Posts Tagged Jewish Festivals
Purim and the Response to Terror
Posted by Yonason Goldson in Holidays on March 3, 2009
The Torah approach to terrorism.
Purim and the Ultimate Question
Posted by Yonason Goldson in Holidays on March 2, 2009
Reflections on the mask of the world, brought into focus looking down the wrong end of a gun.
The Arba Parshios – Four Stages of Renewal
Posted by Yonason Goldson in Holidays on February 21, 2009
Adapted from a shiur by HaRav Nachman Bulman zt”l.1
Now we are slaves; next year we will be free. This is cheirus, freedom, the overarching theme of Pesach, the idea that defines the first of the three festivals.
But there is another theme, perhaps even more fundamental to appreciating the significance of the season: geirus – conversion. The exodus from Egypt marks not only our emancipation from slavery but also our inception as a people. Although the 600,000 who went out from Mitzrayim were all descendants of Avrohom, Yitzchok, and Yaakov, it was on that first Passover that we became an am haKodesh – a holy people.
But it is not enough to simply remember the exodus: In each generation, every person is obligated to see himself as if he personally went out from Egypt. It’s a tall order, to not only reenact but recreate the experience of yetzias Mitzrayim. Indeed, it is virtually impossible without preparation, and that preparation begins six weeks before Pesach with the Arba Parshios, the four special Torah portions that usher us into the season of redemption: Shekalim, Zachor, Parah, and Chodesh.
These four weeks are neither separate nor disconnected. Together they constitute a progression that, if observed correctly, enables us to derive the greatest possible benefit from the Festival of Freedom.
SHEKALIM – Facilitating Yaakov’s Fulfillment
It was HaShem’s original intention, explains the Ramchal, to create a universe in which the spiritual and the physical coexist without the slightest tension or disharmony. 2 According to this design, the flow of spirituality into the material world requires a physical vessel able to receive and hold the infusion of kedusha. Ostensibly, the altar of the mishkan or the mikdash served this function. Ideally, the Jew himself becomes the altar of HaShem.
An altar must be constructed and maintained physically before it can function spiritually. As the mishna says: Ain kemach, ain Torah; if there is no flour, there is no Torah. 3 The spiritual survival of the Jewish nation requires, most fundamentally, the provision and maintenance of material resources.
From the very beginning, the Jewish people understood this principle implicitly. Zevulun worked to support the Torah study of Yissachar, just as the whole nation donated the priestly tithes to support the spiritual service of the Kohanim and Leviim. 4 And even earlier, Yaakov and Eisav were to have had a similar relationship, with Eisav, the man of the field, supporting the spiritual pursuits of Yaakov, the one who dwells in the tents of Torah study. 5
But Eisav’s rejection of that partnership necessitated a change of plan. Yaakov would have to shoulder both burdens – the material support and the spiritual service. 6 That dual mission would pose such enormous challenges to the descendants of Yaakov that, by virtue of the natural limitations of the physical world, they could not possibly succeed. Only supernatural effort and merit could keep the Torah alive.
This is the significance of the battle between Yaakov and the malach, identified by the sages as the guardian angel of Eisav. 7 Although Yaakov ultimately prevailed over the malach, the contest left him wounded him in the hollow of his thigh. This injury of the lower extremities, the more physical part of the body adjacent to the organs of reproduction, alludes to a future conflict regarding the role that was originally intended for Eisav.
And so, the sages describe Yaakov’s injury with the expression nogah b’tamchin d’oraissa – a defect in the support of Torah. They foresaw that the day would come when those Jews possessing the material means of supporting Torah institutions would no longer recognize their responsibility to do so, when their respect for Torah scholars would diminish to such an extent that they no longer consider themselves partners in Torah survival. 8
In such a generation, Yaakov Avinu limps. And yet, although he limped away from his confrontation with Eisav’s malach, Yaakov returned sholeim – intact – from his encounter with Eisav himself. If so, what must we do to enable Yaakov’s recovery in our generation?
