Parshat Vayikra 5779 - The Great Communicator

Parsha Paragraphs

Rabbi Naftali Moshe Kassorla

Parshat Vayikra 5779

The Great Communicator

The D’var Torah for this week is kindly dedicated by R’ Reuven and Shera Gaisin in honor of the 20th yahrtzeit of his maternal grandmother:

Necha Gittel Bas Avrom Zalman ז״ל

If you are interested in sponsoring a D’var Torah in honor or in memory of someone, or for any occasion, please email: ParshaParagraphs@gmail.com

This week’s parsha welcomes us to a new Sefer and the world of Korbanot. The parsha begins: וַיִּקְרָ֖א אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֑ה וַיְדַבֵּ֤ר ה׳ אֵלָ֔יו מֵאֹ֥הֶל מוֹעֵ֖ד לֵאמֹֽר - “He called out to Moshe, and Hashem spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying” (Vayikra 1:1). Rashi explains that ויקרא, which appears superfluous, comes to teach us a rule – that every statement, saying, and command from G-d to Moshe is preceded with a קריאה (a “calling”) which is a language of endearment, the same language that the ministering angels use.

In communicating with this endearment, G-d does so only with Moshe. The rest of the nation could not hear. Meaning, that this was a prophecy to which only Moshe was privy. Rashi says:

The voice [of G-d] would go, and reach Moshe’s ears, and all of Israel could not hear it. One might have thought that there was a ‘calling’ at breaks (i.e. the breaks in the text indicated by blank spaces).

One might have thought that a break indicates the beginning of a new and distinct prophecy which would be preceded with a new קריאה. The Torah teaches us that no, only when G-d actually speaks is it a new prophecy, but the breaks in-and-of-themselves do not indicate a new prophecy. (Explanation is based on the Mizrachi, as translated by Artscroll.)

Now, if the breaks in the text did not serve the purpose of indicating a new and distinct prophecy, what purpose did they serve? Rashi continues:

To give Moshe the time for contemplation of one Parsha and the next, and between one topic to another. קל וחומר (all the more so) that time between subjects is necessary for a הדיוט (an ordinary person) who learns from another הדיוט.

Rashi, quoting the Torat Kohanim (1:9), explains that G-d gave Moshe the time to contemplate and to understand the subject, and from the rule of “kal vachomer” we learn that ordinary people must also give – and be given – that time to contemplate.

However, there is a glaring question that arises when analyzing this Midrash. What is the logic behind this kal vachomer? It makes sense that while Moshe was the greatest prophet to have ever risen, and was master of all wisdoms, perhaps even he needed that time to contemplate when learning from G-d Himself. For when learning the Torah from G-d – Whose wisdom cannot be fathomed, Whose essence cannot be grasped, and Whose grandiosity cannot be comprehended – of course if even Moshe would need the time to properly digest the concepts, an ordinary person would as well. But who is to say that in the case of two “ordinary” people, where both are on the same level, that time must be given for the other to comprehend? The Midrash’s conclusion, bringing a kal vachomer from Hashem and Moshe to two ordinary people, seems completely incongruent. How can the logic of this Midrash be explained?

To answer this question we must first take a step back and ask a fundamental question: What is the true intention of the Torat Kohanim, what overall message does it convey? Is it trying to tell us that due to the “lack” of the student we must give the רווח (space) to understand? Or perhaps it is telling us that when a teacher teaches (whether or not the student is lacking) he must be careful to teach in a way that the student has the ability to comprehend.

If the need to give time and space stems from the lack on the part of the student, then our original question stands, for as we spoke out earlier, of course even Moshe in comparison to Hashem is considered lacking. However, if the Torat Kohanim is giving a lesson about the mark of a good teacher – that a teacher is lacking if he does not giving ample time for students of any kind to comprehend – then we have our answer.

