakah. We could constantly look for new causes to give to, but there’s a good chance that the causes that needed our help last year, need our help this year. It’s important to remember that reliability in giving is a value unto itself even beyond amounts.

So let’s do ourselves and the world a favour and not overcomplicate this Yom Kippur. If we can do the above three basic things, we’ll be alright.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

There is Nothing Bad About Babies: A Special Rosh Hashana Message

This Shabbos is Rosh Hashana and on this yom hazikaron (“day of remembrance”), we will be reading in our Torah portion how G-d remembered Sarah who gave birth to Isaac, and, in our haftorah, how G-d remembered Chanah who gave birth to Samuel. This focus on birth is of course not accidental. Rosh Hashana, among other things, celebrates the first “birth”, the creation of Adam and Eve. Although we celebrate Rosh Hashana as the coronation of G-d as king (and the time for the coronation of Jewish kings in general), there is an underlying and prior relationship we are celebrating too, a kind of “Mother’s/Father’s” Day. The prayer “Avinu Malkeinu” (“Our Father Our King”) is precise in that it identifies the parental relationship as first. 

For those who don’t know, my wife Tamar and I are expecting a baby soon (pu pu pu), and even expecting a baby has taught me many lessons. My mother recently told me “There is nothing bad about babies. Nothing.“ It’s not, as is perhaps commonly thought and complained about, that there are good things and bad things but the good things outweigh the bad things. No. There is nothing bad about babies.

It strikes me that there is a great secret of creation in my mother’s wisdom. For the medieval Jewish philosopher, Nissim ben Reuben Gerondi, known as the RaN, says that to know a thing’s true essence is to see it from the perspective of its Creator (Derashos haRaN ch.1). While of course we cannot know the mind of G-d, I cannot help but assume that G-d agrees with my mother that the true essence of all His babies is only good. And though, G-d forbid, we may cause G-d some “sleepless nights”, so to speak, with our mistakes, nevertheless, G-d prays, as do we, that ultimately His attribute of mercy will reign (Brekhot 7a). 

What can we learn from all this? Firstly, it seems to me that it is only by seeing the unfathomable good in each child (a world unto themselves) that we can properly educate and therefore bring out that good so it can shine most fully. Secondly, truly, we are all babies in the eyes of G-d, and we never lose this essential goodness. Consequently, we must treat each other and ourselves with the same kindness and respect that flows from an understanding that we are always learning so as to bring out that goodness in ever increasing intensity. 

Finally, the sages derive the sound of a shofar from the cry of a mother (the mother of a great enemy of the Jews) (Rosh Hashana 33b). Perhaps the wailing we are meant to hear is not our own (consumed as we are by personal problems), but rather G-d’s wailing over the destruction of Her children. If we only knew the pain every lost soul caused on high, then we would sure do teshuvah. For although Cain responded to G-d “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Gen 4:9), there is still a worse answer–the silence that comes from failing to hear the question.  

Let us therefore remember not only to seek forgiveness from those we’ve actively wronged, but all those who we have collectively failed to hold up so their essential goodness could shine forth. Now is an especially auspicious time to give tzedakah for the poor and to include people in our lives who maybe we haven’t this past year.

Benjamin Miller

Nitzavim-Vayelech: This Thing is Very Close To You

This week’s parsha is in a way a repetition of the giving of the Torah at Sinai. Again Moses assembles the entire people and the Jewish people enter a covenant with those who stand here today and future generations. But in contrast to the giving of the Torah at Sinai, there is a greater focus on how the Jews receive the Torah. Moses states: 

Rather, [this] thing is very close to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you can fulfill it. (Deut 30:14)

Rashi explains the above verse as follows, “The Torah was given to you in writing and [accompanied by an] oral [explanation].” 

The Lubavitcher Rebbe commenting on parsha vaEschanan cites a midrash that at Mount Sinai there was no echo (Likkutei Sichos vol. 4). Why? Because the Jews absorbed the words. The Torah is not simply a text, it is a way of life that can only be embodied in living. Our hearts are the parchment on which the words are truly meant to be inscribed. This is alluded to in the next verse “Behold, I have set before you today life and good, and death and evil.” (Deut 30:15)

This is perhaps another reason why, among the six daily remembrances we are commanded to remember: 

“But beware and watch yourself very well, lest you forget the things that your eyes saw, and lest these things depart from your heart, all the days of your life, and you shall make them known to your children and to your children’s children—the day you stood before the L‑rd your G‑d at Horeb.” (Deuteronomy 4:9–10)

The remembrance presumes that the Torah is already in our heart. How could each individual be commanded to remember this if each of us is not learned? Perhaps we can learn from this that the transmission of the oral tradition doesn’t simply depend on the understanding and conduct of the great Rabbis but of every single Jew. 

This is consistent with the idea we explored a few weeks ago in parsha Shoftim that the halacha is specific to the time and place we’re in. The customs of the people are vital considerations. This is why Moses needs to say the Torah is not in heaven (i.e. it’s not for G-d to decide) and it’s not across the Sea (Deut 30-12-13). I can understand why he has to say it’s not in heaven’s hands, but what’s across the sea? Rashi doesn’t comment which tells us it must be something obvious to his 5 year old student. The verse “it is not across the sea” anticipates a time of exile when many far flung Jewish communities will be dependent on responsum that may well have to cross the sea to tell them what the halacha is. But the truth is, even such decisions are dependent on local Rabbis who are more familiar with the local context. 

Indeed this emphasis on not only every Jew’s conduct but every Jew’s thinking provokes a fear that Moses specifically addresses. “The hidden things belong to the Lord, our God, but the revealed things apply to us and to our children forever:” (Deut 30:28) Rashi explains this means that the collective will not be held responsible for the private sins of individuals (a theme of both last week and this week’s parsha). And yet even in the reassurance, the verse alludes to the dependence of the revealed on the hidden. What is in our mouth and in our heart are connected.

As we go into Rosh Hashana, let us therefore all take stock of our own hearts and ask ourselves, are we recreating the Judaism we want to see in the world?

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Ki Savoh – Back to Sinai?

This day, the Lord, your God, is commanding you to fulfill these statutes and ordinances, and you will observe and fulfill them with all your heart and with all your soul. (Deut 26:16)

During the Book of Devarim we have been looking at the various ways we are expected to move of from Sinai. But the truth is, in a very fundamental way, we are never supposed to move on from Sinai. As Rashi comments on the above verse:

Every day, you shall regard the commandments as if they are brand new, as though you are just today being commanded regarding them!- [Tanchuma 1]

This, of course, is a very high standard. Can every day of a marriage be as exultant and joyous as on the wedding day? Who has the energy? Yet we are very taught that we are to treat the mitzvot as if they are new, so let us consider a few practical ways this is done.

Firstly, as a legal system we are constantly encountering new sets of facts with possible novel legal implications. Can you imagine if a court didn’t bother hearing every case because “they had heard this one before” and already knew what the legal conclusion was? Minor variations in the facts can lead to potentially the same outcome in a new light or even a radically different outcome. However, it’s only by considering the novelty of a situation that we can ever justly apply the halacha.

Secondly, as (mostly) a corollary of the first point, every day we are called on to new heights and new missions. Although it may seem like routine, e.g. daven, learn, work, eat, etc. this is deceptive, for there is something unique in each moment we are meant to accomplish. Only by identifying the unique things that can only be done here and now, the unique help that the person in front of us needs or the unique opportunity a new connection presents that we can fully fulfill the commandments. This requires us to pay attention to the world around us and appreciate the awesome opportunity every day presents.

Thirdly, to do both of the above, we can’t assume we already know. It’s for this reason, as well as focus, that we are instructed to do those most regular of mitzvahs (e.g. shema, bentching) from a text. Although we may be able to do certain things by heart, as if they were new, it is better for us to seek external aid and actually read.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Ki Seitzei – The Assembly of the L-rd

Shoftim – Judging the Judges in our Days

In this week’s parsha we learn the extent of the court’s authority, as the Torah says:

• According to the law they instruct you and according to the judgment they say to you, you shall do; you shall not divert from the word they tell you, either right or left. (Deut 17:11)

Rashi goes so far as to say: 

Even if this judge tells you that right is left, and that left is right. How much more so, if he tells you that right is right, and left is left!- [Sifrei]

It seems at first glance that Rashi is simply teaching us that the court’s authority is so great, we are bound by its decisions even if they are wrong for after all:

Although this judge may not be [of the same stature] as other judges who preceded him, you must listen to him, for you have only the judge [who lives] in your time. — [R.H. 25b]

I would like to suggest that Rashi has a profound message of special importance and meaning in our time that goes beyond recognizing the apparently “unfortunate necessity” of being stuck with the judges we have. 

We live in a place and time obsessed with left and right. These words stand in for so many different values, policies, principles, visions for the future, relationships, and much more. One sometimes even hears people characterize their Yiddishkayt by how “right” or “left” it is. It’s a curious thing that Jews should be so caught up in these broader preoccupations when the Torah so clearly warns against it.

Now, someone may cleverly observe that most people do not understand themselves as left or right. Rather, they understand themselves precisely in the centre “Anyone to the left of me is an epikoros, anyone to the right of me is a fanatic!” But this does not escape the problem, for as Rashi observes, “Even if this judge tells you that right is left, and that left is right.”

It seems to me that Rashi is not just observing that the court’s authority is binding even if a judgment may be wrong. Rather, he is pointing out that what is on the right in one time and place is left in another and vice versa. The halacha of one community is not necessarily the halacha of another. Indeed, the verse hints at this for it refers to going to the place of judge (Rashi does not reference this for the plain meaning of the text is simply Jerusalem). Seen from this perspective, we understand there is no better judger than one who is of his time and place. Even a judge of greater stature would not necessarily rule better for lack of sensitivity to the realities of the litigants. 

We see from this the danger of mistakenly believing that concepts of “right” or “left” are fixed or valid concepts that we can use to judge the valid halachic process of another community. As it says:

Rabbi Elazar HaKappar says: In the future, the synagogues and the study halls in Babylonia will be transported and reestablished in Eretz Yisrael,… (Megillah 29a) 

May we all merit to see the true unification of the Jewish people speedily in our days!

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Re’eh – Strength and Desire

“However, be strong not to eat the blood, for the blood is the soul; and you shall not eat the soul with the flesh.” (Deut 12:23)

In this week’s parsha, Moshe reiterates many laws of sacrifices including the prohibition to eat the blood of animals (both generally and of sacrificial meat). In explaining G-d’s injunction to “be strong” in not eating blood, Rashi offers what at first glance seem like a dispute of the sages. According to Rabbi Judah, this phrase teaches us that clearly the Israelites must have been pretty tempted by the blood. According to Rabbi Simeon ben Azzai, the Torah is being this emphatic for blood which people have no desire for, how much more so in other cases where people have strong temptations! 

So which is it, are Israelites tempted by blood or not? There are a number of ways we can reconcile these two views, each one teaching us a lesson.

Firstly, we can say that in the time the Torah was given there was in fact a desire for blood in the same way there was a desire for idolatry that dissipated in later years. This was all the more urgent in a region where the water was often not safe to drink. In such a situation, the Israelites really did need to be strong for they were combatting the prevailing practices of the time. On the other hand, Rabbi Simeon ben Azzai is emphasizing, though temptations may pass in and out of fashion, the obligation to resist them does not. 

Secondly, we can say even at the time the Torah was given that some Israelites were tempted and some were not. Indeed, just as each soul finds certain mitzvot particularly easy, so too each soul finds certain mitzvot particularly challenging. Just as we need to be strong when it comes to those temptations we know we find challenging, so too we must strengthen ourselves in those areas we think we have mastered. If we do not, we risk falling prey to our own arrogance. 

