Preserving Freedom

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The Ramban says that Shmita and the Yovel cycle are fundamental mitzvos.

Something is lost on us today – slavery and a global agricultural society have mostly vanished from Earth with the advent of industry; Shmita and Yovel have long been missing large chunks of their key halachos, for thousands of years.

Consider the fact that when the Ramban classified it as fundamental, Yovel hadn’t been properly marked for centuries. When the laws associated with it seems so antiquated, archaic, and arguably irrelevant, what about it is fundamental?

The Pnei Yehoshua explains that Yovel is not just a time when slaves go free – it is a Yom Tov that celebrates freedom and liberty. The Sfas Emes notes that the nation was born by being liberated from the crucible of Egypt.

After millennia of exiles, restrictions on movement, bans, pogroms, genocide, and general oppression, society has developed to give all people human and civil rights; Jews can now practice Judaism relatively freely, to the extent that young people today have little to no idea of what it means to not be free. While progress is undoubtedly a good thing, we must be vigilant not to take our rights for granted.

One of the brachos said daily is שלא עשני עבד – perhaps this alludes to the principle that we do not take our unprecedented liberties for granted. But our ancestors said it even whilst it wasn’t strictly true – when they were harried and enslaved! So perhaps it doesn’t refer exclusively to our bodies.

The Sfas Emes explains that the body is a vessel for the soul. With discipline, the body can simply be an appendage of the soul; physicality can be transformed into spirituality. To do so, the soul must lead the way, so that the body is almost passive in decisions. The Mishna in Avos says לא מצאתי לגוף טוב אלא שתיקה – I found nothing better for the body than silence. The Sfas Emes notes that the emphasis is on silence for the body specifically. When the body is silenced with deference to the soul, it is elevated.

This is precisely mirrored in Yovel. The land is dormant and fallow for a year, and man internalises that God is the true provider of sustenance and nourishment. Matter is led by the soul. A microcosm of this is reflected in the fact that humans are the only creatures that are made to stand upright. We strive to reach upwards, and animals cannot.

Yovel was dedicated to displaying our gratitude that we are always able to serve God – indicated by the shofar being blown. A slave, whose entire existence is subjugated to his owner, goes free on Yovel. It becomes abundantly clear why it is classified a foundational mitzva; freedom is a wonderfully thing that we are very grateful for. But perhaps it also shows that even under oppression, slavery, and exile, we are nonetheless subjugated exclusively to God. The Zohar says that on Yovel, everything returns to its source.

The soul always remains free.

It’s not what it looks like

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The Cohanim are restricted over and above other Jews with regard to certain laws:

לֹא-יקרחה קָרְחָה בְּרֹאשָׁם, וּפְאַת זְקָנָם לֹא יְגַלֵּחוּ; וּבִבְשָׂרָם–לֹא יִשְׂרְטוּ, שָׂרָטֶת. קְדֹשִׁים יִהְיוּ – A razor may not pass over your head, nor may you remove your beard. Do not cut your skin. Be holy… (21:5-6)

The prohibition on men to remove all their hair is actually not specific to Cohanim, and pertains to all Jews. The Maharil Diskin explains why.

Jews are defined by their actions, not appearance. A Jew is recognised by their force of good deeds and quality of character. In popular culture however, we know all too well that in the age of “celebrity”, a makeover is somehow newsworthy. Appearances are deceptive; the same person is perceived differently by looking different, yet remaining the same.

But how is the principle that appearances aren’t all they seem, taught from the laws of a Cohen – who actually have a uniform they are required to wear?

Perhaps a distinction can be drawn. The uniform is not universal – that would truly be meaningless. The uniform is exclusive to Cohanim. An on-duty Cohen is serving God in the Beis HaMikdash – the clothing is for the office, not the individual.

The way you dress might not be appropriate for a monarch or head of state. They have to dress up out of respect for the office, not themselves – not a hair can be out of place. But as God’s people, as princes and princesses one and all, we have to dress for the office too. Not everyone has to have a suit and black hat; everyone is at a different place. But we have to respect who we are enough to dress with class and dignity.

National Identity Crisis – Assimilation And Brotherhood

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Two of the mitzvos particular to Purim are Mishloach Manos, and Matanos L’Evyonim – giving gifts to people, and distributing charity freely. The Sfas Emes explains that the function of these mitzvos as they relate to Purim is that they increase unity and brotherhood.

Unity is the anathema of Amalek, who Haman was descended of. His complaint to Achashverosh:

יֶשְׁנוֹ עַם אֶחָד מְפֻזָּר וּמְפֹרָד בֵּין הָעַמִּים בְּכֹל מְדִינוֹת מַלְכוּתֶךָ וְדָתֵיהֶם שֹׁנוֹת מִכָּל עָם – There is one nation, scattered and dispersed among all the regions of your kingdom, and they are different from everyone else. (3:8)

Even in exile, Jews must maintain identity, and resist assimilation. Haman points out their refusal to integrate, they remain עַם אֶחָד – one nation; this in spite of how the Purim story begins with the Jews attending Achashverosh’s party celebrating their own downfall with the parading of the sacked Temple’s artefacts. The Jews lost their identity and it paved the way for Haman’s nefarious plans to destroy them all – the moment they let their guard down.

The resolution came at the hand of Mordechai and Esther. She tells him to unite the people and impress on them the severity of their futures:

כְּנוֹס אֶת כָּל הַיְּהוּדִים הַנִּמְצְאִים בְּשׁוּשָׁן וְצוּמוּ עָלַי וְאַל תֹּאכְלוּ וְאַל תִּשְׁתּוּ שְׁלֹשֶׁת יָמִים לַיְלָה וָיוֹם – Gather all the Jews in Shushan. Fast for me; don’t eat or drink for three days and nights. (4:16)

The threat is faced when they gather once more, when the Megila tells us that וְעָמֹד עַל נַפְשָׁם – it does not say ועמדו in the plural, that they stood for their lives, but in the singular. Their national identity had discovered. The Jewish nation had united and defended itself from attack.