From the fact that G-d [the greatest of teachers] allows Moshe [the most wise and humble of the prophets] the time to contemplate, we can learn that in our dealings, as “ordinary teachers” we too must present our ideas in a way for them to be comprehended. Bottom line: the Midrash is giving us a lesson about the method of teaching – on the part of the teacher – regardless of the level of the student. A good teacher presents his ideas with clarity in all situations.

This idea can be helpful in a myriad of aspects of teaching, including how loud one projects, how slowly one speaks, or a hundred other pedagogical methods which can aid the clarity of the message and comprehension of the student. But this is also a powerful lesson regarding the most basic underpinning of teaching: the teacher’s mindset and motivation.

A Rebbe is not there for himself; his objectives in teaching should be based solely on the comprehension of the students. And, barring other factors, if the student is not understanding, then he has failed his mission. For if students are not walking away with more clarity and understanding, what then is being accomplished?! That the Rebbe himself said a good shiur? That he felt honored? That he understood the subject? Of course his endeavors are worthless so long as the student is left clueless.

I was once conversing with a friend who had a thirteen-year-old son in a “top tier” Yeshiva Ketana in Eretz Yisrael, and he was decrying the amount of sources and analytical approaches the teacher was “cramming” into the students. Rather than just explain the material in an easily digestible form, instead the teacher was overwhelming the class with more and more material. My friend felt his son was not understanding. This father, who himself is a Rosh Kollel, told me that he was not the only one; other parents had also expressed frustration that their children were not following shiur. When the parents finally gathered the courage to, as a group, confront the Rebbe and express their concerns, they were shocked by his response, the Rebbe said: “I teach the students on the level where I am holding. I was the top of my class, and I want them to witness what is true scholarship.”

When I heard this, I was blown away. How is it possible for someone, who has been entrusted with the holy task of חינוך (education) to think in such selfish terms? How could he get it so wrong? I believe the the truth is that this “Rebbe” is teaching for all the wrong reasons. He is not teaching with the aim of התבוננות and הבנה of his students, which would lead anyone to the natural conclusion that he must lower the level of the shiur.

I once heard from a very prominent Rabbi, that a teacher who is purely focused on himself is included in the prohibition of being המתכבד בקלון חברו - putting down others to raise up your own honor; such a person is punished with losing his share in Olam Habah (Yerushalmi Chagigah 10a, Rambam Hilchos Deos 6:3). For a teacher who neglects the progress of the students, while using them to honor himself, is the same as one who actively degrades them. This teacher is involved in a nihilistic and self-serving pursuit under the guise of virtue, all the while using the students as his footstool to raise up his own honor. That is when torah stops from being a סם החיים, and instead becomes a סם המוות (Yoma 72b).

One of my most favorite quotes that I’ve heard is in the name of Rabbi Yosef Dov Halevi Soloveitchik זצ״ל. He would often remark that his favorite title was not Rav, Rosh Yeshiva, or Posek (halachic expert); rather it was מלמד, just a simple teacher. Rabbi Soloveitchik felt that this was really the greatest praise, for G-d Himself is called teacher: המלמד תורה לעמו ישראל. Rabbi Soloveitchik felt that the highest calling, that which emulates G-d himself, is that of מלמד. And we learn from Hashem, in giving that “space” to Moshe to contemplate and comprehend, a demonstration of the proper way to accomplish the holiest of tasks – teaching Torah, with the holiest goal: to better the student.

Shabbat Shalom

Parshat Pikudei 5779 - Soulful Sounds

Parsha Paragraphs

Rabbi Naftali Moshe Kassorla

Parshat Pikudei 5779

Soulful Sounds

The Parsha this week recounts for us again the details of the Mishkan. Though it may seem to our superficial perspective that this parsha is a mere repetition, as we all know, nothing in the Torah is said unnecessarily – there is always something to be gleaned from the depths of the Torah.

The pasuk says:

וּבְצַלְאֵל בֶּן־אוּרִי בֶן־חוּר לְמַטֵּה יְהוּדָה עָשָׂה אֵת כָּל־אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּה ה׳ אֶת־מֹשֶׁה

Now Betzalel, son of Uri son of Chur, of the tribe of Yehuda, had made all that Hashem had commanded Moshe.