Ultimately, what is clear is that we really shouldn’t drink blood! Besides the practical kosher applications this law still has, it’s a reminder that our eating should not be governed by mere desire and that whether we’re eating sacrificial meat or not, eating is meant to be a sanctified activity.

Benjamin Miller

Eikev – Moving on in Comfort

In this week’s parsha Moses compares the sin of the Golden Calf and the comfort the Jews experience in the desert to the bounty they will experience in the land of Israel and their nearly inevitable downfall. 

The question seems to be if the temptation of comfort is predictably so great for the Jewish people, why does G-d put it there in the first place?

The political thinker Machiavelli asks the question of where is the best place to locate a city. In a place of abundance people inevitably become decadent and corrupt, but in a place of scarcity the people may be virtuous but they are limited in their material capacity. He concludes that it is best to be located in a place of abundance but to impose taxes so as to have artificial scarcity that ensures strength for the state and virtue for the citizens. 

Our parsha takes this step one step further. Only by recognizing that all places are barren without G-d’s help, do we understand that our primary obligation is to direct those resources towards their true purposes and if we don’t then surely it will be “taxed” sooner or later. 

This is one reason why we ought to never put off a mitzvah for we never know when we’ll no longer be entrusted with the resources we need to fulfill it.

Got Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Va’Etchanan – A Wise and Understanding People

• And you shall keep [them] and do [them], for that is your wisdom and your understanding in the eyes of the peoples, who will hear all these statutes and say, “Only this great nation is a wise and understanding people. ” (Deut 4:6)

Last week we were told that Moses could not find men of wisdom and understanding to serve as judges (Deut 1:15). And yet here we are told that the entire nation will be wise and understanding if only we keep the commandments. How will keeping the mitzvahs effect this transformation?

Rashi explained that the difference between wisdom and understanding is the difference between a passive and proactive money changer. One waits for people to bring him money, the other actively seeks it out. Fear of the L-rd is the beginning of wisdom (Prov 9:10). There was an abundance of fear at Mount Sinai. But fear of the L-rd can lead to passivity in the sense that one can desire to become cloistered and focus on Torah fearing a deviation to the right or left.

Moses addresses this concern, saying: 

“Do not add to the word which I command you, nor diminish from it, to observe the commandments of the Lord your God which I command you. Your eyes have seen what the Lord did at Baal Peor, …” (Deut 4:2-3)

But it is not merely to study the laws that we were taught them: “Behold, I have taught you statutes and ordinances, as the Lord, my God, commanded me, to do so in the midst of the land to which you are coming to possess.” (emphasis added) (Deut 4:5) It is only by engaging in agriculture that one practices agricultural law, it is only by engaging in business that one practices commercial law. 

By acting in the world with vigor and initiative, one will of necessity be regularly faced with novel situations that require halachic treatment. Just as every science has its theoretical and experimental divisions, so too do our lives push the bounds of halacha through (as John Stuart Mill calls it), “experiments of life”. In this way, the other nations, who will come into contact with us, will be able to say “These are wise and understanding people!” and only if the people are first wise and understanding will there be candidates for the judiciary who are wise and understanding.

Through this analogy with modern science, we can also see why other nations would say that “Only this great nation is a wise and understanding people.” (emphasis added). Surely there are wise and understanding people in every nation. However, many nations separate between their spiritual/intellectual elite and their wider population. The greater a nation becomes, the greater this distance becomes. But the nature of the Torah, as taught at Ba’al Peor, is that the nation is only as wise as its weakest link.

It is incumbent upon all of us to learn and all of us to teach, and ultimately, we are a great nation only to extent that we go out into the world and apply the mitzvahs! 

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Devarim – Building on the Foundation of Sinai

• “The Lord our God spoke to us in Horeb, saying, ‘You have dwelt long enough at this mountain.” (Deut 1:6)

In this week’s parsha, Moses gathers the entire Jewish people to relay to them what they have just experienced. He is nation building, creating a common sense out of events that could have been experienced very differently depending on the vantage point of the individual. If the goal is to unify, one would have thought he would start at Mount Sinai, the peak unifying experience of the Jewish people, but instead he starts from the Jews departing Mount Sinai. Why?

Perhaps we can find an answer in Rashi’s aggadic explanation of this verse:

I have given you much greatness and reward for your having dwelt at this mountain: you made the Mishkan , the menorah, and the [other] furnishings; you received the Torah; you appointed a Sanhedrin for yourselves, and captains over thousands and captains over hundreds. 

Rashi’s answer raises even more questions. The apparent source for Rashi’s aggadic explanation is the Sifrei Devarim (5:2):

Much reward has accrued to you by dwelling in this mountain: Upon it you accepted the Torah upon yourselves, I appointed for you seventy elders, officers of thousands, officers of hundreds, officers of fifties, and officers of tens, I made for you the mishkan and its vessels — You benefited greatly by your dwelling in this mountain!

The Sifrei presents the reward in the order they happen (at least according to Rashi’s chronology). Rashi not only changes the order, but lists the menorah specifically as one of the vessels of the Mishkan. Why? 

I believe the crucial difference between Rashi and the Sifrei is that the Sifrei states G-d made the Mishkan for the Jewish people, whereas Rashi states that the Jewish people made the Mishkan. This difference is all the more remarkable given that Rashi specifically lists the menorah. For regarding the menorah Rashi explains (Exo 25:31): 

By itself. Since Moses found difficulty with it [i.e., figuring out how to form the menorah], the Holy One, blessed is He, said to him, “Cast the talent [equivalent to sixty-four pounds of gold] into the fire, and it will be made by itself.” Therefore, it is not written: תֵּעָשֶׂה but תֵּיעָשֶׂה. -[from Tan. Beha’alothecha 3]

Ostensibly, the menorah is a strong proof for the Sifrei’s contention that it was G-d who really made the Mishkan. But here Rashi seems to be emphasizing that even though all Moses did was throw it into the fire (and all the Jewish people did was supply the materials), still even the menorah is counted as their work. 

This emphasis on Jewish agency makes sense if we take seriously the idea of the Mishkan as a reward. Understood this way, how can we make sense of Rashi’s order? The Torah is perhaps in the middle because, like a marriage, it involves a meeting of two parties. The appointing of leaders comes last because it exhibits the peak of human agency insofar as the initial suggestion comes from Yitro. 

Alternatively, we can understand the order in terms of the perfection that was realized in each. For in the building of the Mishkan we are told it was done exactly according to instructions (see e.g. Exo 36:1). According to the receiving of the Torah, we are taught various aspects of the matter rendered it incomplete (e.g. G-d held the mountain over the heads of the Jewish people, the sin of the Golden Calf) (Shabbat 88a), and by the appointment of judges we are told that ultimately not all the characteristics desired in judges could actually be found (Deut 1:15). 

Understood this way, by starting his address this way Moses is exhorting the Jews to complete the unfinished work. It could be possible for the generation entering Israel to simply be nostalgic for that peak collective moment that went awry. Moses tells us that dwelling on that moment is not the solution but rather moving forward that place is the solution. And in these three-fold rewards we find the basis to move forward: avodah, Torah, and tzedakah. 

Practically speaking, Rashi also offers us guidance for our day. We begin with prayer, then immediately follow up with Torah study, and only then do we start our workday, and if we do this we will merit to do justice in our work. Not only this, but Rashi hints that we will have material success, likening an understanding judge to a merchant money changer who can find his sustenance from afar (Deut 1:13)!

Git Shabbos! 

Benjamin Miller

Matos-Massei: Cities for the Children

In this week’s double parsha we find the commitment of Reuben and Gad to stay on the other side of the Jordan River and inhabit the lands they had just conquered (Sihon and Og’s lands) rather than inherit in the land of Israel. Moses is concerned that they will cause the Jewish people to fear entering the land so he makes them promise to go into battle ahead of everyone. They agree and Moses announces:

 “If the descendants of Gad and Reuben cross the Jordan with you armed for battle before the Lord, and the Land is conquered before you, you shall give them the land of Gilead as a heritage. But if they do not cross over with you armed [for battle], they shall receive a possession among you in the land of Canaan.” (Num 32:29-30)

When you look at the terms, this is a pretty sweet deal for Reuben and Gad. If they do what they say, they get what they want, if they don’t, then they’re no worse off than they would have been otherwise. Why doesn’t there seem to be any penalty? There’s a clue in the fact that Moses is concerned for the rest of the Jewish people and not for Reuben and Gad themselves necessarily. If we understand Reuben and Gad’s proposal as being a legitimate spiritual experiment, we can see why it deserves no penalty.

Reuben and Gad are remarkable in that they are the only ones who actually ask to forfeit their portion in the land of Israel. Reuben, as firstborn, has long been stripped of the leadership since his failure to stop the sale of Joseph. Indeed, ultimately, Moses sticks with Reuben and Gad half of Menashe and the Torah emphasizes that Menashe was the son of Joseph (Num 32:33). Menashe was Joseph’s interpreter in the royal court, he was the first born who yielded to the spiritual leadership of his younger brother despite his marshall prowess and father’s favour.

In this sense, Menashe is the perfect partner. Ultimately, Reuben and Gad are not abdicating their responsibility to the other tribes, on the contrary, they are attempting to expand the borders of Israel. Indeed, if we understand that the reason Reuben was not there to save Joseph was because he was fasting and engaged in an individual spiritual pursuit (not befitting of a spiritual leader who needs to serve others), then we see the tribe of Reuben leading the way by engrossing himself on the frontlines of the physical world. Having been stripped of the spiritual leadership, the tribe is in a sense throwing itself into its material mission, which is why they focus on the livestock (i.e. if we can’t be the priests, allow us to be the ones to raise the sacrifices).

But there is a problem with their proposal that Moses is careful to correct. At the end of the day, the ideal is neither the priest nor the sacrifice, but the children (Num 32:24). The risk Reuben and Gad are taking is not so much in the fact that they are focused on their agricultural duties, but because their choice of location, while promising to go ahead of the children of Israel will cause them to separate from their children (for 7 years of war and 7 years of partitioning the land). Therein lies the true spiritual danger, for their choice necessitates a separation during which they cannot teach their children. Can they combine their commitment to Israel with their own mission without sacrificing the spiritual well-being of their children? 

Viewed from this perspective, we can see why Shimon would not be an appropriate partner in this (for they were neighbours to Reuben and Gad) as they had recently succumbed to the influence of the people of the land. We also see the solution was to build fortifications and cities, i.e. complete communities around the children. This teaches us how, while parents role is of course essential, particularly in our times when parents spend so much time separated from children, Jewish education depends not simply on a school but on the Jewish character of the surrounding community. May we all merit to build that community for one another.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Pinchas: Law Beyond Regularity

“Phinehas the son of Eleazar the son of Aaron the kohen…” (Bamidbar 25:11)

Pinchas, though he is a descendant of Aaron nevertheless, because he was alive at the time the kehunah was given to Aaron, he was not included in the kehuna. So, he is given what might have been his birthright in an exceptional covenant of peace from G-d (Num 25:12). The last Lubavitcher Rebbe, R’Menachem Mendel Schneersohn, explained that because Pinchas put himself on the line by going outside the bounds of accepted Torah law at the time, so too did G-d go outside the law and appoint him a kohen. 

Fundamentally, the parsha highlights the nature of inheritance, that even where it seems to be by entitlement, e.g. the large tribes get a lot of land and the small tribes get less land “Only through lot shall the Land be apportioned;“ meaning to say that there will always be an element of Divine decree (Num 26:55). The zealot depends on exceeding the boundaries of the law, so it is fitting that the parsha should quickly focus on the establishment of those boundaries on which the continued existence of the land actually depends. A Pinchas can be at the head of a dynasty, but the matter is not sustainable.

