Parshas Toldos — The Wellsprings of Redemption
Whenever the Torah elaborates upon seemingly trivial details or events, the attentive student of Jewish philosophy becomes especially attentive.
Consequently, the episode of Yitzchok (Isaac) in the land of the P’lishtim (Philistines), by virtue of the amount of space devoted to it in scripture, cries out for explanation.
The narrative of Bereishis 26 tells us that, responding to a famine in the land of Canaan, Yitzchok followed in the footsteps of his father and traveled to the more fertile land of the P’lishtim to await times of renewed prosperity. HaShem blessed Yitzchok with such extraordinary wealth that the P’lishtim became jealous of him and stopped up the wells that had been dug in the days of Avrohom. Avimelech, the king of the P’lishtim, ordered Yitzchok to depart.
Yitzchok camped in the neighboring land of Gerar, and re-dug the wells his father had dug there, calling them by the same names his father had given them. But the shepherds of Gerar quarreled with him over the wells, claiming the water was theirs. Yitzchok yielded and dug new wells, but the shepherds of Gerar disputed these, too.
Only when Yitzchok distanced himself and again dug new wells did the shepherds of Gerar no longer quarrel with him. But instead of remaining where he was, Yitzchok traveled further into the land of his birth, to Be’er Sheva. There, HaShem appeared to him and declared, Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Yitzchok settled there and dug new wells.
The sages tell us that water, the source of all physical life, is an allegory for Torah, the source of all spiritual life. If so, the wells in our parsha’s narrative may be understood to symbolize Yitzchok’s efforts to provide spiritual life to all mankind by creating a greater connection between the physical world and the “waters” of Torah.
According to this interpretation, Yitzchok first attempted to continue the work of his father by living among the P’lishtim as his father had. But where Avrohom had lived peacefully among the P’lishtim, Yitzchok’s presence among them became the cause of strife, so that they stopped up the wells that had been dug in the days of his father – that is, they rejected the spiritual lessons Avrohom had once taught them because of the resentment they felt toward Yitzchok.
So Yitzchok moved to Gerar, at the outskirts of the P’lishti community, seeking to carry on his father’s work where the lessons of spirituality had been forgotten, by re-digging the wells his father had dug and calling them by the same names. But again, his efforts produced only discord.
So Yitzchok moved away from the Plishtim entirely and dug new wells of his own. This time he encountered no resistance but, or so it seems, he achieved no great success either. And so Yitzchok returned to his own land, perhaps recognizing that, after three attempts and failures to serve HaShem in the style of his father, it was time to strike out in a new direction, to define himself as a servant of the Almighty according to his own talents and abilities rather than continuing to pursue a course identical to his father’s.
We know that Avrohom perfected his service according to his attribute of chesed – selfless loving-kindness. And as much as he may have sought to continue along the path charted by his father, Yitzchok had and entirely different character, defined as gevurah – spiritual self-discipline. Where Avrohom had defined his service in terms of his relationship with other people, Yitzchok defined his service in terms of his relationship with G-d. In pursuit of his own unique spiritual self-perfection, he reached the point where it was time to strike out on his own.
But Yitzchok knew the importance of building upon the accomplishments of previous generations and respecting the traditions of those who have come before. Perhaps he questioned his own decision, wondering if he had chosen wisely in charting his own path.
And so G-d appeared to Yitzchok and declared, Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Although he had departed from Avrohom’s style, by staying loyal to the essential values Avrohom had instilled in him, Yitzchok remained a true servant of HaShem. Thus assured, Yitzchok ceased his wanderings and dug “wells” if his own. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Avimelech came to Yitzchok and declared, We have seen that G-d is with you.
Astonishingly, after Yitzchok moved away, the P’lishtim recognized what they had not when he had lived in their midst. By following the callings of his soul, by respecting the teachings of his father while defining himself according to his own unique abilites and character, Yitzchok achieved so profound a sanctification of G-d’s name that he could inspire the P’lishtim to attach themselves to his spiritual nature even after he had removed himself from among them.