HARMONY OF THE MATERIAL AND THE SPIRITUAL
Rambam offers a solution. In the generations since the destruction of the Beis HaMikdash, the tribe of Levi has redefined its role from ministering as priests to becoming serving as scholars and teachers of the Jewish people. And it is not only those Jews born into the Levitical tribe who have donned this mantle, but all who devote themselves exclusively to Torah study that have the responsibility to teach their brethren through words and through example. 9
When a Torah scholar conducts himself lifnim mishuras hadin, by upholding the spirit as well as the letter of the law, when he speaks pleasantly with all people, when he shows concern for them and greets them cordially no matter what their station, when he offers no insult and conducts himself impeccably in business, when he performs his mitzvos meticulously and carries himself with dignity – then, promises Rambam, his fellow Jews cannot help but be drawn to him and to the Torah that is the guiding influence in every aspect of his life. 10
And if we find that those of our fellow Jews who are not immersed in Torah and mitzvos are not inspired to be partners in the support of Torah, then the community of scholars must accept much of the responsibility upon itself, and must rededicate itself to the task of kiddush HaShem.
Herein lies an understanding of the first step in rebuilding the altar of HaShem, the foundation of which is secured only through the contribution of material resources – shekalim. In contributing to the literal and figurative foundations of the mishkan, every Jew was equal to every other Jew. Only in this way, through the harmonious combination of the material and the spiritual, can the service and the sanctification of the Jewish people become complete.
We find this very ideal expressed in the yotzros, the liturgical poems added by many congregations to the service of Parshas Shekalim:
Who can surmise the numbers of those “counted ones,”
Who are not countable through any kind of lottery?
HaShem struck a covenant with them from then, from the time of that census,
That there should never be lacking from their number a basic blend…
Whether through war or plague or pogrom, HaShem has promised that there will never be fewer than the number of Jews who left Mitzrayim. Yet this number comprises not the total count of the Jewish population, but the number of “counted ones,” those marked by the commitment to Torah, the basic blend of Zevuluns and Yissachars who serve as partners to ensure the material and spiritual survival of the Jewish nation. Within the context of this partnership, money becomes as kadosh as Torah itself.
And if from those counted ones there will be left only a few
Their number would never fall below 600,000 marked ones.
And even in times of vulnerability to epidemic or violence from above
These counted ones can be redeemed through the atonement of silver.
For the achievement of true atonement, however, both Zevulun and Yissachar must be worthy. Who can count the millions wasted in the name of Jewish philanthropy to build so many balloon-like institutions? And who bears responsibility for the money donated for scholars who fail to conduct themselves as genuine Yissachars?
Both givers and receivers must accept responsibility. When money is given and received with purity of purpose as the foundation of authentic Torah institutions, it elevates the giver, the receiver, and the money itself to the highest level of kedusha, tilting the scales of divine judgment and hastening the completion of the third and final Beis HaMikdash.
Always positioned at the outset of Adar, the month in which we celebrate the holiday of Purim, Parshas Shekalim prepares the way for our proper appreciation of the national redemption we commemorate in that month. It is no coincidence, therefore, that our reenactment of the contribution of shekalim in the desert falls out in this season. Indeed, it was those very shekalim, donated by the Jews toward the construction of the mishkan, that generated the merit that saved the Jewish people from the silver offered by Haman to destroy them. 11
ZACHOR – The Battle for Moral Clarity
But material resources provide only the first step. Without Torah guidance, a Jew cannot differentiate between right and wrong, between good and evil. This is the battleground of Eisav’s grandson Amoleik, the nation that risked annihilation for sole purpose of sewing doubt among the nations of the world and in the minds of the Jewish people. As with modern day terrorists (who learned their tactics from Amoleik’s suicide attack upon the Jews in the desert), there can be no peace with any ideology that would rather die than bow before malchus Shomayim.
But today we don’t know how to identify Amoleik, since the Assyrian king Sancheriv scattered the nations and confused their ethnic origins. 12 How then to carry on the battle against Amoleik?
Our world today contains no shortage of nations eager to carry on Amoleik’s military campaign against the Jewish people. And just as there could be no compromise with those intent upon our annihilation then, similarly is compromise with those determined to annihilate us now an irrational dream. We must be prepared to fight for our survival, to take up arms to defend ourselves and our land, to recognize the enemies that threaten our existence and not be seduced by false promises of peace.
But it is the irrationality of the dream that poses the greater threat. It is the cultural attack from the more subtle descendants of Eisav who, instead of striving to bite us to death, feign brotherhood in hope that they may kiss us to death. 13 It is the cultural assault from the culture of secularism that seeps into every facet of society, from literature and music, from movies and what today passes for art. True, Chazal tell us there is wisdom among the nations. 14 But we must be ever watchful for the insidious messages of modern society that seek to infiltrate and confuse the clear thinking of the Torah mind. The self-hating Jews, the apologists, the moral equivocators, and the halachic revisionists are among those who, no matter how sincere, have been won over by the seductive cultural terrorism of Amoleik.
