Posts Tagged Jewish Festivals
The cycle of Jewish festivals, culminating in the holiday of Sukkos, helps us to find our way through a world of uncertainty and confusion.
Best wishes for the coming Yom Tov and the coming year. Please enjoy these archived articles on Sukkos and Shemini Atzeres.
Past reflections on repentance and true love.
Tisha B’Av, the day commemorating the many tragedies of Jewish exile, offers an opportunity to reflect upon life’s most profound mysteries.
Some past thoughts on suffering, exile, and the long road toward redemption.
Here are a number of articles on Shavuos, the commemoration of the giving of the Torah at Sinai, the culmination of the Jewish people’s status as a holy nation, and the foundation of moral values.
[Rabban Yochanon ben Zakkai] said to [his students]: Go and see which is the good path to which a person should cleave. Rabbi Eliezer said: A good eye. Rabbi Yehoshua said: A good friend. Rabbi Yossi said: A good neighbor. Rabbi Shimon said: To foresee consequences. Rabbi Elazar said: A good heart. [Rabban Yochanon] said to them, I prefer the words of Elazar ben Arach over your words, for included in his words are all of yours.
Ethics of the Fathers, 2:13
An old cliche instructs us: Give a man a fish and you’ve given him food for a day; teach him to fish and you’ve given him food for a lifetime.
The principle applies especially well to education and echoes the two approaches to learning discussed in the previous mishna. Teach a student information and you will have added to his reservoir of knowledge; teach him how to learn and you will have enabled him to educate himself for the rest of his life.
For this reason, Rabban Yochanon does not merely teach his students which is “the good path” that a person should follow. Instead, he sends them out to “see” for themselves, to discover on their own the answer to this all-important question.
But where does Rabban Yochanon want them to look? And what do their answers mean? A good eye? A good heart? How do these simplistic sound bytes define the “good path”? And why does Rabban Yochanon find Rabbi Elazar’s answer superior to those of his fellow students?*
Jewish tradition teaches that before the Almighty created the world, He “looked” into the Torah, His blueprint for creation. The best way to understand our place in the world, therefore, is for us to look into the Torah as well.
This was how the students of Rabban Yochanon interpreted their teacher’s instruction to “go and see.” They began at the beginning, carefully rereading the narrative of creation, looking for any clue through which the Torah might direct us along the “good path.”
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the spirit of God hovered over the surface of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness He called Night. And there was evening and there was morning — one day.
Each of the students independently followed the narrative of creation and each, mindful of their teacher’s instruction to find the good path, stopped at the same place: And God saw the light, that it was good. Each student recognized that the Torah’s first mention of the word “good” offered the most likely source for divining the good path they had been instructed to seek.
At this point they all arrived in agreement. From here forward their interpretations diverged.
Rabbi Eliezer said: A good eye
An understanding of the students’ answers, however, requires a closer investigation of the creation narrative. The light of creation cannot refer simply to the light by which we see, for the simple reason that the Almighty did not create the sun and the stars until the fourth day, whereas He created the light on day one. If so, what was this light of creation?
The kabbalists explain that since God is everywhere, He could not begin to create the universe until He had first created a place where He was not, a spiritual vacuum that would serve as the blank canvas on which He would produce the greatest creative masterpiece imaginable — the universe, the world, and Man. Only after preparing this spiritual vacuum (the void and darkness described in the verse), could the spirit of God, as it hoveredover the emptiness of pre-creation (the face of the deep) begin the act of creation, reintroducing the divine energy of the Eternal into the spiritual void — an act that can only be described in human language through the expression, Let there be light!
Through this act of Divine illumination, the Almighty translated His creative blueprint into physical and spiritual reality. The Torah, previously a formless ideal in the infinite mind of God, took shape in the form of a world created for the fulfillment of spiritual purpose. It is for this reason that the Aramaic name for Torah is “d’oraissa” — source of light — for it shows us the path and guides us as we seek to find our way through the darkness of the physical world toward spiritual enlightenment.
Thus Rabbi Eliezer declares that to walk the “good path” requires a “good eye,” the ability to perceive the Divine light of God and follow it through our world of spiritual darkness. The spiritually myopic or, even worse, the spiritually blind, will stumble and stray from the path. Only one who cultivates the spiritual sensitivity to recognize and appreciate the Divine illumination of the Torah will be able to cling to the good path.
Rabbi Yehoshua said: A good friend
According to Jewish law, each 24-hour day actually begins as the evening sun falls below the horizon. Just as the Jewish Sabbath starts Friday evening, so too does every day of the week begin as night falls rather than with dawn the following morning. The biblical source for this is the verse, And there was evening and there was morning — one day.