And indeed, on that very day, Yitzchok’s servants came to him announcing that they had found water. By striking the perfect balance between the tradition and individualism, by finding his own path without foresaking the path of his father, by clinging to the traditions of the previous generation while simultaneously developing his own sense of self, Yitzchok brought forth a fresh wellspring of spiritual energy, sending out ripples to every corner of the world. In this way, Yitzchok brought mankind one step closer to its final redemption, while providing his children with the formula for how to carry on in each and every generation.
Parshas Chayei Sara — The Foundations of the Future
As a high school rebbe, I often find comfort in the following midrash:
On one occasion, Rabbi Akiva looked up from his lesson to discover his students dozing. (If even Rabbi Akiva couldn’t always keep his students engaged, who I am to think I can?)
Rabbi Akiva employed a curious solution. “In what merit did Queen Esther rule over 127 provinces?” he asked. “Because her ancestor Sara lived for 127 years.” This seems to have roused his talmidim from their stupor and returned them to their study (Bereishis Rabbah 58:3).
I’ve tried Rabbi Akiva’s solution a few times. I’m sure it will surprise no one that his method produced far less success for me than it did for him. And although it may be easy to attribute my failure to yeridas haDoros, the decline of the generations, perhaps a more relevant lesson can be found elsewhere in the parsha.
So much of the parsha is devoted to Eliezer’s repetition of his instructions from Avrohom, concerning which the sages offer their famous comment that HaShem finds the conversation of the patriarchs’ servants more pleasing than the teachings of their children. For his sincere service to his master, Eliezer earned the appellation eved Avrohom (servant of Abraham), only one step removed from the highest possible praise, eved HaShem.
It seems inconsistent, therefore, that the Torah alludes to an ulterior motive at the very outset of Eliezer’s recapitulation. When he recounts the history of his search to Rivka’s family, Eliezer explains how Avrohom assured him of HaShem’s guidance when Eliezer expressed his fear that, “Perhaps the woman will not follow me.” Rashi observes that the word perhaps, ulai, is written so that it may also be read, eilai — to me, suggesting that Eliezer had hoped to wed his own daughter to Yitzchok. If so, how can we understand the sages’ praise of Eliezer as a selfless eved?
To make matters more difficult, why does the Torah allude to Eliezer’s self-interest here, now that he is repeating the story, rather than earlier in the parsha, when he actually stated his question to Avrohom?
In fact, the second question answers the first. The Kotzker Rebbe explains that when Eliezer originally expressed his question to Avrohom, he genuinely believed that he was asking in the best interests of Yitzchok. Eliezer had convinced himself that he truly sought Avrohom’s guidance should he fail in his mission to find Yitzchok a suitable wife.
It was only when he recounted the episode to Rivka’s family that Eliezer realized his real motives. Only from a vantage point of objective distance could Eliezer finally see that his well-intentioned request had truly been prompted by personal bias.
And so we find no inconsistency in the sages’ portrayal of Eliezer. He was indeed a true eved. But even a true eved is not immune to the seductive influence of self-interest, and even a true eved may be unable to recognize personal bias at the moment when it afflicts him. The same Eliezer for whom the way was miraculously shortened, for whom the waters rose to identify Rivka as Yitzchok’s match, for whom the curse of Ham transformed into a blessing, this same Eliezer who so loyally served Avrohom could not identify in himself the self-deception that sought to undermine Avrohom’s plans to find Yitzchok’s bashert.
So too, perhaps, the students of Rabbi Akiva. Rav Mendel Weinbach explains that Rabbi Akiva intended to impress upon his talmidim a sense of responsibility not only to themselves but also to future generations. What would have happened had Sara not devoted every moment of her 127 years to her service of HaShem? Without her merit, Esther would not have become queen. And had Esther not become queen, she would not have been positioned in the house of King Achashverosh to save the Jewish people.