It is famously expounded in Chazal that Purim also celebrates קימו מה שקיבלו כבר – the Jews had no choice to accept the Torah at Sinai, but after Purim they accepted the Torah afresh, voluntarily. A prerequisite to the Torah is unity; ויחן שם נגד ההר – The nation camped by the mountain, in the singular – not ויחנו – like one man with one heart. The Sfas Emes teaches that וְעָמֹד עַל נַפְשָׁם is directly parallel to ויחן שם נגד ההר.

Unity is fortified with acts of ואהבת לרעך כמוך – loving ones fellow as oneself. If people identify with the nation, they have a very direct connection to the Torah and Sinai. It is quite reasonable to suggest that due to this, it is taught that זה כלל גדול בתורה.

The Gemara says that Mordechai is identified as an איש יהודי. It asks that he was not from Yehuda, but from Binyamin, and answers that we do not read it יהודי, but יחידי – from the root אחד. He brought unity and identity back to Jews who had lost it, cementing their faith, culminating in a new acceptance of the Torah. All mitzvos of the day will reflect unity and friendship to some degree.

The way to fight Amalek is a constant quest for unity and understanding our identity, and the closer we get, the nearer we get ultimate truth and redemption.

Leaving your past behind

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The parsha opens with:

ויאמר ד׳ אל אברם לך לך מארצך וממולדתך ומבית אביך אל הארץ אשר אראך – And Hashem said to Avraham, “Go for yourself, from your land, your homeland, and the house of your father, to the land which I will show you”.

This pasuk is loaded with inferences. Rashi points out that Hashem was telling Avraham that this journey would be לך – for his own benefit and growth, which seems difficult to understand. Did Avraham need a personal gain to do what Hashem had instructed?

Further, the pasuk uses an expression of leaving from, rather than exiting to, which seems odd, if the actual goal was to arrive at the land Hashem would show him.

Lastly, the requirement to go “from your land, your birthplace, and the house of your father, to the land which I will show you”, seems redundant – the goal is אל הארץ אשר אראך, the land he would be shown. Why include where he was leaving from at all?

Avraham is commanded to go first from his country, then his homeland, and lastly, his father’s house. Shouldn’t the sequence be reversed? When travelling internationally, you leave the house first, then the area and then the country. So why is the command in this order?

The Nesivos Shalom explains that Hashem was telling Avraham to leave his negative traits which he acquired in these locations. Our environment is instrumental to developing who we are as people. The more localised the environment, the greater the affect it can have.

As such, a home environment is more persuasive than a homeland, which in turn is more influential than a country. The command is brought to greater light; Hashem was telling Avraham to leave, abandon even, the negative influence he picked up from his country, homeland and father’s house. The order is listing in ascending difficulty.

This further bring to light that לך לך means “Go fro yourself”. Avaham understood that ultimate happiness is becoming close to Hashem, echoing the Mesilas Yesharim, that the supreme joy in this world is the joy of serving Hashem; acknowledging one’s purpose in life and fulfilling it. Hashem told him that in order to grow further, he needed to totally separate himself from the negative culture he’d lived his whole life in – מארצך וממולדתך ומבית אביך.

It’s not enough for a person to try to be the best they can be, where they are. To reach full potential, he also has to remove himself from the bad midos of his environment because they still have an affect on him.

Once Avraham abandoned his past, he could achieve אל הארץ אשר אראך.

This further answers why the command was to “go” from somewhere, not just to somewhere. He had to leave where he was to get where he was going.

Why circumcise, and What is man’s mission in life?

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Avraham enters into a covenant with Hashem, that his descendants will be many, they will be great, and they will inherit the land. The sign of the covenant, is circumcision, the bris milah.

At the beginning of the parsha of milah, the pasuk says:

וַיֵּרָא יְהוָה אֶל-אַבְרָם, וַיֹּאמֶר אֵלָיו אֲנִי-אֵל שַׁדַּי–הִתְהַלֵּךְ לְפָנַי, וֶהְיֵה תָמִים – And Hashem appeared to Avraham, and said to him; “I am The Omnipotent, be before me, and be perfect”. (17:1)

The Beis HaLevi explains that people who deny fundamental precepts of Judaism, or even Hashem, can sarcastically ask that “if God can do everything, why do we have to do anything? Let Him have made the world perfect!”. They feel that the existence of imperfection disproves God. In the context of milah, the question is the same, that “if God wanted you circumcised, why didn’t He make you that way?”.

The Beis HaLevi points out that the name Hashem appears to Avraham with is אֵל שַׁדַּי. Chazal teach that this means the Omnipotent, that Hashem could have kept creating and building from Creation, but said דַּי – “enough”. Had Hashem not chosen to stop, creation would manifest itself perfectly, where all living things would give birth to adult offspring, food would not need processing or cooking, etc.

But Hashem said “enough”. Creation is not meant for us to enjoy in perfection, as the Torah tells us at the onset of Shabbos, the transition from Creation to existence, כִּי בוֹ שָׁבַת מִכָּל-מְלַאכְתּוֹ, אֲשֶׁר-בָּרָא אֱלֹהִים לַעֲשׂוֹת – for on that day did Hashem refrain from all His work, which He made to be done. (2:3). The point of existence is לַעֲשׂוֹת – to be done by man. Our instruction of וֶהְיֵה תָמִים, to be perfect, is our own responsibility.