Why is this so?
Human nature dictates that we truly appreciate only those things we are forced to do without. Just as the light of creation is essential to human beings, equally essential is our appreciation of that light. With this in mind, as well as for the kabbalistic reasons already discussed, the Almighty created first the darkness before the light, to enable His creations to fully appreciate the light that would illuminate their world.
The light, therefore, became a good friendto the darkness that preceded it, while the darkness provided the context in which to value and cherish the light. According to Rabbi Yehoshua, adherence to the good path requires not only spiritual perception but a context to give that perception true meaning — not only a good eye but a good friend as well.
Rabbi Yossi said: A good neighbor
The kabbalists introduce us to the mystifying idea that, in the earliest moments of creation, light and darkness were not divided as they are now, but were somehow intertwined in harmonious coexistence.
Having already defined the light of creation not as photons striking the optic nerve but as spiritual illumination of the divine will, we can take the next step of interpreting light as symbolic of good and darkness as symbolic of evil. Since everything the Almighty does is ultimately for the good, light and darkness — i.e., good and evil — were at first inextricably woven together. But since the ultimate purpose of creation would require that Man recognize and choose the good path, God needed to enable Man to discern which was the good that he should follow.
According to Rabbi Yossi, therefore, it is sufficient neither to have a good eye to see the light nor a good friend to appreciate it. What is even more critical is a good neighbor, the ability to draw and recognize boundaries between the light and the darkness, between good and evil. As Rabbi Yossi understood it, this is the key to walking the good path.
Rabbi Shimon said: To foresee consequences
The Talmud explains that the creation of light, although necessary for the existence of Man, presented a profound danger to survival of Man as well.
Just as nuclear technology can produce the energy to sustain all civilization, so too can it produce the destructive power to annihilate all civilization. Even greater than nuclear energy is the power of the Almighty’s Divine light. In the hands of the righteous, God’s spiritual light can elevate humanity to the level of godliness. In the hands of the unscrupulous it can be perverted to manipulate and exploit the unlimited blessing God has placed in His world for our benefit.
God required, therefore, a plan through which He could limit the access of the wicked to His Divine light. He needed a place to hide the light, so He hid it in the Torah.
Originally, God intended to allow His light to permeate the entire world, that every tree and stone, every field and mountain would testify to the divinity of creation and guide Mankind along the good path. To protect it from the misuse, however, the Almighty withdrew His light from every corner of the world and concealed it in a place where the wicked would not go.
Unlike other intellectual pursuits, the study of Torah is no mere academic discipline. To truly acquire Torah wisdom, the student of Torah must commit himself to the internalization of Torah values and must allow the Torah to transform his character. Although Jewish history does provide examples of charlatans who learned enough to exploit their Torah knowledge, these are the exceptions to the rule. For the most part, by the time a scholar reaches the level where he has acquired Torah wisdom, the Torah has shaped him into one of the righteous to whom the divine light of Torah can be safely entrusted.
For this reason, Rabbi Shimon declares that the essential quality to walk the good path is to foresee consequences, to see and appreciate and discern the divine light not only as it appears at any given moment, but to anticipate what will become of it as one walks the good path in pursuit of spiritual goals.
Rabbi Elazar said: A good heart
“The greatest distance,” our rabbis teach, “is from the head to the heart.” Intellectual knowledge is indispensable, but true wisdom comes when we internalize what we know in our minds so that it penetrates our hearts, when we allow what we know to become part of who we are.
The first four students of Rabban Yochanon all identified the correct source to answer their teacher’s question, and they all accurately interpreted its relevance. Their argument was about emphasis: which is the most critical factor in adhering to the good path? Perception, context, discernment, or foresight?
But they erred by failing to recognize that each of the steps they identified is part of a process, a process that remains incomplete without every component. No one factor outweighs any of the others, since the process itself is an indivisible whole.
Rabbi Elazar ben Arach expressed this understanding as a good heart: only when one has completed the process of acquiring total perspective of every facet of the Divine light is he equipped to adhere to the good path; only when he has completed the whole process will he have fully internalized the values of Torah; and only then will he have refined his character to the point where his Torah wisdom will faithfully serve him, and where he will faithfully serve it.
It is the total commitment to acquiring a good heart that enables one to walk the good path. This is why Rabban Yochanon declares: I prefer the words of Elazar ben Arach over your words, for included in his words are all of yours.
A final insight into Rabbi Elazar’s words comes through the application of gematria, the calculation of numerical equivalents. The Hebrew word heart, leiv, is composed of the letters lamed and beis. The numerical equivalent of lamed is 30, and that of beis is 2. In the narrative of creation, we find that from the first word of the Torah until the word good we count 32 words, the equivalent of leiv, or heart.