Rabbi Akiva admonished his students by impressing upon them that, even if each might be willing to forgo his own portion in the World to Come, future generations might need the merit of their learning just as Esther had needed Sara’s merit so that she could save the Jewish people. You may be prepared to sacrifice a measure of your own reward, Rabbi Akiva suggested, but are you prepared to sacrifice your children and grandchildren as well?
Indeed, Rabbi Akiva’s rebuke to his talmidim reminds us how easily we make excuses for our own lack of mesiras nefesh (self-sacrifice) and how cheaply we are prepared to sell the priceless benefits of our portion in the World to Come. The momentary attraction of slackening in our divine service, of taking the line of least resistance even at the expense of our own heavenly reward, seems so reasonable that we our own rationalization for what it is – the most subtle tactic of the yeitzer hara.
Like Eliezer, however, the students of Rabbi Akiva could be shaken out of their lethargy, both literally and figuratively. The words of their rebbe penetrated their momentary carelessness and roused them to return to their study of the Divine Word. How inspiring that those students allowed themselves to be so easily inspired!
But we are not merely careless. We are committed to our carelessness, determined to sink into the drowsiness of indifference and ignore our rebbes’ reproof, whether that reproof comes from the rabbi or the rosh yeshiva, or even from the Torah itself. We offer a whole litany of excuses why we don’t need reexamine our ways, indulging the routine of habit just like, the Mesillas Yesharim tells us, a blind man walking in darkness.
We all have moments, however, when a window of opportunity opens, when our resistance to self-awareness drops, if only for a moment, and we can look back and take stock of ourselves. And, as those fleeting moments become fewer and fewer, they become ever more precious.
If we are honest with ourselves then, in the light of objectivity, we all know what’s at stake. No matter how difficult it is to be consistent models of kindness, of character, of diligence, of kiddush HaShem before our children’s eyes, we appreciate the potential cost and risk. If we make excuses for our laxity, if we exempt ourselves from our service, then we will have failed not some distant generation, as Rabbi Akiva warned his talmidim. Rather, we will be failing the next generation, our own children whom we brought into the world and with whose spiritual development HaShem has entrusted us.
The 127 years of Sara’s life, years equal in beauty and righteousness, did not end with Sara’s death. The blessings of Sara’s tent continued in the next generation through the merit of Rivka, and Sara’s own merit transcended a thousand years to the generation of Esther. The benefits of her effort and her service are beyond measure, and they teach us that ours can be, too, if we strive to live as she did.
Parshas Vayeira — The Gift of Giving
Although the Almighty designed the world as a place for every man to earn his eternal reward through the proper application of his own free will, G-d is only willing to tolerate man’s wickedness up to a point before He intervenes. And so, when the moral corruption of the city of Sodom surpassed the bounds of tolerability, G-d decreed the city’s destruction in a violent overthrow of fire and brimstone.
Before acting, however, the Almighty engages in a curious discussion with His heavenly hosts. “Shall I conceal from Abraham what I intend to do?” G-d asks. “For Avrohom will become a great and mighty nation, and through him all the nations of the world will be blessed. Indeed, I have made Myself known to him, so that he will command his children and his household after him, that they will guard the way of HaShem, doing charity and justice, in order that HaShem will bring upon Avrohom everything He has promised” (Bereishis 18:17-19).
The beginning and the end of G-d’s reflection seem to have no connection. What does Avrohom’s future as a great nation have to do with the need to inform him of G-d’s iminent actions? Furthermore, G-d’s description of Avrohom’s righteousness seems to imply that Avrohom’s instruction of his household is motivated by his own desire to receive the reward G-d had promised him. If so, what merit is there in that?
Let me offer an answer to the second question first. And, in the style of Jewish discourse, let me answer the question with a question:
What is it that we can give to G-d? Since His is infinite and eternal, without either need or want, He certainly does not need our service or our obediance. He gains nothing through our compliance with His will. Rather, the Almighty desires that we keep His laws as the means of earning our eternal reward. If so, the one thing we can give to G-d is the opportunity to give us the reward He wants us to have by earning it through the observance of His commandments.