Circumcision, and everything else in life, do not come naturally. They require input of effort and hard work, but it is the end goal of being here – to be perfect.

Torah as Our Hearts, Eyes, and Ears

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In the beginning of Devarim 29, Moshe does a wrap up of what the Jews went through on their journey through the desert:

וַיִּקְרָא מֹשֶׁה אֶל-כָּל-יִשְׂרָאֵל, וַיֹּאמֶר אֲלֵהֶם: אַתֶּם רְאִיתֶם, אֵת כָּל-אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה יְהוָה לְעֵינֵיכֶם בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם, לְפַרְעֹה וּלְכָל-עֲבָדָיו, וּלְכָל-אַרְצוֹ. הַמַּסּוֹת, הַגְּדֹלֹת, אֲשֶׁר רָאוּ, עֵינֶיךָ–הָאֹתֹת וְהַמֹּפְתִים הַגְּדֹלִים, הָהֵם. וְלֹא-נָתַן יְהוָה לָכֶם לֵב לָדַעַת, וְעֵינַיִם לִרְאוֹת וְאָזְנַיִם לִשְׁמֹעַ, עַד, הַיּוֹם הַזֶּה – And Moshe called all the Jews, and said to them: “You saw all that Hashem did in Egypt, with your own eyes, to Paroh, his servants, and his land. The great miracles and signs you saw. And Hashem didn’t give you a heart to understand, eyes to see, nor ears to hear, until this day. (29:1-3)

Rashi elaborates that עַד הַיּוֹם הַזֶּה has an undercurrent. In Devarim 31, Moshe writes the Torah in the form we have it, and give it to the Levi’im, who entrusted with the task of safeguarding and teaching Torah. Rashi says that עַד הַיּוֹם הַזֶּה refers to that event. What was the appraisal of their faculties, that on “this day”, Moshe praised the Jews?

Rash explains how when Moshe gave the Torah to the Levi’im, the Jews protested their being singled out for keeping it, with the worry that perhaps Levi would claim the Torah for their own, and exclude the other tribes. When Moshe saw this, he saw the the Torah was precious to them, and said עַד הַיּוֹם הַזֶּה.

R’ Leib Salomon has great difficulty with this. What was the protest going to be, exactly? It couldnt be that they were worried that perhaps the Levi’im would keep the whole Torah for themselves, how could they? Who would give ma’aser, among many other things?

R’ Matisyahu Salomon explains that the Jews were not worried about the Levi’im laying an exclusive claim to mitzvah performance, but rather, the capacity to be a Torah scholar, talmud Torah. When Moshe heard this, he understood how much the Torah meant to them.

R’ Matisyahu points out that “The great miracles and signs you saw” were not enough to persuade Moshe that they had לֵב לָדַעַת, וְעֵינַיִם לִרְאוֹת וְאָזְנַיִם לִשְׁמֹעַ – it was exclusively their desire and passion for Talmud Torah that precipitated this realisation.

Seeing miracles isn’t what makes someone a true servant of Hashem, it is the struggle, the slog, that comes with learning Torah that a Jew has his heart, eyes and ears.

Flattering to deceive

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The pasuk tell us:

 וְלֹא תַחֲנִיפוּ אֶת הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַתֶּם בָּהּ כִּי הַדָּם הוּא יַחֲנִיף אֶת הָאָרֶץ וְלָאָרֶץ לֹא יְכֻפַּר לַדָּם אֲשֶׁר שֻׁפַּךְ בָּהּ כִּי אִם בְּדַם שֹׁפְכוֹ – And you shall not deceive the land in which you live, for the blood corrupts the land, and the blood which is shed in the land cannot be atoned for except through the blood of the one who shed it. (35:34)

The word חניפה means flattery/deception/corruption/obfuscation. The expression seems highly odd in the context of the land.

R’ Moshe Feinstein draws a major distinction between the conventional wisdom of the world, and Jewish law. The world worries about peace and rights – if someone disturbs peace or rights, since the goal is peace, the person destroying it is therefore a target, as they are destroying the world as they see it. Countless wars are fought, with countless dead, because one nation has a claim to repairing and saving the world, or some other ideal.

For Jews, the Torah tells us “Do not murder.” – regardless of who – one may not kill another human being. Even someone who destroys the world is still taken care of by this.

What results from this is that someone who murders or wages war to ostensibly “save the world”, is יַחֲנִיף אֶת הָאָרֶץ – wherein the land takes precedence over a man. He is being murdered for the sake of preservation of the land, for peace!

The Torah tells us that the land is always secondary to the person – all land is worthless if the people on it aren’t upstanding individuals. חניפה is the disconnect between reality and an ideal – we must always know that we have to be real with ourselves, always trying to improve. This is what the pasuk means when it says וְלֹא תַחֲנִיפוּ אֶת הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַתֶּם בָּהּ.

Land, murder and exile

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The pasuk teaches that a man who kills someone accidentally is forced to run to an עיר מקלט, a city of refuge, and he must remain there until either he or the Kohen Gadol die. A close family member of the dead man is appointed to chase the murderer, and if he catches up to him before he arrives at the עיר מקלט, is fully permitted to avenge his dead relative and kill his murderer. Gemara in Sanhedrin 45b adds that if no family member will set out to avenge the dead man, then the Beis Din themselves must appoint someone.

The Steipler Gaon explains that the purpose of the murderer fleeing to the עיר מקלט is two-fold – it saves and punishes at the same time. It saves the murderer from being murdered by the person who has set out to avenge his family member, but even in a situation where for some reason the avenger would definitely not kill him, he must still go to the עיר מקלט anyway. He needs to stay there until he dies, and is buried in the עיר מקלט – the avenger can’t kill him one he’s dead, but he still has this punishment there.