Zachor – remember Amoleik, for what they did and for what their philosophy of ambivalence continues to try to do. As zealous as we must be in our war against external enemies, we must devote even greater passion to the battle for moral clarity and integrity.
PARAH – Facing the Enemy Within
Even after recognizing the enemy without and preparing ourselves for the battle of ideas, we dare not consider ourselves secure. There is an enemy inside as well, one far more dangerous than the one outside. Against external enemies we can accept the reality of standoffs or partial victories, but against the influence of tumah, the forces of spiritual impurity, we can settle for nothing short of absolute triumph. There are no half measures in the milchamas haYeitzer, the war for spiritual purity; taharah must be 100% or it remains tumah. We must recognize and acknowledge our own shortcomings, then labor feverishly to correct them all.
But the battle seems pitched against us. With so much impurity in the world, how can we keep ourselves pure without withdrawing, like monastic monks, and hiding ourselves from the outside world?
This was the question of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Kavsvi when he contemplated the mitzvah of Para Adumah. 15 The Torah’s description of the process, whereby one who is tahor sprinkles the ashes of the red cow to purify one who is tomei, seems to imply a one-to-one equation: one tahor is necessary to purify one tomei. If that would be so, the impurity of the outside world would seem unconquerable.
So thought Rabbi Yehoshua until he discovered the ancient records of Yavneh, wherein he learned that even if all the members of the Jewish nation would render themselves defiled, a single tahor could come and purify them all.
Rav Meir Shapiro explains that Rabbi Yehoshua had originally believed that only when the power of the spiritual exceeds the power of the physical can it prevail. Yavneh, not only through its writings but through its very existence, disproved this assumption.
Faced by the inevitable destruction of Yerushalayim, Rabban Yochanon ben Zakkai won the favor of the Emperor Vespasian, whom he asked to grant the yeshiva of Yavneh and its sages immunity from Roman interference. Imagine Vespasian’s astonishment when, after having offered Rabban Yochanon anything he desired, the rabbi asked for an insignificant academy in an obscure village. 16 How Vespasian must have laughed up his sleeve when he consented to Rabban Yochanon’s request.
Four centuries later, the Roman Empire had crumbled, while the Babylonian Talmud was on the brink of producing an explosion of Torah scholarship throughout the Jewish Diaspora. The little yeshiva of Yavneh had secured the future of Torah survival, and the immeasurable might of Rome had vanished.
Similarly, the internal purity of conduct and conviction of a single Jew will inexorably bring a hundred Jews closer to the Torah heritage of which they have been dispossessed.
CHODESH – The Gift of Renewal
Human beings are not static. We are constantly in flux, moving forward and slipping back.
Jews are no exception. Having laid the material foundations for spiritual growth, having identified and taken action against our external enemies, whether physical or philosophical, and having labored to refine and perfect our inner character, we dare not believe that we have finished the job. With each new victory, with each new achievement in spiritual growth, we face new challenges and new obstacles.
Reality is a cruel reminder. Rabbeinu Tam describes the human condition of the y’mei ahava and the y’mei sina, the natural human cycle of optimism and pessimism, of idealism and cynicism, of enthusiasm and emotional paralysis. 17 And when we fall into the dark side of the cycle, we forget that the wheel will turn and that we will eventually find our way back into the light.
Where the nations of the world are compared to the sun, shining brightly for their brief moment before disappearing forever, the Jewish people are compared to the moon, subtly changing, growing bright, diminishing, seeming to have disappeared completely before reappearing once again. 18 Every month, every chodesh, is a season of hischadshus, or renewal. The new moon reminds us not only that there is always more for us to accomplish, but that the darkness of the spirit will inevitably pass. 19
HaChodesh haZeh lochem – this month is for you, says the Torah. 20 It is not the Torah that needs renewal but we ourselves: a new heart, a new outlook, a new hope that we will overcome the difficulties of the future as we have overcome the difficulties of the past. With this sense of inner renewal, we are finally ready for Pesach; we are ready to accept the yoke of Torah and the challenges of freedom once again.
The Torah makes us a promise: if we make the effort, we can find such resources of internal power that when we face the obstacles of the soul, we will muster the strength to rebuild ourselves, to become fresh, to be fresh, to count ourselves among the counted ones of Yisroel, for whom HaShem redeemed His nation 33 centuries ago, and for whom He will redeem us again.
And so the piyut of the yotzros concludes:
How precious to me are those counted ones,
Those who are counted and who allow themselves to be counted.