Rashi, quoting the Yerushalmi (3:1) and the Midrash Rabbah (1:14) notes the oddity of the phrasing of “That Hashem had commanded Moshe”, and not “what Moshe had communicated to Betzalel.”

ובצלאל בן אורי וגו' עשה את כל אשר צוה ה' את משה. אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה מֹשֶׁה אֵין כְּתִיב כָּאן, אֶלָּא כָּל אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה' אֶת מֹשֶׁה, אֲפִלּוּ דְּבָרִים שֶׁלֹּא אָמַר לוֹ רַבּוֹ, הִסְכִּימָה דַּעְתּוֹ לְמַה שֶּׁנֶּאֱמַר לְמֹשֶׁה בְּסִינַי

It is not stated here: “that Moshe commanded”, but “all that the Lord commanded Moshe” — even regarding such things which his teacher (Moshe) did not tell him, his own opinion was in agreement with what had been told to Moshe on Sinai.

Seemingly, Betzalel was not told everything in it specifics from Moshe. Rather, there were some details which Betzalel inherently understood on his own. Despite the fact that it had not been directly communicated to him, he was still able to understand what Hashem intended.

Why and how was Betzalel was able to do this? To discern the ratzon Hashem on his own? I believe the answer is thus: Hashem, by implanting within us a neshama, has allowed us the ability to reach deep into the recesses of ourselves to touch Divinity.

This is because the Neshama of a Jew is a חלק אלוקי ממעל – a piece of G-d Himself. And when a person truly connects to that piece of Kedusha, he is connecting to Hakadosh Baruch Hu directly. Using this means, Betzalel was able to correctly intuit what Hashem wanted – because the answer was already within him.

Not everything needs to be spoken out directly (and sometimes things aren’t able to be spoken out). A person can intuit within the expanses of the Neshama. But this is only true when one has done the requisite work to actually reach the truth that lies in their Neshama. Only then is he able to draw upon that latent inspiration.

The way to do this is by actively changing the perspective of the “self” – to view oneself and our interactions with the world through the prism of being a Neshama. By doing this, a person connects to the Divine. The more Mitzvos we do, the more we are nourishing the true self. The logical and obvious inverse is that when a person does Aveiros, it drags him further away from the conscious connection to G-d that lies within him. This makes it more difficult to connect to the רצון ה׳ – the true Will of G-d.

There is a beautiful piece in צוואת הריב״ש (Last Will and Testament of the Baal Shem Tov). There he discusses this concept – of viewing our reality through the prism of our neshama – as a tool to further our connection to tefillah.

אין מתפללין אלא מתוך כובד הראש. פירוש אל תתפלל בשביל דבר שחסר לך כי לא יקובל תפלתך. אלא כשתרצה להתפלל תתפלל על כבידות שיש בראש כי הדבר שחסר לך החסרון יש בשכינה. כי אדם חלק אלקי ממעל והחסרון שיש בהחלק יש בכלל. והכלל מרגיש את החסרון של החלק. א"כ תהי' תפלתך על החסרון של הכלל וזהו פירוש אלא מתוך כובד הראש.

The Gemara (Brachot 30b) says that a person should pray with a serious frame of mind [lit. a heaviness of head]. Meaning, do not pray for something that you yourself are lacking, for this prayer will not be accepted. Rather, when you wish to pray, pray over the “difficulty you have in your head” - for that which you are lacking, the Shechina [presence of Hashem] lacks as well!  For a person is part of the Divine above, and the lack which is felt in the part [us] is also felt by the Whole [G-d]. And the Whole [G-d] feels the lack of the part [us]. Therefore, your prayer should be with the awareness of the lack of the Whole. This is the meaning of praying with a “heaviness of head”

Here we see that when we consciously realize that we are a part of G-d and truly tap into this notion, it will change our entire outlook on the world and how we relate to it. We are not merely a body with a Neshama; rather we are a Neshama with a body. We can pray with the awareness that when we feel lacking, Hashem so-to-speak feels that lack, for we are a part of Him. We do not live alongside G-d, we live with G-d, in unison. And our mission in this world is: to bring out the G-dliness that is contained within each of us.

