Truma: Charity Done Right

This morning I did a mitzvah of which I was especially proud. This past week I hadn't had a chance to write up a dvar Torah on the portion of Truma, and what happened two mornings ago taught me a lesson about truma, contributions given from the generosity of the heart.

Walking on Betzalel Street's pedestrian mall, I came across a lady begging for charity. She is a fixture of the local Nahlaot community, always begging but in a way that comes across as rather difficult for her, expressing what seems to me deep-seeded remorse. She always dresses up in rather nice closing, and is very much kempt. She is on the rather heavy side and seems to have a bit of a facial deformity, half of her lip always protruding out past the other half of her lip. She wears a head covering, and her unchanging entreaty for charity could translate into the Hebrew as, "Maybe, do you have a little charity, maybe?"

Just yesterday, at her set place on a black marble slab next to three plush outdoor cafes, I heard her entreat one passerby after the next- perhaps ten all together-with nobody giving her even but the most meager of alms. I had stopped to tie my shoes nearby and heard her make her querulous plea repeatedly.

Remembering a song that I had heard as a child in elementary school from my music teacher named something Braverman, whose first name I cannot remember- a song about a man who stopped to give his gloves to a lonesome beggar in the heart of winter-I entered one of the cafes and bought the lady a cup of cappuccino and two cookies.

When I brought her the cookies, she, like a little child seemed so pleased. I handed her the stirrer and it fell from her hand. Though for myself I would have wiped it off and used it, I asked her, "Do you want me to get you a new one?" to which she responded, "Yes." I brought her a new one, giving it to her, then wishing her a beautiful day. I felt that I had made her day.

I'm sure like so many of us I have passed by hundreds if not thousands of beggars to whom I did not give money. This past week's Torah portion, Truma, speaks of each person bringing "what his heart offers." I had that honor today, helping bring Hashem's presence to a fellow human. As the words of the verse state, "And you will make for me a tabernacle and I will rest among you."  

Today I passed by her again, twice in fact, on my way to synagogue and then on the walk back home.  Both times she asked me for tzedaka to which I responded that I was sorry but did not have any. On the second occasion she had asked me for charity, not wanting her to feel that I was ignoring her entreaty, I added, "I bought you a cappuccino yesterday. How was it?" to which she replied with a smile that said more that she wanted to be acknowledged or noticed more than anything else, "It was very good." My heart's inspiration had led me to give her charity.

Parshat Mishpatim: Public Domains

One of the most cited pieces regarding the private person's responsibility for the public domain is the Tragedy of the Commons by Thomas Hardin. An insightful work on the way private individuals can deplete the public's resources when just one person seeks to greedily get an edge over others, it is no less germane today than when first published.

Furthermore, though, Hardin seemingly reaches a conclusion opposite that of Judaism. Quoting Hegel, he admonishes, "Freedom is the recognition of necessity," and thus urges people to have fewer children so as to not exhaust the public's resources.

Interestingly enough, this week's Torah portion confronts the very same issue with a very stark reminder of the pitfall Hardin references. The Tractate of Pesachim which discusses the laws of Passover states that Hashem reverts two different things from being publicly owned and thus ownerless to take on the delineation of private property, in a way that makes the individual communally responsible. The first is chametz or leavened bread on Passover and the second is a pit a person digs in the public domain; though a Jew cannot own unleavened bread on Passover and technically it automatically becomes ownerless, when he or she does keep it in his or her possession without having sold it or nullifying it-which would make it "like the dust of the land"-the Torah makes this person into the rightful owner of the chametz for the purpose of holding him accountable.

Likewise, the second element is a pit which a person digs in the public domain. Though an individual cannot claim ownership of the pit, were another person or animal to fall into the pit, the one who had dug it would be held fully accountable.

Perhaps it can be said that this is the message in the duality here. On a spiritual and physical level, each of us is accountable for our fellow man; on both of these dimensions, what we do and don't do has an effect on others. The Jew who has taken chametz that was ownerless and made it his own by keeping it in his possession has inflicted damage on the public the same way one who digs a pit and leaves it uncovered, has harmed the public good.

Shabbat shalom!
Yogi

Sensitivity as the Supreme Value

      As everyone knows, it is on this Shabbat, the weekly Torah portion of Yitro, that the ten commandments first appear. It is in this context that the Torah chooses to accentuate the utterly indispensable value of sensitivity to one's fellow man. The name of this week's parsha, Yitro, is after all the name of Moshe's father-in-law; in the merit of Yitro's attuned consciousness towards the values of kindness and truth, he had the great honor of having Moshe rabeinu, Moshe our preeminent teacher, as his son-in-law.