Guard those who are counted, whether consciously or unconsciousl;
Keep watch over and mark those who would be marked and leave their mark,
That they should all bow to You.
Back to Festival Articles page.
Footnotes
- 25 Adar 1, 5746, Yeshivas Ohr Yaakov, Zichron Yaakov
- Derech HaShem 1:3:4
- Avos 3:21
- Rashi on Bereishis 49:13 from Tanchuma 11; BaMidbar 18:21-24
- Bereishis 25:27 (and Rashi ad loc); Sforno on Bereishis 27:29-28:4
- Sforno loc cit
- Rashi on 32:25 from Bereishis Rabbah 77:3
- See Zohar Bereishis 171a
- Rambam, Hilchos Shemittah V’yovel 13:13
- Rambam, Hilchos Yesodei HaTorah 5:11
- Megillah 13b
- Brochos 28a
- See Rashi on Bereishis 33:4
- Eicha Rabbah 2
- Yerushalmi Damai 15b
- Gittin 56
- HaRav Shlomo Wolbe zt”l in Alei Shor, from Sefer HaYashar
- Sh’mos Rabbah 15
- Sfas Emes on Parshas Bo
- Sh’mos 12:1
Originally published in the Jewish Observer
Tu B’Shvat
Posted by Yonason Goldson in Ethics of Fathers, Holidays on February 9, 2009
Today, when we observe the “birthday of the trees,” here’s a look back on what the sages had to say about roots and branches as the symbols of wisdom and good deeds.
Der Meistersingers of Athens
Posted by Yonason Goldson in Culture, Holidays, Philosophy on December 25, 2008
Moaz Tzur, the classic Chanukah poem, has been degraded not so much by the King Jamesian translation Rock of Ages but by the carol-like tune that has become as inescapable as shoppping mall Xmas music. It’s worse than you think… which is part of the problem.
The Candles and the Stars
Posted by Yonason Goldson in Holidays, Philosophy on December 24, 2008
From this month’s Jewish Observer:
And HaShem said, “Let there be light!” and there was light (Bereishis 1:3).
Even as the first words of Creation set the stage for everything that will follow, they also set themselves apart from everything that will come. After every other stage in the genesis process, the Torah reports that HaShem spoke, vayehi chein – “and it was so.” But after the creation of light, instead of saying vayehi chein, the Torah reports vayehi ohr – “and there was light.”
The Malbim explains that vayehi chein implies permanence: every act sealed with this expression would endure forever. The heavens and the earth, the water and the land, the vegetation and the birds, fish, and mammals – all these would last until the end of days. But not the light.
The kabbalists tell us that the light of Creation was not the light of photons that illuminate our physical world. The light of the First Day was, rather, the ohr haMakif, the divine light of HaShem’s radiance projected into the spiritual void that preceded the existence of the physical universe. This was the “light” that enabled Adam to “see” from one end of the universe to the other, to perceive the true essence of the world and everything in it.1 It was the light of absolute knowledge and absolute power.
But HaShem foresaw that, after Adam’s sin, this divine light would threaten the very existence of the world. Used irresponsibly, such power could wreak incalculable destruction. HaShem therefore concealed the light, storing it away for the tzaddkim of future generations.2 Before the process of Creation had ended, the light of Creation had been hidden away.
On the fourth day, however, HaShem created the sun, moon, and stars – the luminaries whose physical light would substitute for the spiritual light of the first day. But how can mere physical light take the place of the light of kedusha? How can the lights of the sky replace the spiritual illumination of the soul? And precisely where did HaShem hide the original light of Creation?
HaShem hid His light in the Torah, preserving it there for the sages and scholars who, through diligent study, would one day reveal the brilliance of divine wisdom before all the world once again.3
Until then, the physical luminaries would have to suffice, with optic vision providing a barely adequate replacement for the spiritual insight of Torah wisdom. Through their familiar and uninterrupted passage above us, these heavenly bodies serve to reassure us that the light of Creation, temporarily removed, can be permanently restored by the luminaries of Torah, the bright lights of scholarship and wisdom who light the Jewish people’s way through the generations.
Thus Moshe says to his people: “HaShem, your G-d, has multiplied you and behold, you are today as the stars in the heavens” (Devarim 1:10).
Was this so? Standing at the boundary of Eretz Yisroel on the east side of the Jordan, the Jewish nation was still relatively small, the numbers by no account comparable to “the stars in the heavens.” Comes Rashi to explain that Moshe meant something else entirely. The Jews were not as numerous as the luminaries of the heavens; rather, Moshe declared that they were as permanent and as enduring as the sun, the moon, and the stars.