The awareness of our individual Divine spark should give us the confidence necessary to confront some of the big questions in life. Though it is unquestionably a prime Jewish value to seek guidance and direction from those greater than us, it is important not to neglect the need to foster within ourselves a healthy trust of the Chelek Ha’Elokus that Hashem gave us. A good mentor will try and nurture that within his student.

Even with the awareness of the importance of being attuned to the sounds and emanations from our Neshamas, we must still endeavor to create the proper environments to be able to hear Hakadosh Baruch Hu. It feels almost impossible in our day and age to find a moment of quiet and calm. We are bombarded with a world that is always in motion, always jumping to the next step. We must make a concerted effort to create an outer calm, to be able to hear the inner calm. This is integral to cultivating a real connection with the Borei Olam.

This is also a very timely and important lesson to focus on as Purim approaches. The Gemara tells us: “Nichnas Yayin, Yatzah Sod” – When one gets drunk, the truth comes out (Eiruvin 65a, Sanhedrin 38a). The true personality surfaces as the person loses their inhibitions. If one has done the proper work on his character in polishing off the aveiros that have tarnished his Neshama, the great sterling qualities of his Neshama will shine forth.

As we embark on the path of finding that outer and inner calm and reaching our souls, may our efforts to come closer to Hashem be blessed with success.

Shabbat Shalom

Parshat Terumah 5779 - To Dwell Among Us

Parsha Paragraphs

Rabbi Naftali Moshe Kassorla

Parshat Terumah 5779

To Dwell Among Us

In this week’s parsha, God commands the nation: ועשו לי מקדש ושכנתי בתוכם - “Make for Me a Sanctuary – so that I may dwell among them” (Shemot 25:8). The people are inspired and contribute to the construction.

The Psikta recounts an amazing occurrence. When the decree came to Moshe for the Nation to build a sanctuary, Moshe literally shook and exclaimed, “How can man make a house for G-d?!” And God answered, “Not according to My capabilities do I ask, rather according to your own capabilities.” The Chofetz Chaim concludes from this Midrash that G-d does not unfairly critique man for his shortcomings; rather He asks only that we try, to the best of our abilities.

I would like to focus on this intriguing back-and-forth between Hakadosh Baruch Hu and Moshe. Firstly, why is Moshe “shaken”? What is so shocking about Hashem’s request to build a Mishkan? Perhaps Moshe’s great astonishment was that he found it difficult to fathom that G-d could manifest Himself in this world. If so, we can still ask: why is Moshe shocked only now? Didn't the Shechina previously come down at Har Sinai (Ibid. 19:20)? Furthermore, what did Hashem respond to Moshe which then resolved his question? And finally a third question: what can we glean practically for ourselves from G-d’s response?

I would like to suggest that Moshe's shock was rooted in a deep and fundamental difficulty pertaining to the essence of G-d. The Greek and Roman philosophers, l’havdil, wrestled with a question: How can G-d, Who is יושב במרום (dwells in the supernal realms), be “concerned” with the menial ways of man?¹ Man is inherently physically limited, debased with desires and selfish needs.

Different philosophers arrived at two separate and distinct responses. Some said that G-d is in fact so holy that He is removed from this world entirely. Aristotle, the “father of western philosophy,” explained his concept of G-d – “The Unmoved Mover”– as that of an unfeeling, removed Power Who is involved in deep Self-contemplation (The Middle Platonism by John Dillon - Cornell University Press 1977). Meaning that G-d’s “interests” are above and beyond the base thoughts of man.

Alternatively, they explained that G-d (or gods by their perception) were made in the image of man, and were just as debased, selfish and petty as man could be; this is evidenced by the Greek mythologies of rampant licentiousness and jealousy on the part of their deities.