After the parting of the Sea of Reeds and the carnage afflicted on the Egyptian ranks- people, horses and chariots alike- Yitro sojourns to the encampment of the Jewish people. What though was Yitro's emotional response to the events that had transpired, the demise of the Egyptian people as a mighty world power? The interpretations shared by Rashi are two-fold and diametrically opposed, the first referring to Yitro's elation on the demise of the Egyptian army, and the second, his horror in seeing his fellow man in a sceen reminiscent of Picasso's Guernica, limbs and corpses of the Egyptian army strewn about on the seashore. Regarding the latter, Rashi relates that another Medrash teaches that Yitro's skin became full of goosebumps, his skin ceasing to remain smooth but rather becoming prickly and sharp, from the root of the Hebrew, vayichad, with chad simultaneously meaning sharp, and one, i.e. individual goosebumps. Rashi expounds that one should exercise extreme caution to never disparage a non-Jew in front of a convert to Judaism, even for a duration of ten-generations, because this person's heartstrings will be plucked if one puts down one who was his former kinsman. It should be noted that one best never disparage another human being but clearly the situation Rashi is relating to is one where the non-Jew acted inappropriately in a given situation and it would be legitimate to express disdain for his actions yet nonetheless one is forbidden to do so in the presence of a convert.

Likewise, the last commandment in this week's Torah portion relates to sensitivity one must express to the stones leading up to the sacrificial altar. The Torah shares, "And you shall not ascend on stairs to my altar, lest you bare your nudeness upon it." The cohen or priest serving in the tabernacle wore pants and yet that notwithstanding, relates Rashi, were he to ascend to the altar on stairs, then when he lifted his legs that would create an extra or superfluous distance between his legs that would shame the inanimate stones. Thus, a sloped ramp was used so that the Cohen could take the most minimal steps possible and not disparage the stones leading to the altar.

Adds Rashi, we can easily understand that if we must express such thought and caring towards inanimate objects who do not have the mental capacity to protest shame they feel, all the more so must we express thoughtfulness and the utmost sensitivity to human beings, created in God's image, who have the ability to protest against insult and hurt they bear. The bare stones, elaborates Rashi, serve a purpose vis a vis human beings and therefore must be accorded the proper respect and stature.  

Serach bat Asher

Were there to be one person in the world I could meet, be it an historical figure or someone alive today, it would be Serach bat Asher. For those who don't recall, Serach was the woman who revealed to Moshe where Yosef's bones were buried. She was part of the first generation of Jews who had descended to Egypt, and had seen her people grow from 70 to 3,000,000 (if not more!)

What touches me about her personality and identity is that she is someone who experienced the full scope of Jewish history, almost from start to finish, from freedom to slavery and then again to freedom.

The Torah speaks of the Jewish people at the splitting of Yam Suf, the Sea of Reeds, relating that it was only at that pivotal point when the freed Jewish slaves seeing their oppressors dead on the opposite side of the shore that they knew that they were truly freed.

As a simple exercise, I would recommend that each and every one of us ask him or herself, "If I could meet one person, alive or dead, who would it be?" I think the answer very telling about what we value as people, what we cherish and which character traits are most significant.

To be at that moment of the splitting of the Yam Suf not only in body but also in spirit must have been an extraordinary moment, prophetic at its essence. That is the consciousness with which Serach lived and why for me, she is the person who I would like to meet. 

The "Dead of Night": An Open Question about the Jewish Firstborns in Egypt

            This week's Torah portion left me with a question that I've grappled with a good part of this past week. Hashem smites the Egyptian firstborns; as an interesting aside, in some homes there were multiple firstborns as every paternal firstborn passed away and so if an Egyptian wife was unfaithful to her husband and was rather promiscuous, in a given home even ten firstborns may have dropped dead in the "dead of night".

            The Torah relates that the Jewish households were "saved" from the mashchit, which we can loosely translate as the "avenger." The question that I want to confront is, "In what way were the Jewish people saved from the wrath of Hashem in makat b'chorot, the smiting of the firstborns?" That would seem to give us a deeper understanding of why Hashem after makat b'chorot chose to sanctify Jewish firstborns, making them distinct from all other Jewish progeny and the necessity, as this portion teaches, to redeem the firstborn.