Rashi’s allegory seems to echo the narrative of Creation, in which we understand the sun, moon, and stars as an allegory for the Torah scholars who would bring back the light of kedusha to a world of spiritual darkness.
If so, perhaps the connection goes even further.
In addition to the idea that HaShem hid the light of Creation in the Torah, the B’nei Yisoschar suggests that HaShem hid the primordial light in the candles of Chanukah. The thirty six flames of the menorah correspond to the thirty six tzaddikim hidden in every generation, for it is through them that the light of kedusha is most prominently revealed.
This interpretation dovetails with the Midrash that finds within the narrative of Creation an allusion to the four kingdoms that would rule over the Jewish people in exile. In the opening description of Creation, the Torah records that “there was void and nothingness, with darkness upon the surface of the deep” (Bereishis 1:2). Void alludes to Babylon, nothingness to Persia, and the deep to Rome.
Darkness alludes to Greece, whose secularist wisdom darkened the eyes of the Jewish people.4
It was the light of the menorah, restored by the Hasmoneans, that pierced through the darkness of Greece, just as the Torah of the sages returns the light of kedusha to the world.
As a commentary on the verse in question, however, Rashi’s allegory presents a problem. Since Moshe compared the Jewish people specifically to the stars, why did Rashi feel it necessary to include the sun and the moon? Indeed, HaShem Himself made reference only to the stars in His promise to Avrohom.5 Why did Rashi consider the allegory of both HaShem and Moshe insufficient?
In truth, we do find allegories similar to Rashi’s scattered through Chazal. Adam and Moshe are compared to the sun.6 Yehoshua and Dovid are compared to the moon.7 Although the Jewish nation as a whole is compared to the stars, individuals within it are compared to the sun and the moon.
Consequently, Rashi may have recognized something deeper within Moshe’s metaphor for eternity: an allusion to the unique influence of successive historical eras upon the fortunes of the Jewish people. If so, perhaps we can articulate a precise correlation between the celestial luminaries that dispel the darkness of night and the Torah luminaries that dispel the darkness of exile.
The quality shared by Adam and Moshe is their proximity to the Master of the World. Adam was the prototype for all mankind, the first and only human being created directly by divine decree. Moshe Rabbeinu was the only human being after the expulsion from Gan Eden to speak “face to face” with the Creator, the only individual entrusted to bring HaShem’s Torah to the world. These two alone occupied a spiritual level so exalted that they radiated their own intrinsic kedusha, like the sun.8
All other human beings aspire not to radiate, but to reflect. It was Yehoshua who replaced Moshe, leading the Jewish people not only into a new land but into a new kind of existence, one without open miracles, in which the glory of HaShem was recognized indirectly through the workings of nature and divine providence. In this new world, the kedusha of HaShem was no longer projected by leaders like the sun but reflected by leaders like the moon.
As with Yehoshua, Dovid HaMelech also is described as a disciple of Moshe.9 Not only does the moon reflect merely a fraction of the sun’s light, it also lacks the sun’s constancy, waxing and waning as it courses through its monthly cycle. HaShem placed Adam and Moshe at the pinnacle of human existence and charged them with preserving the perfection of Eden and Sinai respectively. In contrast, HaShem charged Yehoshua and Dovid with negotiating the peaks and valleys of human uncertainty. Rise and fall, victory and defeat, transgression and redemption – these describe the complex pattern of human life symbolized by the changing faces of the moon. As the radiance of kedusha dimmed, the universe became darker. But as the universe became darker, fainter lights could shine bright.
And indeed, the darkness intensified. Sancheriv drove the ten tribes into exile. Nebuchadnezzar destroyed the Beis HaMikdash. Prophecy disappeared from the world. And the spiritual darkness of Greece spread over the earth, disguising itself as a new aesthetic wisdom and seducing mankind with its self-serving, pleasure-seeking, and empty sophistry.
What had become of the luminaries? Without teachers like Moshe, without disciples like Yehoshua and Dovid, who would rally the Jewish people against their enemies? Without either sun or moon to guide them, how would the Jews ever find their way?
They found their way by the stars.