The city he runs to is meant to rehabilitate him – he runs to a city of the Levi’im – the teachers of Bnei Yisrael. The reason there needs to be an avenger appointed by the Beis Din is that we must always be responsible and accountable for our actions – this man cannot get away with it, and the Torah teaches us that he cannot bribe his way out – he stays until the end. There must always be justice in the world.

Hashem runs the world on mercy and strict judgment – with the two there is Creation, and there is justice in the world.

Social context

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Sefer Vayikra, called Toras Kohanim, or Leviticus, deals with kohanim, their roles and duties throughout. Sefer Shemos, or Exodus, deals with the Exodus and what followed.

Sefer Bamidbar is known as Sefer Pikudim, the Book of Numbers. It is odd that the book takes its name of numbers, given that the numbers of the census after which it seemingly takes its name, appear only in Parshas Bamidbar and Pinchas.

So why is the whole book called Pikudim? R’ Matis Weinberg explains that Bamidbar is not about numbers or countings; but logistics, or context. All the sections discuss the formation, establishment, and development of society, the Machane. But if Bamidbar tracks how to build society, there are bits that don’t seem to fit.

Parshas Naso begins with the different families of Levi, and their respective roles. There are four interceding sections until the continuation of forming the camp, wherein the princes of each tribe bring the Korbanos for their tribe.The interceding mitzvos are about:

(1) how a metzora and zav, certain types of sick people, must leave the camp until rehabilitation,

(2) what happens if a convert dies with no family, his assets are distributed to kohanim,

(3) the law of Sotah and

(4) the law of Nazir.

Why do these four mitzvos appear here, interrupting the flow of establishing the Machane?

R’ Weinberg explains that in truth, they aren’t. They help society deal with exceptions. The laws of the metzora and zav appear in Parshas Metzora, but the laws appearing here don’t pertain to him, so much as ourselves, society. Our society, the Machane, is deficient while he is a part of it, and that is why he must leave. The convert with no family poses a difficulty. Jews tend to have an integrated community setup – with common ancestry, a large enough family tree shows everyone to be related. Yet the convert has no one. This is a system failure; how do we deal with it?

The Torah explains how his assets are distributed, and no one slips through the gaps. The Sotah has trampled on society’s rules, and violated the sanctity of marriage by cavorting with men after warnings not to. How does society respond to people tearing it apart from within? The Torah explains the procedure. The Nazir, whilst displaying admirable commitment, has deviated from what the norm too. Drinking wine and cutting hair are normal things to do; abstaining is abnormal.

Is there a place for odd people? Hashem does not ask for homogenity. The Torah tells us that in a developed society, everyone is part of the setup; even those who don’t seem to fit. The logical continuation of the princes offering korbanos is interrupted specifically to include these people too; an imperfect but ultimately complete society. Regarding the Korbanos, all the princes brought the same selection, yet the Torah saw fit to repeat each group on its own.

Why, given that they were identical? The principle of numbers in Sefer Bamidbar is that being part of a number generates a speciality. Each set of korbanos ends with זה – with a numerical value of 12, the number of tribes. Elsewhere, a number is impersonal; but here, the underlying theme is that speciality lies in being a part of the number, so much so that deviating from it is bad. זה is the collective, the Klal.

The Torah tallies the total number of korbanos brought, because the Torah appreciates the community, wherein the total has greater speciality than the number of individual parts. This principle of standing out by being part of something bigger is true of Birchas Kohanim too – it does not originate from the kohen; but from Hashem. It is for the whole Klal, but personalised.

The halacha is that before the kohanim start they clench their fists, and once they start they open their palms. When the fists are clenched, the fist is flat – everything is the same. But when the fingers protrude, they are all different, much as we all are. It is evident that the way to express individuality is from within the Klal. The parts of an engine are not remarkable. But put them together and it makes the machine – remove a bolt or wire and it’s useless.

Responsibilities

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One of the curses in the parsha is וְכָשְׁלוּ אִישׁ בְּאָחִיו – Each man will stumble over his brother (26:37)

Rashi remarks that the Torah is referencing tripping over the sins of our brothers. Rashi explains that this curse is the inverse of the famous maxim of כל ישראל ערבין זה לזה – all of Israel are accountable for one another.

R’ Yehoshua Hartman quotes the Maharal, who asks why this is the meaning, and not the literal translation.

The Maharal points out that if someone were to trip over someone on on the ground, it is not related brotherhood – as such, this is not what the pasuk means. When the pasuk says וְכָשְׁלוּ אִישׁ בְּאָחִיו – the tripping is because of the brotherhood – the tripping is over sin, due to the accountability that brotherhood engenders.

The root of the word word ערבין is the word ערב – meaning mixture – it is the same root as the word for tasty, evening, guarantor, Arab and eruv. R’ Ezra Hartman explains that these are all mixtures; An eruv mixes property rights; tasty is the cuisine that “mixes” when digested; evening is twilight, in contrast to בקר which means “differentiate”, in twilight things are hard to make out. The name for ערבי – Arab, is a mixture too. The pasuk in Bereishis says of Yishmael, their ancestor, that יָדוֹ בַכֹּל וְיַד כֹּל בו – his hand will be upon all, and everyone’s hand upon him (16:12). Today, we see this as terrorism. Terrorism has no borders – it is potentially everywhere, in a school, a mall, a bus, a train or a plane.

The Maharal shows how Rashi teaches us that כל ישראל ערבין – the nation is a unit, a brotherhood, a mixture accountable for one another – the pasuk assures us that we will stumble on our brother’s problems it if we do not help them, and therefore we must.

Matza: Poverty or Liberty?