            To be perfectly honest, though I've reviewed the commentaries, I'm yet to find an answer that satisfies me. What I can suggest at this point is that the meaning of "holy" or kadosh in Hebrew is separate or distinct and perhaps it could be said that sort of in a way that resembles the First Law of Thermodynamics. That law states that energy in the universe remains constant. With the Egyptian firstborns perishing, the Jewish firstborns needed to be elevated to retain the world's spiritual equilibrium or balance.

            At the time of the plague of the firstborns, the Jewish people are commanded not to leave their homes which seems to be reminiscent of the angel's command to Lot' wife not to turn around and see the misfortune of her former neighbors. Salt representing the inert side of life, it's her insensitivity that becomes ossified in space and time, reminding us that callousness has no place in the heartbeat of life. After all, a sentient soul and spirit like a fire warms others, while love can be transferred without diminishing from the original flame. It could be argued that the firstborns' elevation thus inculcates in the Jewish people a heightened attentiveness and sensitivity to others, but perhaps it can also be said that the same way the firstborns need to be redeemed, life at its very core is not ours but that it belongs to Hashem and is His to give and take. The redemptive process regarding the firstborn helps us internalize just that.

            Lastly, in the following NY Times article, IMHO, we see a perversion of this understanding of the value of life http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/06/magazine. The parents of a young woman who has been murdered by her boyfriend, fight to have the boyfriend's term mitigated because they do not want his life wasted as he festers in jail. They believe that it is enough that they lost their daughter; seeing that their daughter would have forgiven her boyfriend, the parents reason that they must show Jesus Christ's attribute of forgiveness. I quote from the article: "Ann’s parents strive to model their lives on those of Jesus and St. Augustine, and forgiveness is deep in their creed. “I realized it was not just Ann asking me to forgive Conor, it was Jesus Christ,” Andy recalls. “And I hadn’t said no to him before, and I wasn’t going to start then. It was just a wave of joy, and I told Ann: ‘I will. I will.’ ” Jesus or no Jesus, he says, “what father can say no to his daughter?”

            It is this perversion which makes idolatry so severe. Worshiping idolatry as did Ann's parents, prevented them from realizing that it wasn't solely their prerogative to forgive but that of the one and only Creator of the universe. May all Jews who have converted to Christianity or who have sought out another form of idolatry return to their true and only faith, be'ezrat Hashem.

Vaera 5773: Is Judaism Racist?!

There is a well-known response or rejoinder here in Israel when a woman shares that she's pregnant or alternatively that she's pregnant but that she doesn't know the future sex of her child: “Boy or girl, it doesn't matter- as long as there's a bris!” It could be said that there's a similar way of thinking regarding the exclusiveness of the Jewish people as the chosen nation. In speaking to a friend at my kollel, Pitchei Olam, when I asked him if he thought that believing we're the chosen people makes us racist his response-perhaps tooth and cheek- was, “Everyone is equal; we're just better.”

In this week's Parsha, Vaera, it could be said that for the first time we see that Hashem accords the Jewish people treatment different than that of another nation in a way that is aimed at discriminating or differentiating between our people and our Egyptian taskmasters who enslaved us. As an aside, it's a mitzva for each and every Jew to daily see himself as one who has left Egypt and in the following weekly Torah portions, it's a wonderful time to have special intent in imagining oneself as a bonafide slave having been rescued through Hashem's mercy from the land of our woes and sorrows, Mitzraim, from the “narrow straits.”

The aforementioned word, “discriminate” appears twice in this week's Torah portion, first in regards to the plague of roaming wild beasts, arov, and thereafter, the plague and sickness of dever which afflicted the horses, donkeys, camels, cattle and sheep.

There are those among the commentators (Ramban and Rashbam) who relate that it is because of the mobility of the roaming wild animals that the Torah here specified Hashem's discriminatory treatment of the Egyptians in contrast to the Jewish people who were unscathed. Whereas blood, frogs and lice by their nature do not roam and run rampant, when it comes to the animal kingdom, it can be said that wild animals do. Interestingly enough, regarding the wild beasts, the Even Ezra states that Hashem's discriminatory capabilities were recognized by Pharaoh who realized that he had to now ease up on his Jewish slaves for fear of harsh retribution; Pharaoh realized he would have to send the Jewish people to worship their Lord for otherwise the Egyptian's animals would be struck with dever, a fatal illness.