A single star offers little light. But a thousand, a million, a billion stars burning bright across the canopy of the heavens — here is light enough for all eternity. With each star shining like a single flame, adding its tiny pinprick of radiance to the light of a billion others, the darkness of night gives way before a soft, intangible glow of illumination. So too, a single Jewish neshoma, shining bright by resisting the seemingly irresistible descent of spiritual darkness, combines with other Jewish souls to prevent the light of kedusha from being extinguished. One neshoma added to another and another, like the individual flames of the Chanukah menorah, suddenly explodes into the silent darkness like a symphony of light.
In the depths of exile, we have no single leader to shine like the sun, nor even to reflect the sunlight like the moon. But the hidden tzaddikim, each revealing the primordial light of Creation concealed by HaShem in the Torah, each according to his own capacity and his own efforts, collectively shine forth with enough brilliance to drive away the darkness of corruption and impurity and superficiality.
We allude to this every day of Chanukah in al haNissim, when we declare that HaShem delivered
the impure into the hands of the pure,
the wicked into the hands of the righteous,
and the wanton into the hands of those who diligently study Your Torah.
Rav Nachman Bulman zt”l suggested that the parallelism in this arrangement appears to be flawed. On the side of our enemies, the levels of evil are ascending: the merely impure are less evil than the wicked, and the wicked are less evil than the wanton – those motivated not by simple desire but by a philosophical commitment to do evil. On the other side, however, the levels of righteous seem to be descending, with the tahor – the servant of HaShem who has attained purity and perfection in his divine service – having more merit than the mere tzaddik, who nevertheless has greater merit than the simple Jew who struggles in his study and observance. Superficially, we would expect to find the pure paired off against the wanton and those who study Torah paired off against the impure.
But this, explained Rav Bulman, is precisely the point. Although darkness descends when we have neither sun nor moon to push back the night, in the absence of great luminaries the myriad tiny lights begin to shine, showering their radiance as one until, collectively, they have conquered the darkness.
The Torah testifies that Moshe Rabbeinu was “extremely humble, more than any man upon the earth” (BaMidbar 12:3). What made Moshe so humble? The Zohar tells us that he saw the last generation of galus before the coming of Moshiach.10 For Moshe Rabbeinu, who spoke to HaShem “face to face,” who lived amidst open miracles and the revelation of the Sh’chinah, who witnessed the redemption of his people from slavery after 210 years of crushing servitude, belief and trust in HaShem posed little challenge. For Moshe, even so exalted a quality as yiras Shomayim was easily acquired.11
But to live in the depths of galus, in an era of such spiritual blackness that HaShem’s presence seems not merely a distant memory but a flight of pure fancy, and to retain under such circumstances the slightest sensitivity to kedusha, much less the devotion to Torah and mitzvah observance – before this, even Moshe Rabbeinu found himself in awe. The knowledge that a generation would succeed in doing so left him profoundly humbled.
At once humble and exalted are, like the stars of the sky, the lights of Chanukah and the neshomos of the Jews prior to the end of days. Flame upon flame and light upon light, they ignite one by one in a common purpose, joined together by a common foundation, illuminating the darkness of galus with the sparks of HaShem’s mitzvos, and spreading the light of His wisdom by revealing the light of His Torah.
1. Chagigah 12a; Bereishis Rabbah 12:6
2. Rashi on Bereishis 1:4 from Chagigah 12a and Bereishis Rabbah 3:6
3. Tanchuma, Noach 3
4. Bereishis Rabbah 2:4
5. Bereishis 15:5
6. Zohar 1:142b and Baba Basra 75a
7. Baba Basra 75a and Rosh HaShonah (with Rashi ad loc)
8. Although Shimshon was also compared to the sun, we might suggest that this was not for what he accomplished but for the messianic potential he possessed to permanently restore HaShem’s light to the world. See Sotah 10a and Bereishis Rabbah 98:14.
9. Shocher Tov 14:6
10. Ki seitzei 3:282b
11. Berachos 33b
The Mystical Meaning of the Dreidel
Posted by Yonason Goldson in Holidays, Philosophy on December 21, 2008
More than merely a child’s toy or a candle-side game, the dreidel conceals the secret of Jewish survival throughout the long darkness of exile.
Shmini Azteres — on one foot
Posted by Yonason Goldson in Holidays, Philosophy on October 19, 2008
The Talmud records a now-famous episode in which a prospective proselyte comes to Hillel the Elder and says he will convert on condition that the sage teach him “the whole Torah on one foot (al regel achas).”
Hillel responds by saying: “What is hateful in your eyes, do not do to your neighbor. The rest is commentary; go learn it.”