This is why the daughters of Zelophad offer a good bookend, because they demonstrate the ability of the law to deal with “exceptional situations” (Num 27:1). 

What, then, can we take from this? First, anything that we think we’re entitled to, whether by inheritance or otherwise, we should remember that it is only by Divine decree we receive anything. But lest we say that the arbitrary nature at the heart of the law undermines its legal character (i.e. it’s expected regular quality), we should remember that our lives should not be lived merely as rote regularity, but rather like the daughters of Zelophad, we should realize how the unavoidably varied and novel situations of life both necessitate a knowledge of and come to reveal infinitely more Torah. We can therefore never sit idle, but we must constantly go to meet the challenge to our understanding of the law.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

In the first parsha, we receive the quintessential suprarational commandment. Take the ashes of a perfectly red heifer, sprinkle it on people who have become impure, and they will become pure (though the sprinkling priest will become impure). While the overall process of the red heifer is quintessentially, non-rational, this has not stopped commentators from deriving various lessons from its various aspects. Rashi, quoting Moshe HaDarshan points out that the cow must be from the possessions of the Jewish people, just as they took off their own jewelry to make the Golden Calf (Num 19:22). 

Indeed, as I’ve observed before, it’s worth noting that in the case of the Golden Calf, it was precisely that the Jewish men did not turn to the Jewish women and children, but took their own earrings out that led to the Sin of the Golden Calf (Exo 35:22). 

The section on the Red Heifer is followed by the death of Miriam: 

“The entire congregation of the children of Israel arrived at the desert of Zin in the first month, and the people settled in Kadesh. Miriam died there and was buried there.” (Num 20:1)

Rashi is troubled why it needs to make reference to the entire congregation of the children of Israel here and answers (following the Midrash Tanhuma): 

The complete congregation, for the ones destined to die in the desert had already died and these were assigned for life.

But it’s hard to see exactly how this explains what this reference to the entire congregation is doing right next to Miriam’s death. We could perhaps say that it is in order to emphasize that Miriam’s death was not a punishment for the sin of the spies, but was that really a question? In the Chizkuni, it is observed that because the Torah talks about the deaths of all those in the desert, it moves on to talk about the death of Miriam and Aaron, but this doesn’t explain why it merely alludes to the death of those in the desert and explicitly addresses the death of Miriam and Aaron. And if they’re two separate contrasting ideas, why a single verse?

I would like to suggest that the juxtaposition of the death of the generation from the sin of the spies to the death of Miriam, parallels the explanation above for why the red heifer must come from the possessions of the Jews. Namely, the Keli Yakar explains that had Moses sent women as spies the generation would not have sinned. And indeed, the punishment of the sin applied to the men and not the women (and not the youth), as G-d only refers to those who were counted in the census (Num 14:29). This parallels the sin of the Golden Calf.

Rashi asks why the death of Miriam is contrasted with the Red Heifer and answers that it teaches us that the death of the righteous are an atonement, like the Red Heifer. Now, Rashi does not repeat answers he’s already given, so perhaps we can also add to Rashi’s answer here based on his explanation of the meaning of the expression “the complete congregation”, exactly what is special about Miriam’s atonement. 

We have seen repeatedly from the Shemos to Devarim, how the men have either threatened to lead the Jewish people astray or have actually done so through a time-bound perspective. In Egypt, Miriam’s father divorced her mother because he could not see past the present moment. At the sin of the Golden Calf, it was because they had miscalculated the 40 days and 40 nights that Moses was supposed to be gone. The spies sinned for 40 days and were punished according to the time bound nature of their sin. In each case, the women took a less time-bound, wider, and more patient approach. 

It seems to me that this virtue is something manifest in the halacha through the idea of both women and servants’ exemption from time-bound positive mitzvot. If, in the urgency of the moment, we find ourselves thinking it’s impossible to leave Egypt or to enter Israel, we must take a step back and remind ourselves that if we are commanded to do something it’s because we can do it. This certainty leads to the kind of self-nullification, not only makes one a great leader, but is also makes one a great servant as embodied in the mitzvahs beyond our understanding. 

So next time we find our emotions getting away from us and things moving too fast for our own good, let’s remember to take a step back, calm ourselves and know that all is possible.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Korach: The Revenge of the First Born (sort of)

In this week’s parsha we have the famous story of Korach’s attempted rebellion against Moses and Aaron to instill himself as the High Priest. If we read the book of Numbers through the lens of Israel’ tension as first born and servant of G-d, prince and priest, political actor and spiritual being, then Korach is unquestionably the heart of this book. Indeed, there is no other parsha which more explicitly illustrates the intertwined nature of these tensions, nor any figure more than Korach who forces the question of whether they are really compatible.

Consider the following, according to the Midrash Tanhuma, what was the true basis of Korach’s complaint against the leadership of Moses and Aaron (Num 16:1)? 

He [Korach] envied the chieftainship of Elizaphan the son of Uzziel whom Moses appointed as chieftain over the sons of Kohath by the [Divine] word. Korah claimed, “My father and his brothers were four [in number]” as it says, “The sons of Kohath were…” (Exod. 6:18). Amram was the first, and his two sons received greatness-one a king and one a kohen gadol. Who is entitled to receive the second [position]? Is it not I, who am the son of Izhar, who is the second brother to Amram? And yet, he [Moses] appointed to the chieftainship the son of his youngest brother! I hereby oppose him and will invalidate his word (Midrash Tanchuma Korach 1, Num. Rabbah 18:2).

Although Korach was not himself the first born, his claim was that the order of honours should follow the birth order. This sense of natural entitlement follows the logic of the first born (or child more broadly) who gets what they get by inheritance and not by service. Furthermore, this midrash raises a question, if the basis of Korach’s complaint is a chieftainship, why does he then go after the priesthood? The answer in the last line of the midrash basically states that he could not oppose one decision of Moses, without casting the entire system into doubt. 

It is through the above logic that Korach seems to come to the conclusion that the priesthood itself is a political institution. Consequently, how he tries to take it is instructive. The midrash continues:

What did he [Korach] do? He went and assembled two hundred and fifty men, heads of Sanhedrin, most of them from the tribe of Reuben, his neighbors. These were Elitzur the son of Shedeur and his colleagues, and others like him, as it says, “chieftains of the congregation, those called to the assembly.” And further it states, “These were the chosen ones of the congregation” (1:16). He dressed them with cloaks made entirely of blue wool. They came and stood before Moses and asked him, “Does a cloak made entirely of blue wool require fringes [’tzitzith’], or is it exempt?” He replied, “ It does require [fringes].” They began laughing at him [saying], “Is it possible that a cloak of another [colored] material, one string of blue wool exempts it [from the obligation of techeleth], and this one, which is made entirely of blue wool, should not exempt itself? 

The past rebellions of the Jews were of a reactive or disorganized nature that spread throughout the people. Here is the first time we see a calculated attempt to leverage the tribal and delegated systems of leadership as a basis to legitimate a “halachic dispute”. This approach to halacha makes sense if your ultimate point is that the halacha is an artificial human creation. Nowhere is this more evident than in the laughing of Korach and his companions. Laughter in this context adds nothing to the substance of the debate and is instead meant to delegitimize others in the debate. The idea that spirituality is reducible to politics is perhaps the chief misunderstanding of any secular approach to understanding halacha. 

So what solutions does this parsha offer to these forceful questions? 

• Moses emphasizes that he didn’t even take what he was due (i.e. a donkey) (Num 16:15). And indeed, we find similarly that even towards Torah, in which we ask G-d to give us our portion every day, we are told to actively make ourselves fit for its study, because it is not ours by inheritance (PA 2:12).
• Moses challenges Korach and his group through the service itself (i.e. telling them to take incense). Indeed, there is no test of someone’s appropriateness for a role quite like the role itself.
• Moses sought Dathan and Abiram out to conciliate with them (Num 16:12) hinting that there is a positive side to a purely political dispute, namely that just as the nature of the posited problem is discretionary so to is the the resolution. It’s not just that dispute not for the sake of heaven will not last, but that it need not last (PA 5:17).

Ultimately, if we treat our Judaism not as a passive inheritance but as an active mission, and constantly evaluate our spiritual status not in our meditations but in our actual deeds, then our judgment will be shaped in such a way that when it is time for politics (i.e. to exercise discretion) we will do so for peace.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Shelach: Abuse is not inevitable

In this week’s parsha, Moses appoints 12 men as spies to scout out the Land of Israel. As is later explained in Deuteronomy (1:22-23), this was not so much commanded by G-d as it was a tolerated suggestion Moses made in response to the people (send “for yourself”) (Num 13:2).* As is well known 10 of the 12 come back with a bad report and this causes the people to doubt G-d. Similar to following the Sin of the Golden Calf, G-d offers to destroy the people and replace them with Moses (Num 14:12). Moses rejects this and argues to keep the people on the grounds that the nation’s will say that G-d killed them because He “lacks the ability to bring this people into the land…” (Num 14:15). Upon Moses’ request G-d pardons the people and swears “However, as I live, the entire earth shall be filled with the glory of the L-rd.” (Num 14:21).

There are a number of classic questions on this story such as:

The spies were asked to give a report and they did. What was so wrong?

Does G-d really care about what the nation’s of the world think? 

We can perhaps gain insight into this question by comparing this complaint to last week’s complaint about the food, and compare both to our earlier understanding of the Sin of the Golden Calf in parsha Yitro. 

In parsha Yitro, we understood the Sin of the Golden Calf as reflecting a failed attempt to radically decentralize G-d’s presence amongst the people. Moses’ answer was to judge the people alone and ultimately Yitro recommend authority be delegated to different court levels. In last week’s parsha, right before the Jews sin, Yitro says he is leaving and Moses asks him to stay (Num 10:29-32), perhaps exactly reinforcing this link between the two parshas. The Jews start articulating their cravings, and Moses turns to G-d this time sharing the concern that Yitro had shared, namely, that the people is too much for him to bear as an individual (Num 11:14). Interestingly, Moses rhetorically asks whether he gave birth to the people such that he should be responsible for them. Perhaps Moses is appealing to the fact that the Jews are G-d’s responsibility as they are G-d’s children. Similar to in Yitro, G-d’s answer is to appoint 70 elders and specifically delegate Moses’ spiritual power (Num 11:17). Two prophecy outside this process and this gives Moses an opportunity to make explicit the Sinai ideal that G-d should dwell in the whole nation (Num 11:29). So the two previous incidents of failings are pretty consistent.

Then we get to this week’s parsha in which Moses delegates further, a seemingly appropriate extension of the logic of the past lessons in leadership. Only this time, the delegates themselves are the source of the people’s problems because they went beyond their proper agency to answer a descriptive question about the land to make their own prescriptions. Herein lies the danger of any leadership structure or indeed any master-servant relationship, that the agent will use their platform for their own ends. 

If the sin of the spies is understood this way, then G-d’s proposal to destroy the Jewish people and replace them with Moses’ descendants can be understood as a suggestion to eliminate the master-servant structures of a political society and instead return to a prepolitical society based solely on paternal fealty. If this was necessary, the onlooking societies could therefore be forgiven for doubting, not G-d’s ability to conquer the land, but G-d’s reasonability in trusting the inhabitants. For if G-d destroyed the Jewish people, it would basically be admitting perhaps that society as such is too corrupt to be constituted in holiness, and then each nation could forgive itself its own sins, for after all, as the description of the land makes plain (Rashi on Num 13:23), different nations have different lineages. 