This is the true motivation of our patriarch Avrohom: to keep G-d’s laws not to receive G-d’s reward for his own benefit, but as an act of giving, thereby providing the Almighty with the only thing He truly desires – the oppotunity to bestow the greatest possible blessing upon the world and all mankind.
Moreover, Avrohom was not satisfied to keep the commandments himself, nor even to shape the values of the world around him. Rather, Avrohom’s ultimate mission was to instill the values of G-dliness in his children by teaching them to guard the way of HaShem, doing charity and justice, so that an awareness of the Divine Will would never again be lost to the world as it was after the days of Adam and Noah.
How does this explain why HaShem could not conceal His plans from Avrohom? In general, we understand that G-d conceals His presence to allow us free will in choosing good over evil. In such a world, wickedness may sometimes thrive and flourish, compelling man to seek out G-d’s justice. But when destruction rains down from the sky, when G-d Himself wreaks vengeance that makes no distinction between the wicked and righteous, how then can mankind believe in the absolute justice of the Almighty?
For Avrohom to succeed in teaching G-d’s justice, he himself must fully understand G-d’s justice. And if the destruction of Sodom will appear to be less than just, then G-d must reveal His plan to Avrohom so that Avrohom can discern the justice inherent in the act.
Possessed of an unassailable understanding of Divine Justice, Avrohom could succeesfully transmit the G-dly virtues of charity and justice to his descendants, making it possible for them to grow into a great nation through which all the nations of the world would be blessed. In this way, the purpose of creation would be achieved as all mankind would have the opportunity to earn the reward that G-d wants all human beings to receive.
King Solomon says: The one who hates gifts will live. He does not instruct us to refuse gifts, but to hate them. For indeed, if no one accepted gifts, than no one would be able to give. Rather, by seeing gifts not as gifts but as opportunities to allow others to give, we will always be givers instead of takers, living and modeling the virtues of charity and kindness, and spreading G-d’s blessing throughout the world.
Parshas Vayeira — Of Trials and Banners
The sages tell us that the Almighty tested our father Abraham with ten distinct trials. But why? Since G-d knows the future, He knew that Avrohom would pass each test. What then was G-d’s purpose in testing him?
As with everything else G-d does, trials are for us, not for Himself. Interestingly, the Hebrew word for test, nisoyon, shares its grammatical root with the word neis, which is commonly translated as “miracle,” but which literally means “banner.”
A banner is that which rises above the confusion below to rally people to a common destination point. Similarly, the Almighty occasionally reveals Himself through open miracles when we need reminding that the confusion of the material world is not a true representation of spiritual reality.
Finally, when G-d places obstacles in our path that try our resolve, our patience, or our ability, He does so not so that He can find out whether or not we will succeed but so that we can set our sights above all the impediments to personal growth and fulfill our true potential. It is based upon this understanding that the sages tell us that G-d never gives a person any test he is unable to pass. The test itself is the banner that draws our attention to how much we are able to achieve.
And what of those external challenges that are clearly beyond our ability? What of incurable diseases, personal tragedies, and global crises over which we have no control?
In fact, the trials G-d gives us never require us to overcome those obstacles that are indeed insurmountable. Sometimes, as difficult as it may be for us to hear, G-d’s tests may require us to accept the inevitability of unpleasant eventualities. Just as Avrohom could not change the famine that drove him from the land, the untimely death of his wife Sarah, or the seeming illogic of G-d’s command that he sacrifice his son, similarly we cannot fathon the logic or reason behind many of the circumstances that throw our own lives into disarray. Nevertheless, we can learn from Avrohom how to find the inner strength to persevere through trust born from logic: by recognizing that the Creator of the complex and unfathomable world in which human beings live most ceraintly has sound reasons, even for that which defies human understanding.