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There is a dichotomy regarding the Matza on Pesach. Is it poor man’s bread, indicative of slavery; or is it because of the redemption, that they were freed before they had time to prepare bread?

The Sfas Emes explains that we cannot celebrate being freed from Egypt on it’s own; we must celebrate the fact we were enslaved as well. If we were capable of being a nation that could serve Hashem in freedom initially, we need not have been enslaved, and if we could serve Hashem in slavery, we weren’t in need of rescue. So being enslaved in Egypt was a key part of the process through which we became Hashem’s people.

What transition took place in Egypt that created a nation capable of serving God?

The Sfas Emes explains by being in crushing slavery, the people were far beyond their comfort zones, and pushed way past the extremes of what they thought they were capable of. This was a life lesson to the people that the arrogance and ego of man could be removed, and a person could devote his entire being to something. This was a key stage in becoming Hashem’s servants – the people knew what it meant to give their all; which would not have been the same thing without the ravages of slavery.

The Sfas Emes explains that this is what all evils and adversity in life are for – they educate us about our limits, and more than that, they show us the opposite extremes to which we can aspire, attain and transcend. This is the only purpose they serve, just like Egypt. If they weren’t there to help us become closer to Hashem, they would have no function, and therefore would not exist.

This was the only way in people could have accepted Hashem as their King entirely; in the same way they had been entirely subjugated to Paroh, they could now subjugate themselves entirely to Hashem. This was the critical moment the Jews were born as a nation. As we say in Shema every day: אשר הוצאתי אתכם מארץ מצרים להיות לכם לאלוקים – “That I took you out of Egypt to be for you a God” (Bamidbar 15:41). The causation is clear – we had to have been in Egypt before, in order to be taken out, to become everything we were meant to be.

Being God’s people hinges on the need to have subdued arrogance and ego. This is what טוב אחרית הדבר מראשיתו means – “the end is better than the beginning” (Koheles 7:8). It was far from pleasant to be in Egypt, but what followed was receiving the Torah.

The Sfas Emes tells us that our celebration of leaving Egypt must hinge around the fact that we became better once we left – we accepted Hashem as our King and our God, and we received the Torah. The first thing we did on being freed was for Hashem – this is why there is a concept of firsts going to Hashem, for example the korban Omer (and Pidyon haBen, bikkurim etc).

This is what is so vital on Seder night, to relive the Exodus from Egypt. It is when we became God’s people.

The Sfas Emes answers that this is why Matza correlates to both slavery as well as freedom – it is devoid of the ego, exemplified by chametz, yet it also correlates to the freedom – the process of freedom started when we were slaves. It is how we became truly free to serve Hashem.

Our freedom stems from having not been free once.

To be an individual or a single entity

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The opening pasuk in Parshas Vayakhel reads:

וַיַּקְהֵל מֹשֶׁה אֶת כָּל עֲדַת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וַיֹּאמֶר אֲלֵהֶם אֵלֶּה הַדְּבָרִים אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה’ לַעֲשֹׂת אֹתָם’ – Moses gathered the whole community of the children of Israel to assemble, and he said to them: “These are the things that the Lord commanded to do” (35:1)

The Nesivos Shalom points out how this is the sole instance where וַיַּקְהֵל is the first act in an episode, not a speech or instruction. What is the significance of gathering everyone?

Furthermore, this episode occurred directly after the Golden Calf, as Rashi notes that Vayakhel occurred the morning after Yom Kippur, when Moshe returned with the second luchos. It is likely that his first public appearance upon his return would include a notable message to the people regarding the bridge between G-d’s wrath and appeasement. What was said or done that addressed their sin?

The Noam Elimelech explains that the duty to perform a mitzvah stems from the way in which it was given – to the entire nation. A corollary is that when a person sins, it stems from a desire to break apart from the nation, albeit momentarily. But a person who has sinned can still perform a mitzvah, by rejoining the people. The reason that the tzibbur, the collective, is safe is from the Yetzer Hara is simply that an individual does not stand out in a crowd.

Moshe argued that the Golden Calf should be attributed to rogue individuals, rather than the entire nation. As explained by the Noam Elimelech, what motivates sin, is a desire to act as an individual – as such, how could the nation be held accountable, regardless of how many had indeed sinned?

So Moshe pleaded on their collective behalf, and Hashem relented to Moshe’s prayers. On his return, the very first action he takes is וַיַּקְהֵל – he gathers the individuals into the collective tzibbur he had interceded on behalf of. Hashem’s wrath had been assuaged, and through וַיַּקְהֵל. This is what makes וַיַּקְהֵל unique – it is the introduction of the concept of כח הצבור – a team greater than the sum of its parts.

This has many parallels to the underlying concepts of all actions requiring a minyan.

Moshe told them laws Hashem transmitted לַעֲשֹׂת אֹתָם – “to make/do them” – but the instructions are about Shabbos; not to light fire, and not to work. How is not doing something called לַעֲשֹׂת – to do?

The Nesivos Shalom reads this back into the pasuk, that לַעֲשֹׂת אֹתָם isn’t discussing Shabbos at all. G-d’s command to Moshe was לַעֲשֹׂת אֹתָם – to make them, the Jews, into a collective – וַיַּקְהֵל.

This is why the two mitzvos instructed post-Eigel were to keep Shabbos and build a Mishkan – both are incumbent on the nation as a collective, incontrast to lulav, tefila, tzitzis. The Midrash in Bereishis Rabba says “שאמרה הק”בה לשבת – כנסת ישראל בן זבוגך” – Hashem said to Shabbos: “The כנסת ישראל is your pre-ordained”. כנסת ישראל is the Jewish national consciousness, a supersoul, a multitude that becomes a single unit.