Seen from this point of view, there’s a profound lesson in G-d swearing that the whole earth will be filled with His Glory. Namely, not everyone can be a firstborn but everyone can be a servant. We must work towards justice not only in our dealings among the family, but to strangers, and indeed other societies. Whether at work, shopping, or in a government office, we have opportunities to insist on the rule of law and that delegated authority should not be abused. By becoming cynical, we adopt the views of the nation’s Moses warns against. While the risk of abuse of power may always be present, there’s nothing inevitable about it where we can help it.

Git Shabbos!

*Interestingly, there is a midrash that suggests G-d suggested sending women as they would have been loyal to the land, and it was Moses who suggested men). This midrash seems consistent with the roles Rashi respectively assigns to men and women at the Sin of the Golden Calf and therefore deepens the parallel between these two episodes.

Benjamin Miller

BeHa’alosecha: The Levite is the Sacrifice

In this week’s parsha, everything we’ve been speaking about since the Book of Exodus comes together. The parsha begins with G-d telling Moses to instruct Aaron in the lighting of the menorah (Num 8:2). Rashi explains that this portion is contrasted to the portion of the gifts of the Princes because Aaron was concerned the tribe of Levi was excluded from the gift giving. “So God said to him, “By your life, yours is greater than theirs, for you will light and prepare the lamps.””

Of course the menorah as connected with the inauguration of the Mishkan anticipates its role in the story of Chanukah, in which the priests also take upon themselves the monarchy. There is perhaps in this a warning against the jealousy of the servant for the first born, the priest for the prince, and the desire for spiritual to express itself politically in a way that ultimately subjugates the spiritual to the political (i.e. the Hasmoneans invited in the Romans). 

Furthermore, we get more details on that crucial moment we discussed in parsha Tzav, in which the entire Jewish people gather in the courtyard of the Mishkan. Whereas in Tzav Rashi emphasized how Moses wanted the people to understand he was doing this on G-d’s commandment and not for his own tribe’s benefit, here Rashi points out that the Levites are actually offerings of the Jewish people being given as their first born’s replacements due to their sin of the Golden Calf (Num 8:9). 

You might say, if they’re just replacements for the firstborns, why did everyone have to be there? This question is even stronger when we consider that according to Rashi, only the men sinned. There are two answers to this. Firstly, the firstborns too belonged to everyone not just themselves. Secondly, just as the moment of Mount Sinai required unanimity, it stands to reason that the sin which ultimately upset the process of the Mount Sinai would require unanimity as well. 

There is a powerful lesson for us here, which is that each of us belongs to the entire Jewish people. Whether we act in our capacities of first born or servant, as prince or priest, what we do must be on behalf of everyone. Practically speaking this may show up in being conscious of how we represent the Jewish people in our day to day dealings (even with Jews) as well as in our constant awareness that people in positions of honour really ought to approach their work with the humility of one being consecrated because he is in a sense being sacrificed.

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

In this week’s parsha we find the laws of the Sotah and Nazir next to each other. Rashi asks why Nazir follows Sotah, and answers essentially that anyone who sees how drinking led to adultery will give up drinking (Num 6:2). I would like to add to this by suggesting that the juxtaposition between Sotah and Nazir teaches us a further lesson about progressing through our two-fold relationship of first-born and servant to G-d. 

On the one hand, adultery embodies in some sense the ultimate betrayal of our relationship as G-d’s children as it sacrifices the Divine creative potential to lust (or to put it more precisely, misappropriates creative potential for reasons of personal satisfaction whatever the motive might be). This is not merely a personal matter but derails the entire national redemption. The Midrash cited by Rashi explicitly makes this connection when it points out that the Sotah is made to drink from the washstand made up of the mirrors the Jewish women in Egypt used to procreate to ensure a future for the Jewish people (Num 5:17). As perplexing as it might be that the reward for the innocent Sotah is that they bear children (who would want to bear children with such a husband?), viewed from this vantage point we can understand why children would be exactly the right reward (Num 5:28). 

On the other hand, just as the Sotah diverts our biological creative potential for personal ends, the Nazir diverts our spiritual potential to be set apart as servants to G-d for personal ends. In short, the Nazir achieves a sanctity somewhat similar to a priest without the obligations for service that a priest has. This is perhaps best embodied in the obligation of the Nazir to grow their hair out (Num 6:5). A priest must have his hair cut at least once a month and the High Priest every week, because they occupy public office and must be presentable in that office (Lev 10:6, Sanhedrin 22b). In the end, the Nazirite has to bring a guilt offering (Num 6:12). There are various explanations given for this, the Lubavitcher Rebbe explains that the Nazirite has to bring a guilt offering because his purpose is not to withdraw from the material world, but instead engage with it. 

Seen from this perspective, the Nazirite is a stage in spiritual development but by no means the ultimate solution. If the Sotah is at the bottom, the Nazirite learns the lesson not to engage in impurity but has not yet learned the lesson of active service in purity. The next stage up from this is the stage of “servant” as embodied in the priesthood, but as we explored in the books of Exodus, Leviticus and parsha Bamidbar, the role of “servant” is in some sense a stop-gap measure for the highest and most full expression of our spiritual identities as “first born” that was derailed at the Sin of the Golden Calf. Interestingly, this higher rank is also alluded to in the frequency of haircuts (daily for the king) (Sanhedrin 22b). 

What practical lesson can we take from this? It may seem like perfection is unattainable, but wherever we are in our spiritual development, there is a step above us which we can reach, and, like a rung on a ladder, it is specifically there as a help to us. Particularly for those who are at the level of spiritually pure but cut off from the community, it’s important for the future of the community that one actively embrace the need for public service. How can we share what we love about Yiddishkayt with others?

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Shavuos

Although no longer significant actors, from the late 1800s to the early 20th century, fraternal societies were significant sources of economic support and insurance for the poor. The language of mutual aid has come back in vogue and it is worth reflecting on why on the second day of Shavuot we read about our duties to our poor brethren specifically as it relates to loans.

One obvious connection to Shavuot is that, on Shavuot, we read the Book of Ruth, a story of coping with extreme poverty through extended family relations. That this story should set out the lineage of King David perhaps suggests the true impetus out of which monarchy and political authority by extension should stem, namely a response to the needs of people. This is in sharp contrast to the role of the Levites whose function it is to actually receive the gifts of Israel and thereby sanctify them.

This dual roles of the king and the priest, or the firstborn son (i.e. the perhaps entitled descendants of royalty) and the humble servant, both point to the fact that both the giver and receiver in Jewish life play vital roles. This is not only true economically but also when it comes to the study of Torah.

As with loans, the holders of Torah knowledge are told not to harden their hearts and give to their poor brethren. While of course there is an obligation to give it as a gift if there is a need (and there is always a need), the highest form of tzedakah is to give it as a loan. What does it mean to teach someone as a loan? Teaching someone as a loan means we expect them to take their knowledge and turn it into further knowledge, particularly for others. Just as with charity, if students are taught to become dependent on their teacher, ultimately the learning will be unsustainable. But if students are taught to learn “on their own” (not G-d forbid in the sense that they learn alone, but they are capable of taking the initiative in studying with others), then ultimately there will be “no needy in the land”, for everyone will be able to support everyone.

Benjamin Miller

Bamidbar

The Book of Devarim begins with a military census of the Jewish people, followed by a separate census of the Levites. As the function of appointing a king is to lead the people in war (see e.g. Sam 8:19), this is yet another illustration of the stark separation between kingship and priesthood.

Yet Hosea’s prophecy in the haftorah speaks of a future time when “the number of the children of Israel will be like the sand of the sea, which cannot be measured and cannot be counted…” (Hos 2:1). Of course, the most obvious aspect of this blessing is the sheer quantity of the Jewish people, but we can also translate this verse as “will not be counted” alluding to the fact that there will be no need for an army (Hos 2:20-21).

I would like to suggest that the struggle and path to the ultimate triumph of spirituality over realpolitik is already alluded to in the identity of Israel’s priests. For as we learn in this week’s parsha, it was the firstborns who were originally consecrated to G-d, but Levites were introduced as replacements (Num 3:12-13). Rashi explains that this was due to the failings of the firstborns at the Sin of the Golden Calf. This repeated a pattern dating back to Cane and Abel, repeated in Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, in which the firstborn, though having greater marshal prowess, lost the rights of the priesthood due to spiritual disqualification. Though G-d, and each father, clearly desired the two functions to be united, this desire was repeatedly upset. 

This distinction can help us perhaps better understand a core paradox at the heart of Behar alluded to last week. Namely, on the one hand, all the land belongs to G-d (as indeed everything does), and on the other hand we not only own but inherit in a manner which is supposed to guarantee our perpetual return to the land of our tribe (i.e. through Yovel). The Levites embody the first half of this paradox, since they have no share in the land (Deut 18:1), being most explicitly the servants of G-d (and a servant is not really capable of independently owning property). Whereas the other tribes embody the other half of the paradox, being able to hold land and in a sense being obligated to do so (not being able to sell unless destitute) (Lev 25:25). 

One way we can reconcile this tension in how we relate to property is by observing that our relationship to G-d has a dual aspect “our Father, our King”, we are both child and servant. Though G-d wants us to serve Him as “firstborns” (so Hosea anticipates we will be called his children 2:1-2), nevertheless, if we err, we will serve instead as servants. this is disappointing, as alluded to in the exclusion of Moses’ sons’ names in the counting, (Num 3:27) anticipating that they will have no special role in succeeding him but instead Moses’ loyal and able “servant”, Joshua (Numbers Rabbah 21:14).

Ultimately, the Levites are made dependent on the rest of the nation, as the sanctification of the world requires going beyond the Temple to be able to actually inhabit the world and that requires the independent existence of the child beyond that of the servant. In this sense, we must be more than just priests. It is perhaps for this reason that the actual appointment of a king must come from the people itself. Bottom line, though fear and love must ultimately be unified, it is in love that we find Hosea’s prophecy fulfilled. It is only with the alacrity, spontaneity and creativity of the child, that we can find the full expression of the mitzvot. 

Viewed from this perspective, we can see why Moschiach would need to be king. For only in the political realm (i.e. the realm of the exercise of discretion towards the resolution of collective problems and realization of collective potential) is novelty truly possible. This is why politics cannot be abandoned altogether, for the only way above politics is through it. 

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Behar / Bechukosai

In parsha Tzav we explored the similarities between the unity of the people achieved at the inauguration of the Mishkan and that achieved at the Temple during Hakhel. As part of that discussion, I alluded to the analogy between who was present at Hakhel and who was present at Mount Sinai. This week, I would like to look deeper at the relationship between the mitzvah of Hakhel and the revelation at Mount Sinai.

This week’s parsha introduces the mitzvah of shemita with the famous line “And the Lord spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai, saying…” (Lev 25:1). Rashi asks essentially what’s so special about Shemittah that it’s specifically linked to Mount Sinai? I would like to suggest a possible connection.

Hakhel is intrinsically connected to the shemita year (Deut 31:10), but what’s the connection? As on Shabbos, the farmers who are freed from their work are not released simply to lounge, but rather to study Torah. The Torah was given in the midst of ownerless land (a desert) so no nation could lay ownership of it and all who would study (i.e. come pick its fruits) would be entitled to do so (Mekhilta De-Rabbi Ishmael (Exodus 19:2)). In both cases, ownerless land is the ideal context for the receipt of Torah at a uniquely national level.

Indeed, during the Jews time in the desert, they were miraculously exempt from working the land and were fed by the manna. This is clearly not possible as the basis for Jewish society as a whole, but it is possible, and indeed necessary, for one segment of it, the Levites. They, as we heard in last week’s haftorah (Exe 44:28), have no inheritance in the land. They are therefore free to rely on holy matters and at the same time, are dependent on the rest of the nation. The shemita cycle, the cycle of tithes tied to it, all reinforce the message of our interdependence on one another and our ultimate dependence on G-d. Hakhel is in a sense the culmination, or centrepoint of all these intricate webs. 