Tests are not easy. But the effort required to pass them transforms us from insigificant creatures of mere flesh and blood into truly heroic spiritual beings.
Parshas Lech Lecha — Spiritual Deficiency
In contemporary jargon, Lot had issues.
The nephew of our patriarch Abraham, Lot left his homeland for parts unknown; he played along with Avrohom’s ruse of claiming Sarah was his sister to protect her from the Egyptians. He risked his life to protect his guests from the mob that wanted to abuse them (although, perversely, sought to accomplish this by handing his daughters over to the same mob).
Lot is identified by scripture as a tzaddik, a righteous man — but he is a defective tzaddik, righteous only in comparison with the corrupt inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah. He is a conflicted personality, drawn to Avrohom’s spirituality but simultaneously overburdened by the demands of living a spiritual life.
Nowhere is this inner conflict more evident than in Lot’s separation from Avrohom in this week’s Torah portion. According to Rashi’s commentary, the quarrel between Lot’s and Avrohom’s herdsmen centered around the grazing of their animals. Lot’s herdsmen reasoned that they could graze their animals anywhere they wished: since G-d had promised the Land of Israel to Avrohom’s descendents, and since Avrohom was presumably too old to have children, clearly the land would be inherited by Lot. Avrohom’s herdsmen argued that, since the Land was not Avrohom’s yet, they had no right to graze except on lands that were ownerless.
Lot did nothing to put a stop to his herdsmen’s thievery. And so Avrohom dissolved their relationship. Certainly, he had known of Lot’s shortcomings for many years. Yet Avrohom seems to have concluded that, if he had not instilled in Lot a basic respect for the property of others after so many years, he would never succeed in changing him. And if Avrohom could not change Lot, then there was the very real possibility that Lot might eventually change him. He saw no choice other than a parting of the ways.
Avrohom allowed Lot to choose which direction he would go, and Lot chose the Jordan valley, because “he saw that it was well watered … and Lot journeyed from the east.” Here, Rashi makes two curious comments. First, he explains that “well watered” means that it was fed by streams. Why is this important? Second, he observes that Lot traveled away from “Kadmono Shel Olam — the Ancient One of the Universe.” In this, Rashi connects the word kedem, meaning east, with kadmon, meaning ancient. But why?
Back in the Torah’s narrative of Creation, Rashi explains that, although all the vegetation of the earth had be created on the third day, nothing had actually sprouted forth even midway through day six, since no rain had yet fallen on the earth. And why not? Because there was no man to pray for rain. G-d’s blessing depends upon the merit of human beings, for whom the earth and everything in it was brought into existence.
Conversely, it is the condition of man to experience his dependence upon the Almighty. When man believes himself to be independent and self-sufficient, he grows arrogant and becomes corrupt. Only when he recognizes that his livelihood comes from above in proportion to his merit will man remain conscious of his spiritual purpose and tread the straight path that G-d has laid out before him.
And so, Rashi explains, Lot chose the Jordan valley because it was well-watered, because it was fed by streams and not dependent upon rainfall. Lot did not want to pray for rain because he did not want to feel dependent upon the Almighty or upon his own merit. Although Lot was not a wicked person by any means, neither did he seek to achieve any great spiritual stature, but sought to live out his life in comfort, without either responsibility or significant accomplishment. In this, explains HaRav Dovid Feinstein, Lot traveled away from the Ancient One of the Universe, the Master of the World who conceived the design of creation before the existence of time itself, with the intention that mankind could earn the priceless reward of spiritual pleasure in the World to Come.
The sages themselves conceived a way for us to remember this lesson daily. They composed a blessing for us to recite after consuming even a minimal helping of food or the simplest drink: We express appreciation to G-d, borei nafashos v’chesronan — who created souls and their deficiencies.
Why should we thank the Almighty for fashioning us to be deficient? Because our deficiencies remind us constantly that we are all works-in-progress, never complete or completed until the last moment of our lives, and that life is only worth living when we strive for spiritual accomplishment in every way we can.