Reb Yisroel of Ruzhin offers this tantalizing, novel interpretation. He explains that the proselyte was really posing a question of much greater sophistication. He understood the cycle of the Shalosh Regalim— the three Pilgrim Festivals of Pesach, Shavuos, and Sukkos — and how they fit together so that the Jewish people could reexperience annually the physical and spiritual redemption of their ancestors.
What he did not understand was the regel echad— the One Festival of Shimini Atzeres, which is attached to Sukkos but not really part of it. His play on words, asking for an understanding “on one foot (regel),” was really an inquiry into the nature of the one Festival (regel) that remains apart from the other three.
Hillel answered him this way. Each of the Festivals celebrates a specific event and is defined by specific practices. Pesach commemorates the exodus from Egypt through the commandment to eat matzah; Shavuos commemorates the giving of the Torah at Sinai through the custom of staying up through the night learning; Sukkos commemorates the miracles through which the Almighty sustained the Jews in the desert by commanding us to move out of our homes into little huts.
Once all that is done, once we have reawakened and, we hope, revitalized our relationship with our Creator, one essential step remains: to revitalize our relationship with our fellow Jews. And so the Torah added an extra regel — festival — not commemorative of any event nor defined by any specific practice. By extending the festival season for an extra day, we have the opportunity to remind ourselves that, no matter how much we may strive to perfect our relationship with the Master of the Universe, we accomplish nothing unless we strive equally to perfect our relationship with our neighbors and fellows.
If we aren’t cautious, religious fervor and passion can become a source of dissension and division in the Jewish community. We are allowed our differences in how we adhere to Torah law; we are required to make distinctions between authentic Torah practice and those interpretations that have strayed from legitimate tradition. But in our conduct toward our fellow Jews, and in our passion for promoting unity within the Jewish community, there is not justification for not fighting against divisiveness with the same zeal we may have for attaching ourselves to the One G-d who charged us all, together, in His service.
The Divine Harmony of the Simchas Beis HaSho’eiva
Posted by Yonason Goldson in Holidays, Philosophy on October 15, 2008
LaMinatzayach, proclaims King David, introducing no less than 55 of his Psalms with the dedication, to the Conductor. And who is this Conductor to whom Dovid dedicates his songs of praise? Rashi identifies him as the Levi who serves in the Temple in Jerusalem. The sages identify the Conductor as the Almighty Himself (Pesachim 119a).
Yet we need not find these interpretations contradictory. For is it not the Master of the World who arranges and directs every movement in the great orchestra of Creation? And was it not the Leviim who sat upon the 15 steps leading into the courtyard of the Beis HaMikdash, composing and rendering melodies for the 15 Shir HaMa’alos of Dovid’s Tehillim? Indeed, it is these 15 very songs that symbolize the ascension of the Jewish people, who are compared to the moon, which waxes through the first 15 days of the month until it shines full in the sky.
Finally, who better to dedicate songs of praise to HaShem and to His master musicians than Dovid HaMelech, the “sweet singer of Israel”? (2 Shmuel 23:1)
Both Dovid and the Leviim shared the understanding that words of praise alone are inadequate unless accompanied by music. But what is this power of niggun – melody – which restored prophecy to Elisha at the moment of his anger and despair, which merited Serach bas Asher eternal life for singing words of comfort to her grandfather, Yaakov Avinu, and for which Navos HaYizr’eli merited death for withholding his incomparably beautiful voice from the Levitical choir?
I will solve my riddle with the harp, says Dovid (Tehillim 49:5). HaShem created the world with seven heavenly emanations, or sefiros, beginning with the three fundamental qualities of the patriarchs – chesed (kindness), gevurah (inner strength), and tiferes (splendor) – and culminating in malchus (kingship). This pattern asserts itself through the sights and sounds of Creation: visible light refracts into seven colors with three primary bands (red, blue, and yellow), while audible sound divides into the seven notes of the scale with three primaries forming the major musical triad (C, E, and G). And just as the integration of the colors of the spectrum produces pure white light, the successful integration of sound produces perfect harmony. The seventh sefirah, kingship, corresponds to Dovid, founder of the messianic dynasty and “sweet singer of Israel.”
What is harmony? If every musician in the orchestra were to play continuously at full volume, the resulting cacophony would offer no more esthetic pleasure than the horn-blowing of rush-hour traffic. Inspired musical arrangement, however, with some instruments contributing more and some less, some loud and some restrained, produces a symphonic masterpiece that touches the soul in a way beyond words, beyond pictures, beyond thought.