What does this teach us about the relationship of the King to the Priest and what can we take from this practically? Modern governments have multiple branches in order to keep checks and balances. But what we find in the above is simply that there is the way of manifesting the Divine in days/years 1-6 and there is a way of manifesting it on day/year 7. Indeed, even during the week, some people’s service more resembles the activities of day/year 7 (e.g. the scholars the priests), and others have a service more appropriate for days 1-6, yet they are ultimately co-dependent and share the same end. Only through Hakhel, i.e. by transcending the superficial opposition between 1-6 and 7, can we truly fulfill its purpose.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Emor

In this week’s parsha we learn about the various physical blemishes that disqualify a priest from serving in the Temple (Vay 21:16-21). There are various explanations given for why physical defects ranging from impotence to a broken arm or long eyebrows would disqualify a priest, but the simple idea is that these are blemishes. Just as the sacrifices themselves cannot have any blemishes, so too, those offering the sacrifices must be of any blemishes. 

We find no such requirement to be a king. Although the king must be from among the Jewish people (Deut 17:15), On the contrary, we find a number of Jewish leaders, including Moses and Samson, who had physical blemishes that were integral to their leadership in various ways. For instance, Moses’ stutter necessitated Aaron as an intermediary. Ehud’s shrunken right hand (Judges 3:15) allowed him to conceal a sword which he ultimately used to kill the King of Moab.

One way we can understand the difference between what is necessary for the priest and what is necessary for the king is that ultimately, the priest represents our service to G-d, which must be flawless, whereas, the king represents our service to one another, which much reflect the realities of people as they are (i.e. the leader must be from among the people). If all our laws assumed that there were no physical deviations from the expected norms among people, then they would inevitably be unworkable and unjust because there really are such differences. 

This perhaps reflects the inverse of our natural inclination. 

When you offer a blind [animal] for a sacrifice, is there nothing wrong? And when you offer a lame or a sick one, is there nothing wrong? Were you to offer it to your governor, would he accept you or would he favor you? says the Lord of Hosts. (Malachi 1:8)

We are inclined to be pragmatic and cut corners when it comes to spirituality, but when it comes to investing in ourselves and our own prestige, spare no expense. In reality, we should save our pragmatism for ensuring our world is more accommodating for all who must live in it and we should save our prestige for honouring the Divine.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Acharei Mos / Kedoshim

In this week’s parsha, we find the laws of Yom Kippur. During this holiest day of the year, the holiest individual, the kohane gadol, enters the Holy of Holies. There he offers an incense offering so that the ark is enveloped and he does not die (Vay 16:12-13). The incense offering is a precise formula of ingredients finely ground, and if one leaves even a single ingredient out, one is liable for death (Keirosis 6a, Yerushalmi Yoma 4:5). In some ways this expresses the very essence of the role of the priest, the strict execution of a precise formula.

Contrast that with the role of a king:

“And Rava bar Meḥasseya said that Rav Ḥama bar Gurya said that Rav said: Even if all the seas     would be ink, and the reeds that grow near swamps would be quills, and the heavens would be     parchment upon which the words would be written, and all the people would be scribes; all of these     are insufficient to write the unquantifiable space of governmental authority.” (Babylonian Talmud,     Tractate Shabbat 11a)

The essence of the King’s role is one of discretion.

Our lives are spent walking this fine line between knowing and applying the halacha, but realizing that even once the halacha is known (and particularly if you happen to be like me and don’t know), there is often discretion to be exercised. Indeed, the Talmud suggests there are times even priests ought to deviate from the law (such as in the lead up to the destruction of the Second Temple when an invalid offering was intentionally brought to sow discord between the Jews and Romans). And there are certainly times when kings have no right to deviate from the letter of the law (e.g. when King Saul failed to deliver the Amalekites completely).

Even most of the priests spent most of their year outside the Temple. This is why, while we must of course study the halacha, it is vital to study Pirkei Avot, which deals with that which goes beyond the law. This is the law’s full expression.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Parshas Tazria / Metzora

The first part of this week’s parsha focuses on the laws of purity and sacrifices relating to giving birth, and the haftorah uses the metaphor of sudden birth to describe the redemption (Isa 66:7-9). Interestingly, the haftorah begins with a reference to G-d’s Kingship followed by the violence of sacrifices not embedded in a broader culture of justice and morality, and ends with a reference to the universal worship in the Temple that will follow in Messianic times. At first glance, it’s difficult to see how exactly all this fits together and why birth is such a central metaphor.

Perhaps one way we can reconcile this flow is in how G-d’s Kingship over the world is predicated not on the specific act of salvation of redemption from Egypt, but on Creation as embodied in birth (Isa 66:2). The miracle of birth without pain is contrasted against slaughter for no reason. Ultimately, a just rule is not predicated on the mere exercise of power for the sake of power (the counterpart of offerings for the sake of offerings). Although under ordinary circumstances, coercion (both in terms of public authority and Temple ritual) is necessary to achieve a higher end, there is always a risk that the means become the ends. Only G-d could promise that certain ends could be achieved, such as peace and justice, “without travail”. 

Perhaps this is why the chapter must actually end (although we repeat the penultimate line to de-emphasize this) with 

“And they shall go out and see the corpses of the people who rebelled against Me, for their worm shall not die, and their fire shall not be quenched, and they shall be an abhorring for all flesh.” (Isa 66:24)

For it is the ordinary way of kings and priests to achieve their rule through slaughter, so a person could witness this and fail to see the difference. The point of emphasizing the birth without travail is to emphasize that these corpses are not G-d forbid, merely a means to an end, but rather must be just in their own right. This is the marvel.

Benjamin Miller

Parshas Shemini

In this week’s parsha, we learn the tragic story of Aaron’s two sons, Nadab and Abihu who die during the inauguration of the Mishkan by bringing “foreign incense” (Vay 10:1-2). They died in a very unique way, a “Divine kiss” in which a fire entered their nostrils and brought their souls back to G-d and consumed their internal organs but not their bodies. Rashi shares a couple of opinions about why exactly they merited this punishment, including they rendered halachic decisions before their teacher and they drank wine before the service. Other commentaries offer other reasons, such as they refused to get married because no one was good enough for them.

The curious thing about their deaths is that it seems to be to their credit that they died in this way. As Moses explains to Aaron “’I will be sanctified through those near to Me, and before all the people I will be glorified.’” (Vay 10:3). But this becomes less perplexing when we realize that their sins all had to do with their genuinely elevated status. As the Lubavitcher Rebbe explained, they were at a very high level and sought essentially to be removed from the world, i.e. not get married, the use of intoxicants. But a priest who is so far removed from material reality, cannot serve the people effectively.

Contrast this with the haftorah which describes King David’s ecstatic accompaniment of Ark to Jerusalem. David is described as dancing with all his might (II Sam 6:14). His exuberance is so great that his wife holds him in contempt, for surely this is not conduct befitting of a King (II Sam 6:16). The Commentaries praise David for this conduct. For example, the Malbim, commenting on this verse, lists this dancing as an example of how the King sacrificed his honor four G-d’s honour, and actually goes further and says that at the time he was wearing the clothes of a simple kohane. 

King David is modeling the kind of service the kohanim in search of ecstasy should follow, i.e. they should do it not in a way that is for their own gratification but is for the public. Interestingly, the Torah uses the world “‘VAYITZCHAK’”, And he laughed, to describe King David’s intense joy, and Ramban states that in his view “the intent of this expression is to convey the thought that whoever sees a favorable unusual event in one’s life rejoices to the point where” and links this to Sarah’s laughter at having a child at an old age. Ramban’s comment draws a link between spiritual ecstasy and the miraculous nature of reproduction. It is perhaps most pronounced when an event is unusual (e.g. the inauguration of the Mishkan), but these moments reveal the latent source of spiritual joy at all times, which is building the world, of which children are the highest example. This idea is further reinforced by the fact that when the Mishkan was temporarily stopped at the house of Oved-Edom, the Torah says he was blessed and Rashi explains this means with children (II Sam 6:11).

Finally, it is worth noting, that in the Haftorah, wine is only mentioned as part of the gifts which King David hands out to all the people to meet their needs (II Sam 6:19). Ultimately, the way we can be both prices and priests in our own life is to emulate King David and ensure our spiritual elation and ecstasy should result in the service of others by meeting their most basic needs.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Pesach

The miracle that surrounded the first seder, was the salvation, not of the Jews as a whole, but of first-borns. Although nowadays, only first-borns have to concern ourselves with this fact (owing to the fast day leading up to the first night), yet the fate of the first borns must be significant to the entire Jewish people. This is so not just because the fate of any Jew is of concern to the entire Jewish people, but because somehow the redemption of the entire Jewish people is specifically caught up in the redemption of the first borns. 

This is alluded to in the Shabbos reading for right after it sets out the mitzvah of Pesach:

All that opens the womb is Mine, and all your livestock [that] bears a male, [by] the emergence of ox or lamb. And a firstborn donkey you shall redeem with a lamb; if you do not redeem it, you shall decapitate it; every firstborn of your sons you shall redeem, and they shall not appear before Me empty handed. (Exo 34:19-20)

This redemption is born out of the salvation of the first-borns. However, this consecration of first-born human males could have been realized by simply making the first-born the priest. Indeed, this seemed to be the natural course of things (as exemplified by the story of Jacob taking the rights of the first born from Esau). However, this process was interrupted by the Sin of Golden Calf, and so instead the first born is swapped out for the Tribe of Levi. 

We see in this that, as originally conceived, the leadership and priesthood of the Jewish people were united in the first born. Seen through this lens, we can see why the salvation of the first born would be vital to the salvation of the Jewish people, because their redemption at once emancipated from Egyptian rule the collective leadership of the Jewish people and in doing so bound it to the Divine. 

The genius of Jewish history is precisely how our very failings indicate our great potential. For the first-born (i.e. the initial plan, the first tablets, etc.) demonstrates that it is indeed possible to unite seemingly contradictory elements (the priest and the prince) in a single person. Yet these incidental failures demonstrate equally that as needs dictates one can be redeemed for another. The fact that what would we think of as inalienable or inherent rights can be made a matter of transaction (Jacob’s purchased the birthright, the kohane must be paid for the redemption of the first-born) teaches us that notwithstanding our seemingly natural and immutable differences, we have at the deepest level a common source, and therefore can be made fungible. 

The seder embodies this, for we all have a role to play in teaching and in learning. We can each of us bring insights, stories, or simply understand what others are saying in a novel way so as to further advance that Exodus. This is a fundamental lesson to teach children, that they not view themselves as simply passive in the educational process or the process of redemption, and that while everyone is different and has different strengths and weaknesses, when something needs doing that goes out the window and whoever can act must do so.

Chag sameach! Shabbat shalom!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Tzav

In this week’s parsha, we revisit the inauguration of the Mishkan. The official proceedings begin by Moses assembling “the entire community at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting.” (Lev 8:3) Rashi comments that this is one example where a small area accommodated a large number of people. This is an incredible feat. What is more incredible is that it’s not reserved for the inauguration of the Temple, but is seems to be echoed in the mitzvah of Hakhel, in which the King is commanded to gather the Jewish people to hear him read from the Torah (although some are exempt*). Furthermore, though there is some debate as to the location of the reading, a number of opinions place it in the courtyard.