Parshas Noach — 40 Days and 40 Nights
For 40 days and 40 nights the rain fell upon the earth.
So what?
The Torah tells us that the Almighty opened the “well-springs of the deep,” from which most of the water came forth to inudate the world. And Rashi calculates that the water remained upon the earth for exactly one solar year. If so, of what significance is it that the rain fell for 40 days and nights?
The number 40 appears in Jewish tradition with curious frequency. Moses ascended Sinai and remained there for 40 days and nights, not once but twice to receive each set of tablets. According to the commentaries, he ascended one additional time in between, also for 40 days and nights, to petition HaShem to forgive the Jewish people for the sin of the golden calf.
The Jews wandered in the desert for 40 years, and the spies sent to investigate the land traveled its length and breadth for a period of 40 days. It is also taught that one should study Talmud until the age of 40 before engaging in the study of kabbalistic teachings. Our greatest kings, David and Solomon, each ruled for 40 years, as did the greatest of our judges, Deborah.
What is the significance of the number 40, and how does it relate to the Great Flood?
The Talmud tells us that the neshoma, or soul, enters an embryo 40 days after conception. Until then (although life has certainly begun), the incipient baby is a soulless golem, an arrangement of organic matter that can barely be called a human being. On the fortieth day, the insertion of the soul transforms this lump of developing flesh into the world’s most extraordinary creation: a future Man, fashioned b’tzelem Elokim, in the image of G-d.
It would appear, therefore, that the number 40 signifies not physical birth but spiritual birth, the process through which homo sapiens becomes human, a populace becomes a nation, a leader brings his people to a new level, and a scholar acquires the spiritual maturity to begin investigating the mystical secrets of the universe.
In the same way, the 40 days and nights of rain may have signified the process through which the Almighty restored the spiritual equilibrium of the world, suspending one complete cycle of creation for a full calendar year, immersing the earth in the purifying mikveh waters of the Flood. And, just like the waters of any kosher mikveh must originate with a volume of 40 sa’ah of naturally flowing water, so too did the Flood require an accumulation of rainwater over a period of 40 days.
With the corruption of the first ten generations of man washed away, human beings could return to their ultimate task of perfecting the world, physically diminished but with renewed spiritual potential. And the persistant sign of the Flood — the rainbow – reminds us that such potential remains with us even until today, every moment of our lives.
Parshas Noach — A New World Order
The aftermath of the Great Flood and a changed reality for mankind and the world. Adapted from my forthcoming book (G-d willing), In a Single Glance: a Philosophic Overview of Jewish History from Creation Through the Talmud.
Parshas Bereishis — Finding Grace
Koheles (Ecclesiastes) tells us what is evident from the narrative of Creation: that G-d created man yashar — upright. But man corrupted himself, thereby corrupting the world that was created for him. Since then, it has been a long, tortuous struggle toward reclaiming the perfection of Eden.
After the first sin of the Tree of Knowledge, mankind began a rapid downward spiral toward destruction. Kayin (Cain) murdered his brother, Hevel (Abel), introducing a more profound element of corruption into the human race. For a time, the descendants of Adam’s third and most righteous son, Sheis (Seth), kept themselves apart from the descendants of Kayin and thereby preserved their purity. But over time, the generations intermingled, until the spark of G-dliness within man became all but extinguished.
Within ten generations, HaShem saw that the wickedness of Man was great upon the earth, and that every product of the thoughts of his heart was eternally evil. And HaShem reconsidered having made Man on earth, and He felt profound anguish. And HaShem said, “I will blot out Man whom I created from the face of the earth…”
But Noach (Noah) found grace in HaShem’s eyes.
What was accomplished by Noach finding grace in G-d’s eyes? He did not stop the inexorable decline of the human race. He did not convince a single person to repent. He did not delay the destruction of the world by a single instant.