Not merely the story of creation but the very structure of the Divine word provides a remarkable illumination of Rabbi Elazar’s lesson. Only by beginning at the beginning and working steadfastly through to the end can one acquire a good heart and successfully negotiate the good path. Like any physical journey, the journey to spiritual well-being begins with a single step and ends only after the traveler has placed one foot in front of the other until he arrives at his destination.
The days of transformation
Between Pesach and Shavuos we count 49 days, from the korban omer (the offering of the first barely harvest) to the sh’tei halechem (the offering of the first wheat harvest). The sages describe barley as animal food; only bread from wheat flour is truly fit for human consumption.
The 49 days of Sefiras HaOmer, therefore, represent our transition from creatures little better than animals to fully human creations more exalted than the angels. The freedom of Passover, ironically, does not even begin the count. Freedom is mere potential. What we do with freedom defines who and what we are.
And so it is on the day after Pesach that we begin to count, describe a process of spiritual and moral development through which we strive to re-experience the spiritual maturity of the Jewish people from their exodus from Egypt to their assembly at Sinai to receive the Torah, the divine gift that provided them with purpose and direction so that they might reach the limits of their potential. Each day and each week corresponds to a unique combination of qualities: kindness, discipline, mercy, consistency, humility, moderation and, ultimately, the integration and harmonization of all these into a the most elusive quality — character.
Within Rabbi Elazar’s formula of a good heart we find a profoundly mystical allusion. Just as the numerical value of the word leiv, heart, equals 32, so does the numerical value of tov, good, equal 17. Together they equal 49, the number of days we count as we prepare to re-accept the Torah.
And so we discover that the first 32 days represent a transformation of the heart, where the final 17 days represent the application of our newly elevated moral character into the practice of true good, or tov. The transition point is day 33, the day we call Lag B’Omer, on which we commemorate the yahrtzeitof Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai.
Days of joy and tragedy
The great Rabbi Akiva passed his incomparable Torah wisdom on to 24,000 students, only to see a plague take the lives of virtually every last one. As great as they were, Rabbi Akiva’s students failed to rise to the level demanded by their tutelage under the greatest sage since Moses, the teacher whose most famous lesson was to “Love your fellow as yourself: this is the great principle of the Torah.”
Despite their great scholarship, Rabbi Akiva’s students fell short in the respect they accorded one another. To fail in that critical lesson, to miss the mark in the development of characterwhich is the foundation of Torah observance, to overlook the opportunity offered by the days between Pesach and Shavuos to perfect the qualities that govern one’s interpersonal relationships — all this proved fatal to a whole generation of extraordinary scholars. The season that should have remained a time of joy became instead a season of mourning and self-reflection.
But all was not lost. Among the last of Rabbi Akiva’s students was Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, whose unique ability to bring the mystical secrets of the Torah to light yielded a new era of spiritual illumination for the Jewish people. Amidst the greatest darkness, even a small flame burns bright; and after the loss of so much Torah, the potential to rebuild the spiritual supports of the Jewish nation was recovered through our understanding of why tragedy befell us, and how each of us carries in our hearts a flame to light the world.
And so we commemorate the life and teachings of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai by suspending the days of mourning, by lighting bonfires to symbolize the light of Torah dispelling the darkness of exile, and by rejoicing in the mercy of the Almighty who transforms every disaster into the potential for renewal. Through our Torah study and our sincere efforts to acquire the character that Torah teaches we must have, each and every one of us can bring the world closer to the End of Days, when the darkness of confusion and suffering will be permanently dispelled by the light of the Ultimate Redemption.
*This discussion is adapted from the Chassidic classic, B’nei Yissosschar. Expanded from an article originally published on aish.com.
Observations on the masters that enslave us each and every day.
From beginning to end, from kadeish to nirtzeh, from avdus to cheirus, from galus to geulah, all of Klal Yisroel, individually and collectively, climb fifteen steps to complete the Pesach Seder.
Just like the fifteen steps leading up to the courtyard of the Beis HaMikdash, and the fifteen Shir HaMaalos, the Songs of Ascent, composed by Dovid HaMelech in Tehillim.
Just like the fifteen stages of miraculous redemption recited in the dayeinus toward the end of Maggid in the Haggadah, and the fifteen generations from Avrohom Avinu’s recognition of HaShem to Shlomo HaMelech’s completion of the Temple.