However, Judaism has a wholly different philosophy on the essence of G-d, and we can see this totally divergent idea from the Psikta quoted above. In responding to Moshe, G-d says: “Not according to My capabilities do I ask, rather according to man’s capabilities.” G-d was in essence telling Moshe that not only is He interested in our actions, but He desires to dwell among us too! This, I believe, is the depth and beauty of G-d’s call to man “Make me a sanctuary.” The Torah’s concept of G-d is the synthesis of these two, seemingly, divergent philosophies: the loftiness of G-d’s essence, coupled with His deep desire to connect with us.

This idea can perhaps elucidate for us another issue once raised by a student of mine. Human civilizations has for millennia been engaged in building centers of worship, altars, and great monuments to their idols. Some archeological digs have even unearthed ruins that have had a similar floor plan to the Mishkan. The student was bothered by this, wondering: what makes the endeavor of the Jewish people to build the Mishkan so unique? Perhaps the Jews in the desert were just like any other developing nomadic tribe that felt strengthening of tribal bonds through building a communal altar to worship, similar to Stonehenge in England, the Ziggurats in Mesopotamia and other similar feats of architecture. What made the Mishkan, and by proxy the Jewish people, any different?

To answer this question, I heard from the Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Yechiel Perr Shlit”a the following idea that I believe provides the proper approach: Human history is rife with man’s desire to reach out to G-d. However, the building of the Mishkan marked the first time in recorded human history that the building of a monument was preceded by G-d reaching out to man to “Make me a sanctuary.”

This made the Mishkan a different structure entirely – at its core. For while the building is built from man’s actions, it is initiated by G-d’s directive. The call to build G-d a sanctuary infuses its every vessel with sanctity. Now it has become elevated to a G-dly level. So while it may look the same as other “sanctuaries,” its essence was not anything of this world.²

This is an important lesson for us, as we should know and strengthen this idea that G-d is not only interested in our lives, but wishes to “dwell” within them. He infuses all of our “menial” actions with holiness and meaning, when we answer His call.

Thus, it is fitting to end with the famous quote attributed to the Alshich:

ועשו לי מקדש ושכנתי בתוכם: בכל אחד ואחד

G-d desires to dwell within every individual 

We would be wise to open the door to let Him in.

Shabbat Shalom

1 See Rashi in Bamidbar (24:3) regarding Bilaam. G-d made Bilaam blind because he found preposterous the idea that G-d would be interested in the “lowly ways of man”: ורבותינו אמרו (נדה לא.) לפי שאמר (במדבר כ״ג:י) ומספר את רובע ישראל שהקב"ה יושב ומונה רביעותיהן של ישראל מתי תבא טפה שנולד הצדיק ממנה. אמר בלבו מי שהוא קדוש ומשרתיו קדושים יסתכל בדברים הללו ועל דבר זה נסמית עינו של בלעם. Much appreciation to Rav Chaim Pollock Shlit”a Rosh Machal of Michlala, for directing me to this source.

2 There is a very interesting Sicha from the The Lubavitcher Rebbe, where he explains the difference between the Kiyum Mitzvot prior to Matan Torah and after. Basing this on a Midrash, He explains that before Matan Torah, Mitzvot that were performed by a person did not bestow upon an object a kedusha, for how can man endow a cheftza with kedusha? This is something that only G-d can do! But after Matan Torah the cheftza has kedusha because of the direct commandment. This is in line with Rav Perr’s idea, but more globally – that physical objects are infused with a special level of holiness through G-d commanding it. Many thanks to Rav Ally Ehrman Shlit”a for showing me this sicha.

Parshat Mishpatim 5779 - Tunnel Visions

Parsha Paragraphs

Rabbi Naftali Moshe Kassorla

Parshat Mishpatim 5779

Tunnel Visions

The D’var Torah for this week is dedicated in memory of:

 הר״ר שמעון בן צבי דוב מנלו זצ״ל

Who’s Yahrtzeit was just this past week. May his memory be a blessing for his entire family

If you are interested in sponsoring a D’var Torah in honor or in memory of someone, or for any occasion, please email: ParshaParagraphs@gmail.com

In this week’s Parsha, after the awesome moment in history when God reveals Himself through the giving of the Torah, the laws of the Torah are delineated, to be the cornerstone of a just society. These laws would not only guide the Jewish nation but also be a beacon of morality to the rest of the world.