This moment of inauguration is further paralleled in that Moses opens by saying “This is the thing the Lord has commanded to do.” (Lev 8:5). Rashi explains that he is emphasizing that he is not installing priests fo his own honour, but because it is commanded. Similarly, what does the King read during the mitzvah of hakhel? According to the Mishna (Sotah 41a), the king includes the mitzvah to appoint a king. In both cases, there is a miraculous bringing together of the people mixed with a cementing of the Priest and the King in the mitzvot of the Torah. Indeed, the break amongst the tribes of Israel necessarily resulted in another Temple being set up in the North, because the unanimity on which the priests and kings depend are intertwined.

There’s nothing new in kings or priests shoring up their power by appealing to Divine authority. There is something novel, I think, in those kings and priests being commanded to achieve unanimity, and pointing out the miraculous nature of achieving this unity. Indeed, even in our own time of universal suffrage, children can’t vote (whereas Moses and future Kings of Israel are commanded to gather children as well). 

Although in a representative democracy (and certainly in an authoritarian regime) the leader is theoretically supposed to represent the entire people, in practice they represent some part sufficient to maintain them in power (conditioned by any concessions and compromises necessary to keep both the internal coherence of their coalition and to minimize the disruptiveness of opposition). There’s nothing illicit in this. People have conflicting views and interests and it would be nonsensical to imagine they could somehow be made coherent (much less entirely unified) by any secular means short of totalitarianism. 

The idea of gathering everyone in such a unified way, presupposes a common acceptance of Divine Commandments, a shared metaphysics. Only if we accept a common framework for the full expression of the underlying selves can we even begin to assume any common decision could be fully representative. 

Interestingly, those who are exempt from the mitzvah of hakhel according to Rambam are those with physical impairments which would have prevented them from standing, hearing, etc. This is perhaps why for the people to stand as one at the Mount Sinai it was necessary that everyone be healed. Therefore, on a practical level, we should accept the futility of certain arguments if there isn’t a common underlying framework. And secondly, a precondition of the achieving the kind of unity that occurred at Mount Sinai involves making our communities more accessible so that everyone can participate fully.  

Note: Many of the above sources are drawn from a sicha of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, a summary of which can be found here.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

VaYikra

As we explore the relationship of Jews to politics, no Book quite puts a damper on it like Vayikra. As Rabbi Adin Even-Israel Steinsatlz (obm) explains in the introduction to Vayikra, that this Book is referred to in ancient sources as “the Priestly Code”. He paints it as an expansion of G-d’s commandment set out in Exodus that Israel be “for Me a Kingdom of Priests, and a holy nation” (Exo 19:6). The Talmud Yerushalmi explains that (Shekalim 6:1) one does not anoint a priest as king either because he is not of the Tribe of Judah (and so he might be a leader in a time of need, but a dynasty cannot replace David’s) or because a priest needs to be fully dedicated to Divine service. At the same time, we find a seemingly contradictory opinion in Tractate Horayot (13a) that “all of Israel are fit for royalty,” and even more forcefully in the Babylonian Talmud (67a), in which we find Rabbi Oshaya quoting Rabbi Shimon that all of Israel are princes (although his view is rejected for the purposes of halacha). 

As we proceed through the Book of Vayikra, we will explore how all these views can be true together. How can we reconcile our injunction to be a nation of priests with our potential to be a nation of royalty. This apparent paradox is manifest in the person of Moses, who, in unifying the kingship, priesthood, and court in some sense revealed that it is possible to in some sense unify these three facets of our collective lives in ourselves. 

With that in mind, let us begin. 

This week’s parsha states “If the anointed kohen sins, bringing guilt to the people, then he shall bring for his sin which he has committed, an unblemished young bull as a sin offering to the Lord.” (Lev 4:3) Rashi explains that according to the simple interpretation, “according to the aggadah: When the holy priest sins, it is the fault of the people, for they are dependent on him to atone for them and pray for them— and [now] he has become impaired.” 

In our capacity as priests, we cannot think of ourselves as just private individuals. Because the community depends on each of us, to enable their own spiritual growth, if we are impaired, we cannot help others. This public importance of our private lives is something which royalty and priesthood has in common. 

This is in radical contrast to the atomizing nature of contemporary politics. People sometimes take views, either online or in person and then if challenged by a different view retreat behind “well it’s just my personal opinion”. Politics is not merely the aggregation of individual opinions and interests. Our opinions about public issues have impact on others. By evaluating public issues merely through the lens of how they impact oneself abdicates responsibility for and ultimately harms others on whom our views have an impact. 

Furthermore, we should realize that our personal choices, not only impact our own spiritual and physical well-being but impact our ability to help others. For example, if one does not focus in one’s studies because the topic is not of interest to us personally, one will be unable to help someone else for whom it may be of great importance. On the other hand, if one studies in order to teach one will merit both to learn and teach. If one is not careful with one’s own money, one will not have the funds available when an opportunity for tzedaka arrives.

May we all be cognizant of how others depend on us! 

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

VaYakhel/Pekudei/Parshas HaChodesh

We started the book of Shemos with the building of store houses of Pithom and Raamses. It is therefore fitting that we conclude with the building of the Mishkan. If the Jews were made into servants of Pharoah through the process of building the former, they were made into servants of G-d through the process of building the latter. Due to limited space, I will focus on just one fascinating difference between the two-the role of the women in building the Mishkan. 

As we discussed in parsha Yitro and Terumah, we can read the building of the Mishkan as a tikkun for the attempt to radically decentralize the Divine presence amongst the Jewish people that was aborted in the tragedy of the Golden Calf. How did the way the Mishkan was built specifically respond to the sin of the Golden Calf? Verse 35:22 states: “The men came with the women; every generous hearted person brought bracelets and earrings and rings and buckles.” Rashi comments that the jewelry was still on the women. What is the significance of this? When the Jews confronted Aaron to build the Golden Calf, he instructed them “”Remove the golden earrings that are on the ears of your wives…”, but they did not, they simply gave their own (Exo 32:2-3). Perhaps we could understand Aaron as having not simply wanted to delay the men, but calculating that if they had shared their plans with their wives, the wives would have stopped it (in a way that he clearly could not). 

There is further proof for this in the building of Pithom and Raamses, for we learn in the Haggadah that the Egyptian labour schedule worked precisely to disrupt the family life of the Jews, perhaps also realizing that if the men were separated from the women, they could be degraded. Indeed, this is explicitly alluded to in Rashi as when Amram divorced Yocheved, Miriam rebuked him for decreeing even more harshly than Pharoah (Exo 2:1). Pharoah had nearly succeeded in convincing the Jewish men to separate from the Jewish women and thereby dooming the Jewish people. Their redemption lay in reuniting with the Jewish women. Perhaps Aaron learned from his sister and attempted a similar strategy (but to no avail) to avert the Golden Calf. 

But if the men had merely brought the women with the jewelry still on, this would have shown that they repented from the sin of the Golden Calf, but would not have made a categorical break from how the work was done in Egypt. It is therefore interesting to note that Rashi’s comment on verse 35:22 parallels his comment on 35:26, in which the women bring goats with their hair already woven into thread. Not only does this reflect their extraordinary skill, but the Rebbe comments that it showed their eagerness to perform the mitzvah (i.e. they did not delay by even taking the very reasonable step of removing the hair). This eagerness parallels their eagerness to praise G-d at the Red Sea (i.e. singing first), wherein they brought timbrels because they were so certain of redemption and miracles already in Egypt (Exo 15:20). This relates to another aspect of their contribution to the Mishkan since Rashi explained the contribution of mirrors was precious to G-d for they used them to propagate Israel even in Egypt showing their faith even then (Exo 38:8). 

In short, the fullest participation of women in this holy endeavour categorically distinguishes it from how things were done in Egypt and reflects how enmeshed the redemption of the Jewish people is with the fullest contribution of Jewish women to our collective lives. As the Rebbe put it, in the times of Moschiach, the feminine aspect of the Divine will be fully revealed.

What can we take away from this practically? Firstly, we must learn from the women to be eager to perform mitzvot and we must learn how to prepare not only for the worst, but for the best. We must be very careful to realize that in making our homes a Mishkan, it is necessary for everyone to be able to make the fullest contribution with a generous heart. And (particularly for the men reading this), if we make decisions without first consulting the women in our lives, or let work interfere with our family obligations, we are practicing habits first learnt in Egypt.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Ki Tisa/Parah/Purim: More Than Just a Representative

It is taught that Moshe’s name was not mentioned in last week’s parsha, because in this week’s parsha he says if you do not forgive the people’s sin of the Golden Calf “erase me now from Your book, which You have written.” (Exo 32:32). Last week’s parsha concerned the priestly vestments and the inauguration of the priests. A midrash explains Moses would have been High Priest, but lost the merit because he argued with G-d for a week before assuming responsibility for the Jewish people. Perhaps paradoxically, he therefore got to serve as High Priest only for the week of the inauguration. Why is Moses’ great merit and punishment so linked in last week’s parsha?

Perhaps we find Moses’ willingness to be erased and his punishment for refusing to take responsibility for the Jewish people together precisely because the former shows how completely he had been transformed. The same man who argued for a week not to lead the Jewish people, now, in a heartbeat was ready to be completely erased for them. And in a sense, what happens next, reveals that even his “defect” (i.e. his delaying in taking up the mantle) really also showed his qualifications. For in contrast to Aaron, who was willing to buy time but not to push back against the Jewish people, Moses was willing to argue with G-d and then to go down from the mountain and direct the execution of 3,000 men. The kingship and the priesthood should not mix and Moses’ ability to argue showed his qualifications for the former not the latter.

There is delay in taking on a communal task which comes from irresponsibility and there is delay which comes from not only a deep sense of humility but also responsibility. Indeed, we find this idea in the halacha of all kinds of positions of leadership, from accepting a position as chazan to accepting a position as judge. Ultimately, we should delay and demure even if we plan on accepting, unless there really isn’t anyone more qualified, in which case it becomes our duty to accept. 

Let us contrast this with King Saul, who, in last week’s haftorah, much like Aaron, did not push back against the Jewish people out of fear, and the best he could do was declare a holiday to G-d, tomorrow, so to speak (Exo 32:5), by directing the illicitly seized livestocks towards sacrifices. The priest, the leader, is more than just a representative of the people, a mere facilitator of their collective will whatever it happens to be in the moment. Rather, they are a facilitator of the collective will of the best version of the people. 

Only in the times of Mordechai and Esther were the Jews fully able to accept the Torah. For Mordechai and Esther had brought about a unity in the Jewish people such as had not existed since they stood ready at the foot of Mount Sinai. What Mordechai and Esther accomplished was to get the Jewish people to, when neither Moses nor G-d, were anywhere to be seen, to turn not to gods of convenience, such as were certainly available to them, but to remain firm in their convictions. 

We live in times of multiple crises and there are no shortage of demagogues offering various kinds of golden calves. Jewish leaders of all stripes face pressure from their followers to “make”, in the sense of sanctify, varying solutions. But communal leaders are more than just representatives of whatever the community happens to think in that moment. The Torah is wider and deeper than the shallow movements of any moment. May our leaders always have the pragmatism to attend banquets as necessary and the resolve to leave as soon as people start showing up in the garb of the High Priest! 

And as for each of us, Purim is about the binding together of the community, because only by coming out and supporting each other through tzedaka, friendship, and joy, can we bring out what is best in each other. So we should seize every opportunity to do mitzvahs with others!

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Tetzaveh: Better than a Peace Offering

“Has the Lord (as much) desire in burnt offerings and peace-offerings, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than a peace-offering; to hearken (is better) than the fat of rams.” (1Sam 15:22)

In this week’s parsha, Tetzaveh, we learn all about the priestly garments and about a number of offerings, including burnt offerings and peace offerings. We also read a special section at the end and haftorah as part of four special sections leading up to the month of Nissan. This week it is about erasing the memory of Amalek and King Saul’s war against Amalek. 