Just as the foul odor of the chelbanah, the galbanum, contributed to the transcendent fragrance of the incense offering when mixed together with other spices, an otherwise uninspiring note may produce the most exquisite harmony when it completes a perfect chord. Both are allegories for HaShem’s multifaceted world, in which seemingly purposeless or corrosive elements play an indispensable role in the workings of nature and society. More than any other medium, music enables us recognize the hand of the Creator in the unfathomable intricacies of creation and teaches us to relinquish the primacy of our own desires for a more subtle contribution to the spiritual harmony of the universe.
Set to music, words of praise acquire a power far beyond their simple verbal meaning. And so we see that, as they passed through the sea to escape Pharaoh’s chariots, the Jewish people found no greater expression of praise and thanksgiving than singing to HaShem. In the same way, Devorah sang her praises for the victory over Sisera, Chanah sang her gratitude for the birth of her son, Shmuel, and Dovid sang his appreciation for the establishment of his kingdom. Tragically, because Chizkyahu merely recited the verses of Hallel rather than arranging them into notes of Shira, he merited only salvation from the army of the Assyrian king Sancheriv but failed to fulfill his destiny of becoming Moshiach.
Such was the musical exultation of Sukkos in the Beis HaMikdash that one who has not witnessed the celebration of the Beis HaSho’eivah (the water-drawing ceremony) has never seen true joy. The Talmud describes the drawing of water from the spring of Shiloach in preparation for the nisuch haMayim, the water libation of the Sukkos Festival: the people would dance and sing in the courtyard, holding torches in their hands, while the Leviim would stand below on the 15 steps leading from the ezras Yisroel to the ezras nashim … playing their harps, lyres, cymbals, trumpets, and other instruments, singing songs of praise throughout the night (Sukkos 51a).
Elyahu Kitov explains that, over the course of the year, the evil inclination blinds us with pride and desire, separating us from HaShem and from one another, sowing discord and disharmony among the Jewish people. But with our collective repentance on Yom Kippur, we acquire the opportunity to recover our national unity and return to spiritual purity. Having thus freed ourselves from the dominion of the yeitzer hara, we come under the wings of the Divine Presence as we enter the sukkah, demonstrate our renewed commitment to Klal Yisroel by taking the arba minim (the Four Species), and pour water upon the altar to symbolize our untarnished return to the service of HaShem.
As we celebrate our spiritual renewal, the sweet harmonies of the Leviim echo the harmony between each Jew and his fellow, between each Jew and his Creator. Awake, my glory! declares Dovid. Awake, O harp and lyre! I will awaken the dawn (Tehillim 57:9). The instrumental harmony of the Leviim inspires the inner harmony of the soul and the cosmic harmony of the heavens in a joyous celebration unparalleled in human experience.
In recent generations, musical expression has become associated with the niggunim of the Chassidic masters of Europe. And indeed, it was the early Chassidic movement that resurrected both musical harmony and the joy of divine service from a painful dormancy.
Ivdu es HaShem b’simcha, boyu l’fonov bir’nonoh, proclaimed Dovid in his Tehillim, Serve HaShem with gladness, come before Him with joyous song (ibid. 100:2). In the days following the depression and disillusionment of the false messiah Shabbtai Tzvi, the rabbinic leaders of Europe suppressed expressions of emotion, fearing that unbridled enthusiasm might give rise to similar charlatans who would again shatter the hopes of the Jewish people. Instead, they admonished their communities to seek HaShem through Torah study and meticulous halachic observance.
Such a formula may have proven successful for the few who were scholars. But for the average Jew of modest education, Jewish life devolved into a monotony of uninspired routine. True, Jews might be protected from false hope, but they found little genuine hope in their joyless lives.
It was the radiant light of chassidus that dispelled their spiritual darkness. Teaching that even the most poorly educated Jew can attain divine intimacy through prayer and song, the Ba’al Shem Tov founded the Chassidic movement and reawakened the soul of the Jewish people, restoring spiritual harmony through the harmonies of Lecha Dodi, Keil Adon, the plunging, soaring niggunim of the rebbe’s tisch, and the quiet intensity of the kumsitz.
And so, as we greet each new day, as we enter into each new season, let us sing with the same passion as the Leviim in the Temple: Awake, my glory! Awake, O harp and lyre! I will awaken the dawn.
From this month’s Jewish Observer
Posted by Yonason Goldson in Holidays on October 6, 2008
An in-depth discussion of Sukkos investigating the essence of physical and spiritual exile.
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