The collective mitzva is the tikkun – the rectification – for the rash actions of the thousands of individuals.

The Mishkan rectified the sin of the Golden Calf in a similar vein, in that every individual was required to make donation – were several wealthy individuals to fund the entire Mishkan project on their own, the Mishkan would not have served it’s purpose. The construction bound the people together, and is quite reasonable to suggest that their donation purchased a small share in the Mishkan.

The following are other examples of this concept:

- We can develop this idea further, and attribute the collective/individual argument to the incident with the spies, that resulted in the 40 year wandering in the desert, and the whole generation dying out. The Torah in Parshas Shelach elaborates that all the spies were leaders of their respective tribes; indeed, they were the representatives of the people, and this is why they were sent. This could not be repaired, as apart from being the people’s representatives, the people were the ones who sent them, as it says: שְׁלַח לְךָ אֲנָשִׁים – send for yourself (13:2). The people could not be absolved of this.

- Furthermore, we can say the same of Korach. His Weltanschauung – his worldview – stemmed from the ideology that every individual had unlimited freedoms, and everyone could aspire to the same greatness – he said that “כולם קדושים” – that each individual alone could achieve this, and not that the nation itself was the source of the קדושה. His reasoning was that the nation was formed of individuals, and that nothing was to be gained from unity. Korach’s denial of the power of the tzibbur precluded Moshe’s prayers from helping him, and he was absorbed into the land.

- The same can be said of Purim, that Haman challenged the idea of Jews as a nation, and the solution in Esther 8:11 was לְהִקָּהֵל וְלַעֲמֹד עַל-נַפְשָׁם – to gather and stand for their lives. This is a direct parallel to the Eigel, wherein here too the people faltered and attended Achashverosh’s feast, which set the whole story into motion. Only through the tzibbur could they find redemption.

- The theme keeps recurring, with Pesach too. The Korban Pesach can only be eaten as part of a חבורה – a group. This was the mitzva through which the people were saved – they were at the lowest rung of the 49 levels of impurity, and this could only be remedied by the כח הצבור – and this unity carried them through Yetzias Mitzrayim, the Yam Suf, and Har Sinai, as Rashi quotes a famous Mechilta that says they encamped כאיש אחד בלב אחד – as if they were one man, with one heart, the perfect metaphor for perfect unity.

- We refer to Hashem as our father, but He is not physically our father, rather, He is conceptually our father. If we choose to be part of His people, then He is indeed our father, but if, Heaven forbid, one does not perceive himself to be part of the people, how can he lay claim to Hashem being his father? We say in the Amida every day: ברכנו אבינו כולנו כאחד באור פניך – the Nesivos Shalom explains that when we are כולנו כאחד, only then will we see ברכנו אבינו.

Is there a “right” way to get to the Torah?

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Parshas Tetzaveh is an anomaly in the Torah. It is the only parsha in the narrative of the Jews of that time in which Moshe Rabbeinu’s name does not appear at all, from his birth until the end of the Torah (barring certain parts of Devarim, where he was the person speaking).

The Ba’al HaTurim comments on the first pasuk in Tetzaveh (27:20) that in Parshas Ki Sisa, after seeing the Golden Calf and subsequently Hashem’s wrath through the plague, Moshe pleaded that “ וְעַתָּה אִם תִּשָּׂא חַטָּאתָם וְאִם אַיִן מְחֵנִי נָא מִסִּפְרְךָ אֲשֶׁר כָּתָבְתָּ – And now, if You forgive their sin But if not, erase me now from Your book, which You have written.” (32:32). The Ba’al HaTurim explains that although Hashem did indeed refrain from destroying the nation, a tzaddik’s word is always fulfilled.

The parsha in which Moshe’s name does not appear is about the kehuna, the priesthood, which was given to Ahron. R’ Yakov Minkus explains that there are 2 ways for Torah (representing Heaven) and mankind (representing Earth) to intersect:

1. The first way is that the Torah descends from Heaven. Moshe embodied this, as exemplified when he brought down the luchos from the mountain to the people.
2. The second is that we elevate become elevated ourselves. Ahron embodied this, as the ultimate “people’s person”. He was אוהב שלום ורודף שלום – a lover and pursuer of peace. The entire priesthood was based on helping the people interact with Hashem through the services.

The Gemara in Sanhedrin concludes that there are two ways to settle litigation, through din emes (an actual judgement), or a pshara (a compromise). The fact that both are valid settlements shows that both are equally powerful at achieving their goal, settling a dispute.

The role of the kohen is to play the arbiter, the middle man. As a man of the people, he is meant to feel their emotions, guide them through the services in the Beis HaMikdash, and follow the path that Ahron set.

If we are to say that this way of getting to the intersection of people and Torah is equally valid, Moshe almost had to be left out, to show that here is another, equally valid way.

There are various incidents in the Torah where Ahron and Moshe are mentioned, with Ahron preceding Moshe, as opposed to the usual Moshe first, and Ahron second. This is meant to show their equality. But as pointed out in many places, Moshe was the greatest man to have ever lived, without equal, so to what ends can we suggest their equality?

Knowing what we now know, the answer is simple. Their equality was not as people, as indeed Moshe was without equal, but rather, their equality was in the validity of their approaches in how to get the Torah to the people.

United we stand, divided we fall

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וַיְדַבֵּר ה’ אֶל מֹשֶׁה בְּמִדְבַּר סִינַי בְּאֹהֶל מוֹעֵד בְּאֶחָד לַחֹדֶשׁ הַשֵּׁנִי בַּשָּׁנָה הַשֵּׁנִית לְצֵאתָם מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם לֵאמֹר- Hashem spoke to Moshe in the Sinai Desert, in the Tent of Meeting on the first day of the second month, in the second year after the exodus from the land of Egypt, saying. (1:1)

באחד בניסן הוקם המשכן, ובאחד באייר מנאם- Rashi explains, When He came to cause His Divine Presence to rest among them, He counted them. On the first of Nissan, the Mishkan was erected, and on the first of Iyar, He counted them.