Just like the fifteen days from receiving the first mitzvah in the Torah on Rosh Chodesh Nisan until the day HaShem led our forebears forth from Mitzrayim to begin their journey to Eretz Yisroel, and the fifteen words comprised by the Birkas Kohanim.
What is the significance of the number 15, and why is it so integrally connected with Pesach and redemption?
In our search for answers, let us begin at the beginning. Each day, the Jew begins his avodas HaShem with the recitation of Pesukei D’Zimra, the first fifteen verses of which (beginning with Hodu LaShem kiru biShmoh) were recited by the Leviim in the Mishkan every morning in concert with the korban tomid,1 and the conclusion of which, Yishtebach, contains fifteen distinct expressions of praise for the Master of the World. It was in reference to Pesukei D’Zimra that Rabbi Yossi said, “May my portion be with those who complete Hallel every day.”2
Yet Rabbi Yossi’s comment raises many questions. Why does he refer to Pesukei D’Zimra as “Hallel,” especially in light of the gemara’s objection that “one who recites Hallel every day is a heretic”?3 And why does the gemara’s reference to Pesukei D’Zimra apply, according to Rambam, only to the final chapters of Tehillim beginning with Tehillah L’Dovid, the third verse of Ashrei?4
Even the name Pesukei D’Zimra is puzzling. According to Rav Hirsch, the word shira, usually translated as “song,” refers to a composition of words rather than music, more akin to what we would think of as lyrics or poetry. Zemer, Rav Hirsch explains, refers to melody that accompanies the words, transforming poetry into true song. Indeed, whereas we sing zemiros on Shabbos, where do we find music accompanying the words of Pesukei D’Zmira? Would it not be more accurate to call the introductory section of morning davening Pesukei D’Shira?
Evidently, Rabbi Yossi recognized some connection between Hallel and Pesukei D’Zimra so profound that he substituted the name of one for the other. The term “Hallel,” explains the Sfas Emes, implies a pure and unadulterated perception of HaShem’s power and glory. Much the way Nachum Ish Gamzu declared gam zu laTova, refusing to recognize even the most acute crisis or suffering as anything other than an expression of the Divine Will, so too is the recitation of Hallel an expression of HaShem’s absolute unity and ultimate benevolence. This is consistent with the gemara’s explanation that the six Tehillim comprised by Hallel allude to the most foundational events in Jewish tradition: yetzias Mitzrayim, Kriyas Yam Suf, Matan Torah, techias haMeisim, and yemos HaMoshiach.5
If the praises of Hallel represent the Jew’s response to the revelation of the yad HaShem through open miracles, then we can begin to understand the gemara’s assertion that one who recites Hallel every day is an apikoros. Since we live in a world of concealment where the shroud of nature belies the spiritual reality of HaShem echad, to praise HaShem daily for His open miracles by reciting Hallel amounts to a denial of the hidden miracles that define our earthly existence.
Consequently, Rabbi Yossi comes to tell us how the spirit of Hallel may be fulfilled daily, even though Hallel itself may not be said. Indeed, Meshech Chochmah explains that the greatest miracle of all is nature itself, the seamless fusion of all the forces of the world into a single, unvarying system.
Science itself testifies thus: the principle of entropy, founded in Newton’s second law of thermodynamics, describes the natural state of the universe as tending always toward disorder. If so, the original ordering of the natural world that produced the immutable regularity of nature’s laws cannot be accounted for by the laws of nature themselves.6 What greater testimony to HaShem’s involvement in every aspect of the workings of creation?
Of all the practices that might define the tzaddikim with whom Rabbi Yossi would choose to share his lot, he singles out those who recite Pesukei D’Zimra every day. His choice resonates with the gemara that identifies anyone who recites Ashrei three times a day as a ben Olam HaBah.7 It requires little from us to recognize and acknowledge the Ribono Shel Olam when His presence is clearly revealed. To recognize and acknowledge Him when He conceals His face demands a much higher level of emunah.
Pesukei D’Zimra, therefore, with Ashrei as its focal point, is the daily equivalent of Hallel. With its verses arranged sequentially according to aleph-beis, Ashrei asserts the natural order of creation. Just as no thinking person can deny the seder, or order, of the physical world, so too one cannot rationally deny the existence of the Supreme Orderer. Through the verses of Ashrei, Dovid HaMelech declares that nature itself testifies to the Me’sadder, the One who put the world in order, the One who perpetually opens His hand and satisfies every living thing.