The haftorah begins by the prophet Samuel reminding Saul that he was annointed king to follow the L-rd’s direction and the L-rd has directed the complete destruction of Amalek, including men, women, children, and animals (1Sam 15:1-3). King Saul amasses an enormous army of 210,000 soldiers and destroys most of Amalek, but, 

“…Saul and the people had pity on Agag, and on the best of the sheep and the cattle, and the fatlings, and on the fattened sheep, and on all that was good; and they did not want to destroy them; but everything which was vile and feeble, that they utterly destroyed.” (1Sam 15:9)

When Samuel confronts Saul about his deviating from instructions, at first, Saul explains that the animals are to sacrifice to G-d because the people had pity on the animals (1Sam 15:15). Indeed, Rashi explains that King Saul reasoned that ultimately the animals were innocent (1Sam 15:5). When Samuel tells King Saul he has lost the kingship because he has not followed G-d’s instruction, King Saul confesses “”I have sinned, for I transgressed the Lord’s command, and your words, for I feared the people, and I hearkened to their voice.” (1Sam 15:24)

As we saw in parshas Va’eira and Bo with Pharoah, from a secular perspective, it is precisely the source of power, in this case a large army, which becomes the constraint of that power, in this case fearing the will of a massively assembled and armed people. And indeed, secular power has a logic of its own, because the Jewish people in their “pity” end up imitating the logic of Amalek which they were supposed to blot out. Just as Amalek attacked the “stragglers” of Israel (Deut 25:18), so too did Israel destroy what was “vile and feeble” but saw a greater use in the stronger (1Sam 15:9). 

Indeed, G-d’s commandment seems totally irrational. Even if we conceded that, though brutal, leaving survivors always leaves the possibility of revenge, what possible threat could the animals pose? So King Saul, quite understandably, does the political thing and tries to make everyone happy. At first he claims to Samuel that he has satisfied G-d’s command at the same time giving into the people’s demand. His attempted solution comes in the form of a peace offering (i.e. an offering where G-d gets some, the kohane gets some, and the donor gets some (Exo 29:28)).

But as Samuel explains, obedience is greater than a peace offering. There is law which transcends even the collective will of the people. It may seem at first glance that the people’s will enters pity into what seems like an otherwise ruthless commandment, but we look closer, we see an element of self-interest that in no way alleviates those on which they claim to take pity. However difficult it is to understand this commandment, it is clearly designed not for the mere self-interest of the people. Because self-interest always finds a way of clothing itself in higher causes, one comes to understand the chassidic expression “one cannot pull himself up by his own hair.”

Perhaps this is another reason we learn the laws of what is prohibited on Shabbos from the laws of building the Mishkan. Because as long as it’s up to us, we will find ways to sanctify what seems right in our eyes. So G-d says “Has the Lord (as much) desire in burnt offerings and peace-offerings, as in obeying the voice of the Lord?”

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Terumah: On Voluntary Servitude

Whereas last week’s parsha begins with the halacha of Hebrew servants, this week’s parsha with a fundraising call “Speak to the children of Israel, and have them take for Me an offering; from every person whose heart inspires him to generosity, you shall take My offering.” (Exo 26:2).This would seem to emphasize the freedom that characterizes the deepest part of a person’s relationship to G-d in contrast to the servitude to other person. 

On the other hand, the haftorah begins by explaining how when Solomon, a human authority, built the Temple, he did so by compelling labour and appointing taskmasters over the Jewish people (I Kings 5:27-30). There are many ways we could take this contrast. Perhaps it is a rebuke of the Jewish people who unlike their ancestors were unwilling to put in the work willingly so they had to be compelled. Perhaps it’s meant to emphasize that the voluntary character of the Mishkan could have only taken place in the desert (i.e. in the exceptional circumstances of direct interaction and support by G-d). Perhaps the Jewish people in asking for a king “like all the nations” were anticipating that they would require compulsion precisely for such a time as the construction of the Temple. 

G-d’s ambivalence towards the appointment of a king has been thoroughly commented on. On the one hand, G-d clearly predicts that it will happen, allows it, and sets parameters around it (Deut 17:15), on the other hand, when the Jews come to Samuel to appoint a king G-d takes it as a rejection of Him (1 Sam 8:7). There are many explanations for this (e.g. a king is not inherently wong, but how and why they asked for it was, etc.). Perhaps one answer we can draw from the contrast between this week’s parsha and haftorah is that the highest form of G-d’s commandments are, most paradoxically, those that call on us to act voluntarily. 

For example, as Rabbi Akiva said “to love your fellow as yourself” is a fundamental principle of the Torah (Rashi on Leviticus 19:18). What makes it so fundamental? Perhaps the fact that it expresses the nature of mtizvahs par excellence, that though some aspect of them can be compelled (e.g. be as careful with others property as your own), the full realization of them can’t (i.e. the genuine love of another). Nevertheless, this voluntary aspect does not detract from its compulsory character.

Similarly, its been pointed out that when G-d “commanded” Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, he use the term “nah”, which is a term of entreaty (i.e. like “please”) (Gen 22:2). That this wasn’t an absolute commandment, but voluntary made it all the more of a test, partly because some things simply can’t be commanded, and because one can always say to oneself “this isn’t a command so I don’t really have to do it.”

Ultimately, as there is no human political authority to compel us to give tzedaka or not to get angry or forgive others, we are in the unique position of being able to build the Temple out of a generosity of heart. But we should not fool ourselves into thinking that doing the right thing is an act of charity. Ultimately, doing what is right is commanded and it is only when we have so fully internalized what is right that what comes from the heart is identical to what ought to be compelled that we have overcome the tragic paradox of the role for coercion (and political power) in this world.

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

Mishpatim: The Law and the King

“If you see your enemy’s donkey lying under its burden would you refrain from helping him? You shall surely help along with him. You shall not pervert the judgment of your poor man in his lawsuit.” (Exo 23: 5-6)

The parsha this week is fundamentally about those laws (mishpatim) which we may classify as apparently rational in the Torah (as opposed to chukim, edicts). As laws in a sense define the limit of politics (i.e. the ultimate boundaries of discretionary decision-making), this week’s parsha provides us with fundamental lessons about politics in the negative.

The above two mitzvahs, particularly because the Torah has juxtaposed them, seem to teach us that both understandable antipathy and sympathy must be overcome in the exercise of an individual and court’s decision-making. These two juxtaposed mitzvahs also highlight that Jewish law, in contrast to modern secular legal systems, is that we are all legal decision-makers meant to apply law in the moment, not simply passive subjects of laws left to the domain of experts who will only rule on the exact meaning of it after the events have taken place. Just as a judge is expected to apply law faithfully, so is each of us. 

We are explicitly instructed not to bring such matters to foreign courts (Exo 21:1). As even if they reach the same result, in introducing idolatrous principles, extraneous conditions, they honour those above G-d. Similarly, not only what we decide but how we come to make decisions matters. If we only help the donkey because it is our friend’s can we really claim to care about their suffering? If we only judge favourably those litigants we sympathize with, can we really be said to be applying the law? 

Do not be over friendly with the government because they will befriend you in your hour of need. The sages could tell us this because like the donkey or the sympathetic litigant, the political allegiance lasts only as long as its politically favourable to do so. G-d’s Will manifests in law (when other peoples identify it more closely with the discretionary authority of the king), because only true law has the reliability to be the principled expression of an eternal and unchanging Will.

Benjamin Miller

Parshas Yisro

Until now, political power as embodied in Pharoah has been shown to be arbitrary, hollow, self-defeating, and, above all, centralized. Ultimately, the Torah replaces the hole at the centre of Egyptian society with G-d’s Divine Power. But the end goal is not simply to switch one master for an admittedly infinitely better Master. Rather, ultimately, G-d’s goal is to dwell amongst the Jewish people. Moses was adamant to Pharoah that everyone must leave to worship G-d, because anything less would imply a direct experience of G-d that some segment of the Jewish people could lord over others, be they the old over the young, men over women, or the priests over the general population. 

This was to lay the foundation for a radically different society in which the Ultimate Unity of the King was not imposed on the plurality of His subjects, but expressed out of it. It is perhaps here that we get the kabbalistic idea that the 600,000 souls at Sinai corresponded to the 600,000 letters of the Torah. Namely, that each soul was necessary in order to express the Will of G-d (i.e. the Torah). This is a form of genuinely universal democracy within the Jewish people (and whoever might join them, as Yitro so perfectly exemplifies) that is not contrary to but actually necessary for the full expression of its Jewishness. This is in sharp contrast to a system in which there are 600,000 Pharoah vying for power, each attempting to pull together coalitions to impose their always amorphous sometimes shared sometimes conflicting interests over one another. This is perhaps one reason we need to be told there is 1/60th Moses (and not Pharoah) in each of us. This is the difference between an essentially and incidentally peaceful civil society.

However, this experiment in a radical theocratic democracy did not last. Moses went up the mountain and appeared to not come down on the 40th day, and the Jewish men (minus the Tribe of Levi) lost it. There was a reversion to old ways, which, even on the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s most charitable interpretation, meant a reversion to an intermediary between man and G-d in the form of the Golden Calf.  

From this point on, there was a re-centralization of authority as a tikkun (repair) for this sin, i.e. if what people ask for is an intermediary, then they will get it. There would be one central Temple (the Mishkan). The priests would come from one Tribe as opposed to the first born of each household. And Moses would sit and judge alone. 

That this last point is a response to the Golden Calf is not so explicit. Indeed, the story of Moses judging alone comes before the giving of the Ten Commandments. It is precisely this lack of chronology that forces Rashi to discuss at length how this judging must be happening immediately after Yom Kippur (which happened after Moses came down with the second set of tablets). What do you supposed they were atoning for that Yom Kippur? Rashi thereby directly links the way in which Moses is judging to the overall project of repentance for the Sin of the Golden Calf. 

All of the above explains why Moses’ initial inclination to centralize judgment in himself made sense. But ultimately, it takes the wisdom of a father, Yitro, (and recall we are told that Moses had not had the opportunity to grow as a father only having his children returned to him now), to see that the response to being let down and feeling betrayed by your children is not to deprive them of all opportunities for responsibility and independence, but instead, to gradually build up their confidence and competence through greater and greater opportunities for leadership, until ultimately these stop-gap measures are no longer needed.

May we speedily see a day in which the light of every soul shines forth unimpeded by the confusion of this world and only true and just judgments be spoken from all.

Benjamin Miller

Parshas Beshalach

In the last few weeks, we have reflected on the hollow aspirations of political power, its illusory sense of necessity, and the self-defeating nature of a so-called unconstrained freedom. In this week’s parsha, we find a remedy for all this indeterminacy. 

The genius of the first Passover in last week’s parsha is that it commemorated an event as it was still unfolding, locking in its meaning for all generations (Exo 13:14). Only G-d could dare to do this. A human observer might of course make comments reflexively, but it would require great arrogance and folly to not see that even the significance of a completed event remains fundamentally malleable, and subject to endless revisionism. But did the first Passover succeed in having its intended effect?

This parsha opens with the admission that the way forward is going to be circuitous as opposed to a direct route through the lands of the Philistines, because the Jewish people are liable to run back to Egypt (Exo 13:17). Rashi points out that Amalek, the perennial sewer of doubt, is the problem from which the Jews would retreat. Now, as we find out later, if the Jews don’t go to Amalek, Amalek will come to the Jews, so we know it’s not a question of whether G-d wants the Jews to contront Amalek but when (Exo 17:8). We see therefore already the fragility of the Jews’ self-concept.