A question arises. Why weren’t they counted already by the first of Nissan?

Rashi mentions it had something to do with the shechina coming down to Bnei Yisroel and that had already occurred on the first of Nissan.

דַּבֵּר אֶל בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְיִקְחוּ לִי תְּרוּמָה מֵאֵת כָּל אִישׁ אֲשֶׁר יִדְּבֶנּוּ לִבּוֹ תִּקְחוּ אֶת תְּרוּמָתִי- Speak to Bnei Yisroel, and have them take for Me an offering; from every person whose heart inspires him to generosity, you shall take My offering. (Exodus 25:2)

אמרו רבותינו שלש תרומות אמורות כאן, אחת תרומת בקע לגלגלת, שנעשו מהם הא-דנים ואחת תרומת המשכן נדבת כל אחד ואחד- Rashi mentions the three times Bnei Yisroel were counted during their first year after leaving Egypt. One of them is when each member of klal Yisroel gave half a shekel for the sockets of the mishkan.

This was, of course, before the first of Nissan, before the mishkan was set up. There is a deeper meaning to the counting of Am Yisroel, as explained by the Rabbeinu Bechaya and other Rishonim. The two sets of counting are to show how we are all united; we are all one unit. (In gemara, we constantly find the connection and importance of the number 600,000.) Therefore, there was great importance to each of the two sets of counting.

The first one, which took place when Bnei Yisroel donated for the sockets of the mishkan, was to gather all the single members of Bnei Yisroel and weld them (no pun intended) into one unit. After it had already been established that we are all one unit, and the shechina had already come to rest on Am Yisroel, the time came to show how each person in klal Yisroel is an individual, even whilst they are part of the single unit; they still have their own unique way to express themselves!

The Apter Rov, the Oihev Yisroel was once asked how it is possible to love every Jew. It is written in Masechet Gittin, 6a, that the Torah has 600,000 letters to represent Bnei Yisroel. If even one letter of the Torah is missing, it is incomplete and therefore, considered pasul (unfit for use). So too, each Jew is part of a collective whole; a part that we can not exist without. Love every Jew; all of them together complete the whole unit, while still retaining their individuality and their own purpose in this world.

The individual’s role in a national event

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Sefer Bamidbar opens with a Jewish national census.

Rashi explores the function and timing of a census, and explains that Hashem counted the Jews three times over a year and two weeks, because they were dear to Him; particularly after the Golden Calf, לידע מנין הנותרים – to know the number of the survivors. 0.5 percent of the Jews perished after the sin of the eigel, which means that 99.5 percent ‘survived’.

Why does Rashi use the word ‘survivors’ if the vast majority of the Jews did not perish?

Are people who don’t die on the way to work considered “survivors” when they get home?

It’s not the same; because all Jews are connected – like a puzzle. A puzzle is never complete unless all the pieces are in place, forming a picture. The Jews are incomplete unless all the Jews are included. Every Jew matters.

The Jews were not counted at Matan Torah – most critically important day in history. G-d revealed His reality to us, all of us – all the past, present and future generations of Jews are considered to have been at Sinai. Yet on the most significant day, on the day the relationship between God and his people was at its absolute peak, we were not counted. Why? The Torah records that the Jews assembled at Sinai כאיש אחד בלב אחד – like one man with one heart.

There is a very logical principle that אין מנין באחד – that you don’t count to one. Things that are clearly unique don’t lend themselves to numerical speculation. The question “Where do you live?” implicitly assumes that you have one address. Whilst our souls may have been there, did we ever have the option of saying no? Why should we be be obligated a commitment the first generation of Jews made?

When a family converts to Judaism, the children are asked at their bar/bas mitzva if they want to continue being Jews. If they say no, which they can, then they are no longer Jewish and not bound to Judaism. Why aren’t born Jews offered a similar choice?

The reason it sounds like a good question is that we are all influenced by western culture, where the individual is the epicentre of existence. But this is a mistake. Hitler’s policy did not discriminate between religious or secular. Hitler also used the concept of collective responsibility. If one Jew stepped out of line, be it stealing, practising Judaism, escaping, or disrespecting a Nazi, all the Jews in that camp, city, or ghetto were punished. That concept comes straight from the Torah.

Collective acceptance obligates everyone. Our primary identity is our Judaism. We are Jews who speak English, and not English speakers who happen to be Jews. You, and every single Jew you meet, are worthwhile. No matter the background, mistakes, ability, age, or anything. No one can ever take that away from you, nor you from anyone else. If you ever meet a Jew in a strange place, make sure to start a conversation!

Timeless Lessons

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When the Torah discusses Shavuos, it says: וְהִקְרַבְתֶּם מִנְחָה חֲדָשָׁה לַה – You shall bring a new mincha offering to Hashem (23:16)

The Torah never refers explicitly to Shavuos or Rosh Hashana by their primary themes; Shavuos being the anniversary of receiving of the Torah and Rosh Hashana being the day of judgement. Why does the Torah overlook this?

The Kli Yakar explains that the answer for both is the same; learning Torah each day is a new experience, bringing a new understanding and deeper insight with it. A person cannot learn the Torah as a monotonous rote study with no freshness or renewal. It is incumbent upon each of us to feel each day as though this were the day we received the Torah at Sinai. Hashem did not see fit to call the day we receive the Torah one particular day a year; as each and every day we are able to receive the Torah from Sinai. Therefore the Torah limits the description of Shavuos to a day where “you shall bring a new mincha offering to Hashem” – because calling it the day we received the Torah is a disservice to the Torah and our responsibilities.