With this understanding, Rav Hirsch’s definition of zemer now provides an extraordinary insight into the essence of Pesukei D’Zmira. Whereas shira refers only to the words, zemer refers to the accompanying melody that produces harmony, transforming mere lyrics and a simple tune into transcendent music. To Rav Hirsch’s understanding, zemer is “the audible soaring of the spirit to the heights of rapture, and the mature outcome of thoughts that were working in the soul. This loftiest work of the human spirit in which his noblest energy unfolds itself is, when inspired by the thoughts of G-d, itself a work of G-d.”8
By reciting Pesukei D’Zmira, we celebrate the divine harmony of creation, praising the Conductor who arranges the orchestration of all the inhabitants of the world so that every one of them sings His praises every moment of every day.
If we had to choose whether the Pesach seder fits in better with the supernatural theme of Hallel or the natural theme of Ashrei, our intuitive answer would almost certainly be the former. On this night and no other night do we recite Hallel, many of us in shul and all of us after bentching. And what is Maggid itself but a litany of miracles, one after another after another? All the fundamental themes of Hallel are present, from the exodus to Moshiach, and everything in between.
Yet Chazal chose to call the evening’s ritual the Seder. Why?
We can find the answer in the fifteen steps. It is no coincidence that the Jewish people reclaimed their freedom in Nisan, the month of renewal, when the entire earth undergoes techias haMeisim as the resurrection of spring reawakens the world from the deathlike slumber of winter. Neither is it coincidence that Pesach, arriving as it does on the fifteenth of the month, coincides with the day that the moon shines full.
Chazal compare the moon both to the sh’chinah and to B’nei Yisroel.9 Just as the moon reflects the light of the sun, so too are the Jewish people commanded to reflect the light of HaShem as an Ohr LaGoyim. Just as the moon changes its appearance over the course of its monthly cycle, so too does HaShem’s presence in the world seem to wax and wane proportionally with the fortunes of the Jews, who travel the circular highway of history rising and falling, prospering and declining, with success ever giving way to failure and with hope ever rising from the ashes of despair.
It is on the fifteenth of the month that the moon is brightest, lighting our way, as it were, toward the fulfillment of our destiny. So too, the fifteen steps of the Pesach seder direct us along the path that leads from galus to Moshiach, showing us the way we are now free to follow on our journey toward spiritual perfection and universal harmony.
But this explanation is still not enough. Why, we might ask, did HaShem design the world thus? Why did the Master of Creation decree that fifteen days would define the circuit of the moon from invisibility to total revelation?
The number fifteen is the gematria of Yud-Hey, the first two letters of HaShem’s name. This is the name that describes the partial revelation of HaShem in our world, where we must seek HaShem’s hidden presence and reveal Him through our own spiritual investigation.
Rav Zev Leff points out that, at the end of the third chapter of Hallel, we say, “HaMeisim lo hallelu Yo-h — the dead do not praise HaShem by the name Yud-Hey.” Why don’t they? Because they have moved on to Olam HoEmes, the world of absolute truth in which HaShem is revealed in all the glory of His four-letter name. Only in this world do we have the opportunity to praise HaShem where He is not fully revealed, by virtue of our own free will.
Just as the moon most fully reflects the sun on the fifteenth of the month, the fifteen steps of the seder remind us that the natural world we live in reflects the supernatural world that is the realm of absolute truth. When we observe the physical world through the lens of Torah, the consistency of nature need not conceal the spiritual reality of the Creator. Instead, the natural order of the world testifies to the One who created nature and can transcend nature at His will.
Unlike the those who have passed on to the world where HaShem is fully revealed, we who still live must strive to penetrate the curtain of nature and recognize the spiritual reality behind the veil. Indeed, we conclude Ashrei with the summation of all that Dovid HaMelech has said and of the aleph-beis ordering that echoes the ordered work of the Master of All, by adding on the final verse of the third chapter of Hallel: “Va’anachnu nevoreich Yo-h, meiAtah v’ad olam, Hallelu-yah — And we will bless HaShem by the name Yud-Hey, from now until forever, Praise G-d!”
The freedom we celebrate on Pesach imposes an awesome responsibility. It defines the mission of the Jew to navigate through a world of light and darkness, of good and evil, a world in which HaShem’s oneness is simultaneously concealed and revealed. The fifteen steps of the seder direct us in our avodah toward resolving the contradictions and revealing that which is hidden, pointing us forward, and promising us success as long as we persevere.
Now we are free. Let the avodah begin.
1. Seder Olam
2. Shabbos 118b
4. Hilchos Tefillah 7:12; contrast with Rashi on the gemara loc cit.
5. Pesachim 118a
6. Bob Berman, Astronomy Magazine, June, 2000
7. Brachos 4b
8. Commentary on Shmos 15:2
9. Sanhedrin 42a; Shmos Rabbah 15
Originally published in the Jewish Observer