But Noach achieved true greatness by not allowing himself to become corrupted by the corruption all around him. By retaining his own inner purity and righteousness in a world of moral chaos, by resisting the influence of a human society that had lost its own sense of humanity, Noach succeeded in a uniquely heroic accomplishment. By not becoming a murderer in a society of murderers or a thief in a society of thieves, by not allowing the distorted values and mores of his time to erode the values and ethics that had been handed down to him from the Highest Authority, Noach saved himself and, by doing so, he saved mankind as well.
We often feel that we don’t have much impact on the world around us. Sometimes, as in the times of Noach, it is enough that we do not allow the world to have an impact on us. As we depart the holiday season and enter the darkening days of winter, it’s a lesson we should all take to heart.
More insights into Parshas Bereishis can be found here.
Asking the Right Question — Parshas Ha’azinu
So ask yourselves: Is this how you would repay G-d? O withered people who lack wisdom.
Deuteronomy 32:6
This is the question Moses places before the Jewish people, alluding to the future when they will turn away from the path of righteousness and then blame the Almighty for the misfortunes that follow.
The verse is written with an oversized letter, the “hei” that changes the meaning from a statement to a question. Rav Hirsch explains this as a hint, admonishing the people for asking the wrong question. Instead of asking why G-d has changed in His behavior toward them, they should be asking themselves how they have changed to elicit such unpleasant consequences.
Is there a better message for after Yom Kippur? Have we changed? Will those changes endure? What changes must we seek to make next?
Or perhaps, if our fortunes seem to have stayed the same, we need to ask ourselves if we have changed at all. If not, it’s past time to start.
Hakheil: the renewed covenant – Parshas Vayeilech
At the end of seven years, at the time of the Shmittah year, during the festival of Sukkos … you shall read this Torah before all Yisroel. Gather together the people – men, women, even infants – and the converts in your city, so that they will hear and they will learn, and they will fear HaShem, your G-d, and be careful to perform the words of this Torah.
Deuteronomy 13:10-12
Over the past year, Torah observant farmers in the Land of Israel have had to deal with the complicated and seemingly-impractical laws of Shmittah – the Sabbatical year. The Torah mandates that the land must have a year of “rest,” in which both agricultural work and the merchandising of produce are forbidden. The word shmittah literally means cessation: the Jew’s involvement with physical labor, and with all the burdens and anxieties that accompany it, comes to a stop until the beginning of the next agricultural season.
The Shmittah year ends as it begins – with Rosh HaShonah, the Jewish New Year. Two weeks later, when the entire nation would come together in Jerusalem to conclude the cycle of pilgrim festivals with the holiday of Sukkos, the Jews gathered in the Temple courtyard to hear the king himself read from the Book of Devarim (Deuteronomy) before the entire assemblage of his nation. This was the mitzvah of hakheil.
What is the connection between the conclusion of the Shmittah year and the public recitation by the king? And why is the Book of Devarim singled out to the exclusion of the first four books of the Torah?
The sages have referred to the Book of Devarim by a different name: Mishneh Torah, literally the Repetition of the Law. Although many laws previously taught in the Torah are indeed repeated in Devarim, many others are not; many laws are taught there for the first time. The term “repetition,” therefore, seems an imperfect description of the Book of Devarim.
Rav Hirsch explains the necessity of any repetition at all. Many of the Torah’s laws, most notably the agricultural laws, together with business and civic laws, had little relevance during the 40 years the Jews wandered in the desert. The festivals as well gained an agricultural context when the Jews entered their land that had not existed in the desert.
Consequently, as the Jews encamped on the east side of the Jordan River, Moses transmitted those laws yet untaught because of their limited practical application in the desert, and recapitulated those laws that would acquire a new dimension when the Jews began to settle their land.
Moreover, when the Jews had lived in the desert, theirs had been an existence of open miracles and the revealed presence of the Almighty. In that era, the commandments of the Torah did not serve as they do in our everyday lives – as the means of connecting to divinity that is concealed behind the veil of the natural world. For this reason, Moses had to “reteach” the Torah so that it could be fully understood and appreciated for its unique relevance to living a spiritual life while immersed in the responsibilities of a material world.