In the immediate aftermath of leaving Egypt, “The Children of Israel marched out with a high hand.” (i.e. triumphantly or defiantly) (Exo 14:8). Indeed, the midrash teaches that this verse informs us not just that the Jews were “exalted, praised, and sang a song of glorification to the L-rd of War”, but that at the very same time the Egyptians “vilified and execrated and cursed,” (Mekhilta d’Rabbi Yishmael 14:8:1-2). Politics is not just the struggle to assert different facts in the common ground of collective life, but to affirm different interpretations and ascribe different meanings to those facts. Directly opposite meanings of events can co-exist.

And indeed, while not a guarantee, because G-d hardened Pharoah’s heart, action follows interpretation just as interpretation follows action. Because Pharoah pursues, in just two verses, the Children of Israel go from a sense of triumph to being “Very frightened” (Exo 14:10). We know how this story ends, they cross the Sea on dry land, the Egyptians are swallowed up and G-d and the Jewish people are glorified. The climax of this celebration is Miriam “who took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women came out after her with timbrels and with dances.” for as Rashi explains “The righteous women of that generation were [so] certain that the Holy One, blessed be He, would perform miracles for them, they took timbrels out of Egypt.” (Exo 15:20) 

Like G-d, the righteous women could interpret the meaning of events as they transpired in light of their certainty of the conclusion. And here we see why the future has an indispensable role in Jewish history, because without certainty of Redemption, events have no essential fixity. While Jewish understanding of past events can deepen over time with new interpretations, what separates this process from endless malleability, subject to endless war, is the ability to approach events through the lens of Torah. This is partly why Elijah’s function is to resolve halachic disputes, i.e. the view that all debates for the sake of Heaven can be resolved is a uniquely monotheistic inference, for without monotheism it is mere superstition.

For those of us who aren’t historians or journalists, what can we take from this? Realizing that an endless conflict in narratives is not only true at the global level but also at the individual level, we realize why we have to be so careful to judge our fellows favourably. Giving people the benefit of the doubt is essential for exactly the reason we feel vulnerable in doing so, namely, a more insidious narrative is always possible. Treating each other as essential means interpreting each other in ways which bring each other together rather than pull us apart.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

Parshas Bo

This week’s parsha begins with G-d telling Moses and Aaron again that he has hardened Pharoah’s heart (Exo 10:1). Did Pharoah have free will? It’s a tired old question that, if you’re in the habit of hearing dvrei Torah, you’ve probably heard a million perspectives on. Nevertheless, with no small amount of hubris, I too will approach this question, but I will do so from the vantage point of a broader question, “Is any political leader truly “free”?” Surely, if any political leader was free in the sense that their actions depended solely on their own will, an absolute monarch like Pharoah would be an archetypal example. 

In political science, there are a spectrum of answers to this question ranging loosely from an institutionalist perspective which sees decision-makers as mere placeholders carrying out the trends of broader historical, political, economic, and institutional forces to a “great man” perspective which sees (at least some) individuals as capable of exercising great agency and commanding huge institutional forces. Most accounts of power fall somewhere in the middle, conceding that decision-makers may have more or less agency depending on their personal ability, creativity, and resources, but fundamentally decision-makers are constrained by the interest groups, strategies, and need for resources that put them in power and keep them there. 

A great example of the constrained nature of power in last week’s parsha is the fact that Pharoah in deifying himself and claiming he did not need to go to the washroom like a mere mortal was forced to go in secret in the Nile early in the morning (Rashi on Exo 7:15). This falsehood may have helped him consolidate power but once the lie is out there, he is forced to keep it up. This is another example of the illusory nature of power we discussed last week (the illusion binds even the one in power somewhat).

Now, in this week’s parsha, this principle is put to the test. Pharoah’s servants complain to Pharoah that “Egypt is already lost”, so he should let the Jewish people go, whereupon Rashi says, they sent a messenger to retrieve Moses and Aaron (Exo 10:7-8). If Pharoah’s heart was hardened, why was he willing to call Moses and Aaron back? This seems to be an illustration of the ways in which even Pharoah is bound by the various interest groups (e.g. astrologers, advisers, etc.). And yet ultimately, he relents and chases Moses and Aaron out, seemingly illustrating that he is truly above these external forces.

This perplexing pattern repeats itself. Once the plague of the locusts happens, Pharoah literally runs to apologize and seek forgiveness, but as soon as the plague is over G-d strengthens his heart (Exo 10:16-20). Again, we see Pharoah’s vulnerability to the very real constraints of a horrific famine, but then, with G-d’s help, he is able to overcome this reality and re-assert the principle he has said he has stood for (his will goes and the Jewish people will not leave). 

In this sense, therefore, we see that G-d’s punishment fits the crime. Not only did G-d not take away Pharoah’s free will, he gave him a form of absolute freedom. In fact, G-d simply gave Pharoah what an absolute monarch claims to already have, namely, the ability to make decisions unconstrained by the people or material realities around him. 

There is a lesson for us in all this. For perhaps we sometimes tell ourselves how much more free we would be if we didn’t have to worry about this person or that mitzvah. Perhaps that’s true, but that sort of freedom is a fool’s freedom. On the other hand, for every curse there is an equivalent and even greater blessing. For if G-d can harden Pharoah’s heart, surely He can harden ours in learning to ignore those external forces which get in the way of doing what is right.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

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Parshas Va’eira

In this week’s parsha, after a discouraging encounter with the dismissive Jewish people who are short of breath (Exo 6:9), G-d appoints Aaron as intermediary to speak to Pharoah (Exo 6:13), and Moses and Aaron begin to confront Pharoah with miracles and plagues. Their opening move, following G-d’s instruction, is for Aaron to cast down his staff and for it to turn into a snake (Exo 7:9-10). Aaron does this, and Pharoah, thinking this is simply magic, sends his wise men, magicians, and necromancers to also turn staffs to snakes. Aaron’s staff swallows theirs but Pharoah is unconvinced (Exo 7:11-13).

Some questions immediately present themselves. Firstly, given all the overwhelming miracles to come what does this comparatively “small” miracle add, especially when G-d must have known Pharoah’s magicians could duplicate it somewhat. Secondly, Why does it have to be Aaron’s staff? According to Rashi, Aaron has been appointed as a go-between because Moses doesn’t think Pharoah will listen to him owning to his speech impediment (if the Jews wouldn’t listen why would Pharoah?), but throwing down a staff isn’t exactly a speaking role. I believe we can answer both these questions together.

Firstly, what is the purpose of this opening exchange? There are actually two versions of the Rashi text explaining the reason for G-d’s instructions is for Moses and Aaron to offer “a sign to make [it] known that there is power [צרוך] in the One who is sending you.” So at first glance this seems to announce a contest of power, and indeed Pharoah’s actions right up until he is drowned in the Sea, seem to suggest that he understands what’s happening as a good old fashioned power struggle, a war that no matter how many battles he loses, is still at all times theoretically winnable. Yet the other Rashi text replaces “power” with “need” [“צורך”].

This very ambiguity is teaching us a lesson. Although power creates the illusion of necessity (the two words look similar), they are not the same thing. In conventional human politics, those in power can create the illusion of necessity but they cannot create necessity as such. This is reflected in the inability of the Jews to listen to Moses because of the shortness of their breath. Confronted with material deprivation and coercion it is difficult to imagine a different world, but one is indeed possible.

The Patriarchs didn’t question the seemingly impossible, but Moses did, and so G-d introduces a new Name, which Rashi explains means “I can be relied upon to punish and reward” (Exo 6:2). In response, Moses relies on one of the ten kal vahomer (a fortiori) arguments in the Torah saying if the Jews who have everything to gain won’t listen why would Pharoah who has everything to lose? This is a good logical argument suitable for ordinary power struggle and interest based bargaining, G-d’s clear response is that his Domain is not that of ordinary struggle and calculations, so Aaron will act as an intermediary as Moses is clearly caught up in the false necessity of political power in thinking it can be reduced to logic. The miracle, according to Rashi, is not just that one snake ate the other snakes but that Aaron’s staff ate the other staff (i.e. outside of the rules of engagement) (Exo 7:12).

So what’s the lesson for us? As Rambam explains in the Guide for the Perplexed, the snake is also a symbol for the yetzer horah, the animal inclination. In this case the miracle was that the snakes were consumed not simply by another snake but by a staff. There are a lot of pressures which seem to get in the way of mitzvot. We should know, it’s a false contest. There is no real power struggle only its illusion which the animal inclination depends on to keep us obedient. Next time we are wrestling with a temptation, we should remember the one who sent the staff to consume the snakes sent us to do what is right!

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

(647) 542-3141

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Parshas Shemos

This week’s parsha begins by listing the names of those who descended to Egypt with Jacob. It also mentions that Joseph was already there. Did we not already know Joseph was in Egypt? Rashi explains that Joseph’s name is repeated to emphasize that this was the same righteous Joseph who tended his fathers flocks (Exo 1:5). Pharoah may have given him a new name, new clothes, a new wife, and a new job, but who he was in essence did not change.

Contrast that with Pharoah. We are told “A new king arose over Egypt, who did not know about Joseph.” (Exo 1:8). Rashi explains that Rav and Shmuel debate whether this was really a new dynasty, or it was the same dynasty, but simply adopted a radically new policy. Both sides have issues to deal with; but the reason both views are even possible is because the office of Pharoah is compatible with even opposite policies from one moment to the next.

This is possible because, as the Pharoah sets himself up as the ultimate arbiter, there is no higher or inner law that could bind or constrain his actions. Though Pharoah is generally presented as shrewd (see e.g. Zohar Pashat Pinchas) and King Ahashverosh is interpreted by many sages as a fool (see e.g. Esther Rabbah 1:1), they are similar in this feature that in principle they seem capable of anything, because they acknowledge nothing that constrains them. Indeed, this is a feature of idolatrous political authority that sets itself up as a god.

This nothingness at the centre of being is physically embodied in the store cities of Pithom and Ramses, as the Rebbe explains citing Tractate Sotah 11a:

“Involvement in materiality on its own, without Divine light illuminating this involvement, is akin to building Pisom and Raamses as “cities for Pharaoh.” As our Sages explain: “Raamses, רעמסס— {everything they had built} collapsed, מתרוסס, one after the other…. Pisom, פיתהום — {everything they had built} was swallowed by the abyss, one after the other.” That is, it {materiality, on its own} does not endure.

It is in the nature of something to desire what it lacks and because hollow materiality is temporary and fickle in its nature, cut off from the Eternal, its highest aspiration is a sense of Eternity and fixity in the form of great works. This is perhaps best expressed by Machiavelli who argued that glory was the highest end of all political action. Of course, the buildings always do fall apart eventually. Perhaps the pioneer of this was Nimrod and the generation of the Tower of Babel.

Perhaps the novelty of our era is that materiality has leaned into its own temporality through planned obsolescence. The material powers that be have stopped pretending they can deliver permanence together with fixity, so instead, they promise constant novelty and growth, and so the lifecycle of everything gets shorter and shorter. Of course, this is killing the planet quite literally.

There is a clear answer. Just as the Jews merited redemption because they kept their Hebrew names in Egypt, they also merited redemption because they kept their dress. That is, they did not simply follow the fashions, throwing out last spring’s clothes for the latest line. When we recognize the inner divine spark in things, we treat them with respect, and they last. When we make and consume as if everything was so much empty materiality, then we too find ourselves expendable, as the slaves were in Egypt and the builders of the Tower of Babel were in their time.

May we see treat each other and our world with the respect that Eternity demands.

Git Shabbos!

Benjamin Miller

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