Interestingly enough, it can be said that the second time the word “discriminate” is used, it reflects the virtuosity of bnei Yisrael, the people of Israel. The Jewish people who clung to the ways of Hashem and did not engage in idolatrous behaviors as did the Egyptians who worshiped sheep as their God, in that merit, had their livestock spared.

Furthermore, it can be said that the plagues were differentiated by the role they played. Almost like Sun Tzu's Art of War, Chazal (our scholars) teach that the plagues in a manner of speaking can be likened to a military campaign. First the Egyptian's water source was struck, and then fear was instilled in them by the paralyzing swarm of frogs. Lice then attacked followed by wild animals, with the Egyptians' livestock then perishing. The latter were thereafter struck by boils, with fiery hail petrifying them from above, only to then have the rest of their sustenance cut off by swarming locusts. When they could no longer bear the light of day, their world went black and ultimately in the denouement of the eser makot, at midnight, every Egyptian family's firstborn son perished instantaneously. Every step was calculated, a military strategy instilling fear and terror in their oppressors who incrementally, one step at a time, had previously filled their lives with utter misery and torture.

Returning to the initial question regarding the heightened role of the Jewish people vis a vis  the nations of the world and whether that engenders superiority, it is possible to answer that it is our humble beginnings in bondage that have sensitized us to morality and the needs of the other nations. Proving our ability to cling to Hashem's ways in the throes of bondage, Hashem revealed Himself exclusively to our people at Sinai, a mountain that was the smallest and humblest of all the others. This heightened sensitivity and attuned care that the Jewish people possess does indeed separate us but in a way that impels us not to haughtiness but rather the service and betterment of the other nations of the world. Teaches Rav Kook, every nation has a unique character trait that it possesses in the most refined way, a trait that it possesses exclusively and which the Jewish people can acquire by following the lead of that particular nation. It is our morality, our undying, fervent belief in Hashem and our unflinching commitment to perform His will that distinguishes us as a people. We are distinct, and our role is different, and even the ranks of our scholars have been filled with converts. Jews are indeed born with the great honor of being descendants of the forefathers and mothers of our people; that though does not prevent any non-Jew who seeks out the truth of the Torah from becoming Jewish and learning the attuned sensitivity to morality which is our commitment and mission, forever unifying us with the 70 nations of the world. It is the fact that we are a sensitized people that makes us separate, the linchpin of the world's existence and that of all of  humanity.

Shmot 5773

 

The message I choose to focus on this week is humility. As defined to me by my elementary school rabbi, Steven Moskowitz, it refers to recognizing that one's God-given abilities must be used for the betterment of mankind; it is the rejection of one's talents and strengths that leads one to not only be at dissonance with himself but far from fulfilling the role entrusted to him.

 

Eisav, after all, did not want to receive the firstborn rights because he feared that though he had the abilities to conduct the observance of the firstborn in the home of Hashem (the firstborns were only replaced by the Kohanim after the former sinned in the sin of the golden calf), he simultaneously felt that it would be too demanding on his constitution were he to engage in the minute nuiasances of the Temple service. When he gave up the birthright, Hashem explicitly states, "And Eisav disgraced the birthright!"

 

When Moshe goes out to see the suffering of his people, it is out of humility that he strikes the Egyptian who had been beating his fellow Jew. When he looked from one direction to the next taught YU President Richard Joel, he was in fact looking inwards to discover his own manhood; when he saw that there was no "man" within, he decided to act.

 

This safe motif can be found when Moshe faces Hashem at the burning bush. Perhaps it can be said that the reason- though the bush burned it was not consumed- can be linked to the spiritual reality or tenor of Hashem's inscrutable existence. The same way that mankind cannot conceive answers to the questions the likes of "Can God create a rock he cannot lift?" it can be said that innate to the experience of mankind is a humility founded in being cognizant of our inability to understand Hashem. That creates a rather large and telling irony. It is our recognition of our inability to understand Hashem that solidifies our own belief in our own abilities; Hashem who has entrusted us with these abilities-whose own abilities are beyond us-believes in us! The mysterium magnum as Rav Soloveitchik called it in the Lonely Man of Faith, is not paralyzing yet energizing. Thus when Moshe is asked to remove his shoes, it is to connect with the very source of his life, the earth from which he stems and the earth to which he will return, sensitizing his consciousness to his rootedness to the Eternal one blessed be he.