Herein lies the connection to the Sabbatical year. The Shmittah year was not a time of natural existence. It was a time of miraculous blessing, preceded by a double-harvest that allowed the people to involve themselves in spiritual pursuits without the distractions or worries of earning a living. To come back from that kind of extraordinary lifestyle to the mundane existence of plowing and reaping, the Jewish people required a kind of “refresher course” in practical spirituality.
For this reason the king would read from the Book of Devarim, reawakening the people to the changed reality that awaited them in the coming, post-Shmittah year, just as Moses had done when he originally addressed those same words to the Jewish nation before they entered the changed reality of their land for the very first time.
And for us, today, who don’t recognize the miracles of Shmittah, the mitzvah of hakheil reminds us that unlimited spiritual potential resides within every commandment, and that every mitzvah provides a priceless opportunity for us to unlock and to realize that potential.
Perspectives
Dawn to Destiny:
Exploring Jewish History and its Hidden Wisdom
By Rabbi Yonason Goldson
A comprehensive overview of Jewish History from Creation through the redaction of the Talmud, illuminating the intricacies and complexities of Torah tradition and philosophy according to the sages and classical commentaries, spanning the length and breadth of Jewish experience to resolve many of history’s most perplexing episodes, offering profound insights and showing their relevance to life in the modern world.
How did the sin of Adam transform mankind and the world? How were the prophecies of Noah fulfilled through the rise of the Greek Empire? Why did lifespans shrink so dramatically after the Flood? How did the builders of the Tower of Babel believe they could wage war against G-d? Why did the Torah have to be given in both written and oral form? What was King David’s transgression regarding his involvement with BasSheva? Why did some Jews oppose the construction of the Second Temple? How can we trust the transmission of Torah if our scholars engaged in such fierce disagreements? These and many other questions are answered in this unique volume.
An invaluable resource for scholars and laymen. A priceless tool for education and outreach. With approbations from HaRav Dovid Cohen and HaRav Zev Leff.
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Mission Statement for the Jewish People — from the extraordinary wisdom of Rav Shraga Feivel Mendelovitz, founder of Torah education in America.
Why Jews are Liberals — the origins of ideological confusion, and a follow-up piece exploring the practical applications.
The End of the Age of Reason — the sages’ vision of a future that is at our doorstep, and a follow-up piece in response to, and including, some colorful comments.
Israel: History, Politics, and Ideology — Answers to the attacks of apologists and antagonists.
Defining “Objective” History — How can we determine the accuracy of historical records? How do we resolve contradictions in history?
Evolution Forum — Is it possible to have a civil debate on the subject?
The Language of Confusion — 60 years after 1984, Orwell’s prophetic dystopia remains more relevant than ever.
The Final Battlefield – The current economic crisis foretold a thousand years ago and the climax of the ultimate ideological war. Also, variations on a theme inspired by Pink Floyd and this recipe for the only truly secure investment.
The Fallacy of Moral Relativism — How I taught a class of cynical teenagers the illogic of unrestricted personal freedom.
Hurricane Season– With meteorologists predicting more hurricanes on the scale of Gustav, Ike, and Katrina, these thoughts on the Pacific Rim Tsunami are worth another look.
Talking the to the Wall Department — My efforts to engage an ideologue in civil discourse. Draw your own conclusions, and feel free to weigh in … respectfully.
Insights into the weeky Torah Portion
Donate to Block Yeshiva High School — I know of no finer educational institution in the world that prepares students to become materially and spiritually successful adults. Our graduates are the greatest evidence of our commitment to excellence.
SPEAKING ENGAGEMENTS– I am often available as a scholar-in-residence, chazzan-in-residence, or lecturer. For lecture topics and samples of weekend programming click here. Inquiries may be directed to the email below:
Contact me at torahideals [at] att.net.