Similarly, Rosh Hashana described as a Yom Teruah – a day of blowing the Shofar. It is not called Judgment Day because we cannot feel as though we are held accountable for our choices and actions on just one day a year; as must though we could act as we pleased all year round, with intent to makes amends on Rosh Hashana. Not so. Rather, every day needs to contain the awareness and responsibility that our actions are scrutinized.

The Sforno gives an intriguing explanation for the absence of the mention of Matan Torah on Shavuos.

Matan Torah was not simply a stage on which the Bnei Yisrael received the Torah and were subsequently expected to follow its laws. Matan Torah was intended to be a stage where Klal Yisrael reached the zenith of spirituality, the absolute peak humanity was capable of reaching.

When Klal Yisrael clamoured for an idol, the Golden Calf, they made ultimate purity untenable. It was out of reach, lost. The first Luchos were lost forever, and with them the capabilities that we would never have an opportunity to achieve on our own. It is said that the first Luchos were literally unforgettable – no Torah would ever have been forgotten.

Matan Torah did not run not as expected, in effect we never had the complete Matan Torah, therefore the Torah cannot refer to Shavuos as “the day we received the Torah”.

Chametz and Matza

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In the Hagada, one of the four questions asked is that שבכל הלילות, אנו אוכלין חמץ ומצה, הלילה הזה כולו מצה – Why on other nights do we eat chametz and matza, whereas tonight we only eat matza?

The Abarbanel explains that this question has an additional subtle nuance to it. The Korban Pesach is essentially a Korban Toda, a thanksgiving offering, for having been saved. With an ordinary thanksgiving offering, the sacrifice is brought with chametz loaves and matza crackers as part of the offering. The question therefore becomes; why is the thanksgiving offering on Pesach only supplemented with matza?

The Chasam Sofer explains that chametz is a metaphor for negativity. It is symbolic of the inflation of the ego, among other things. Matza is synonymous with the positive and pure – it is representative of things the way they ought to be, in their simple, distilled, natural state.

When we offer a regular thanksgiving sacrifice, we are thanking Hashem for the good He has done, but equally, the bad from which we learn to appreciate the good.

But on Pesach there is no such thing as bad; even being enslaved served a “good” purpose – it certainly wasn’t a punishment for anything the slaves had done! If the Jews could achieve perfection without going through Egypt, they wouldn’t have had to – therefore it served a constructive purpose. The purpose was so that when they were offered the Torah the Jews would be able to understand and accept the concept of service – they had been pushed to the limit and beyond in Egypt; they could do the same for Hashem. We answer how Pesach is a night where כולו מצה – there is no such thing as bad, there is only good.

The Chafetz Chaim wonders why Moshe was unable to build the Menorah, a problem he had not had when building everything else, and had to ask many times for the instructions to be repeated. The answer parallels the above. The Menorah is compared to to the Torah – hence the phrase “the light” of Torah – and it’s eternity. Moshe’s problem was that he did not understand how he could make something that was meant to reflect the infinite and eternal. Homiletically, how could the Jews keep the Torah forever? Wouldn’t there be evil? Exiles, wars, Holocausts, Inquisitions, expulsions and pogroms?

Hashem’s answer to Moshe illustrates this concept perfectly. “Put it in the fire, and see what comes out”. In reality, there is no negativity, and challenges are not bad. It is only a trial from which there is potential to grow. Adversity builds character.

Who we are

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In the Hagada, one of the four questions asked is that שבכל הלילות, אנו אוכלין חמץ ומצה, הלילה הזה כולו מצה – Why on other nights do we eat chametz and matza, whereas tonight we only eat matza?

The Abarbanel explains that this question has an additional subtle nuance to it. The Korban Pesach is essentially a Korban Toda, a thanksgiving offering, for having been saved. With an ordinary thanksgiving offering, the sacrifice is brought with chametz loaves and matza crackers as part of the offering. The question therefore becomes; why is the thanksgiving offering on Pesach only supplemented with matza?

The Chasam Sofer explains that chametz is a metaphor for negativity. It is symbolic of the inflation of the ego, among other things. Matza is synonymous with the positive and pure – it is representative of things the way they ought to be, in their simple, distilled, natural state.

When we offer a regular thanksgiving sacrifice, we are thanking Hashem for the good He has done, but equally, the bad from which we learn to appreciate the good.

But on Pesach there is no such thing as bad; even being enslaved served a “good” purpose – it certainly wasn’t a punishment for anything the slaves had done! If the Jews could achieve perfection without going through Egypt, they wouldn’t have had to – therefore it served a constructive purpose. The purpose was so that when they were offered the Torah the Jews would be able to understand and accept the concept of service – they had been pushed to the limit and beyond in Egypt; they could do the same for Hashem. We answer how Pesach is a night where כולו מצה – there is no such thing as bad, there is only good.

The Chafetz Chaim wonders why Moshe was unable to build the Menorah, a problem he had not had when building everything else, and had to ask many times for the instructions to be repeated. The answer parallels the above. The Menorah is compared to to the Torah – hence the phrase “the light” of Torah – and it’s eternity. Moshe’s problem was that he did not understand how he could make something that was meant to reflect the infinite and eternal. Homiletically, how could the Jews keep the Torah forever? Wouldn’t there be evil? Exiles, wars, Holocausts, Inquisitions, expulsions and pogroms?

Hashem’s answer to Moshe illustrates this concept perfectly. “Put it in the fire, and see what comes out”. In reality, there is no negativity, and challenges are not bad. It is only a trial from which there is potential to grow. Adversity builds character.