Among the societal laws such as open pits in the public thoroughfare, bodily damages, and bearing false witness, we are told of another:

כִּֽי־תִרְאֶ֞ה חֲמ֣וֹר שֹׂנַאֲךָ֗ רֹבֵץ֙ תַּ֣חַת מַשָּׂא֔וֹ וְחָדַלְתָּ֖ מֵעֲזֹ֣ב ל֑וֹ עָזֹ֥ב תַּעֲזֹ֖ב עִמּֽוֹ

“If you see the donkey of your enemy crouching under its burden, would you refrain from helping him? You shall help repeatedly with him” (Shemot 23:5).

Now the question is: who is this “enemy” that the Torah is referring to? Though we are all guilty of this, it is in fact forbidden to hate a fellow Jew, so it must be referring to someone else.

Chazal in Pesachim (113b) tells us that this pasuk refers to someone who it is in fact permitted (even obligated) to hate. This is someone who sins consistently, despite multiple warnings. Such a person is no longer considered part of the Jewish people. Yet even so, the Torah demands that we help him with his animal’s burden. Why? Is this not still considered showing love for a wicked person, by lending a helping hand?

I would like to suggest a reason for why this is so.

The Gemara in Bava Metzia (32b), in discussing whether the prohibition of צער בעלי חיים  (causing pain to animals) is Biblical or Rabbinic in origin, actually cites our verse as the source that it is from the Torah (and so rules the majority of the Rishonim). Meaning that reason why we help the animal is not as a friendly act to the sinner, but rather as a kindness to the animal.

This implies to us that despite the fact that the owner is wicked and is not considered part of the Nation, nonetheless we still help the animals with it’s burden. For although it may be a mitzvah to hate this willful sinner, it is not a mitzvah to cause pain to the animal – That is completely forbidden. But it is all too easy for this important point to get lost in the shuffle.

And with this can learn a tremendous lesson: the importance of compartmentalization, and understanding where and when to apply our principles. Though it is a mitzvah to despise this particular person, that mitzvah is not a carte blanche allowance to ignore the pain of the animal. Principles should not lead to “tunnel vision” whereby one does not take heed of other issues as well. If certain principles causes one to impinge upon other aspects of civility, it is a reflection of the quality (or lack-thereof) of that principle within us.

I recall hearing from the Rosh Yeshiva Rav Yechiel Perr Shlit”a in the name of the Vilna Gaon, that in order to determine if one's actions are in fact good, he must examine the after-effects. This, explains the Gaon, is the meaning of the Mishna in Avot (4:2): מצוה גוררת מצוה – one mitzvah leads to another mitzvah. If the consequence of one’s “mitzvah” is negative, it is usually a sign it is not the right path. And if the fruits of one’s actions are clearly positive, one may rest assured knowing it was indeed a mitzvah. So too here, when the person is applying the principle of hating this wicked man, he must apply it with a wide scope, utilizing שיקול הדעת and a keen eye for the possible repercussions. With that eye he can determine if it is in fact a mitzvah to demonstrate hate at that time, or not.

Rav Yisroel Salanter זצ״ל famously once quipped, that a man can have all the spiritual, mystical intentions in the world as he puts on his Tallit. But the minute he wraps the Tallit around his head, thereby whipping the Tzizit strings into the face of the person behind him, all the כוונות go down the drain. Why? Because this ״עבד ה׳״ has tunnel vision, putting on the Tzizit has been transformed into a selfish endeavor - quite the opposite of an “other-worldly act”.

Again, the key is to not fall into the trap of tunnel vision. And when we overcome it and are able to take in all factors of the situation, allows us to correctly prioritize competing values. We must be able to approach life in a nuanced way.

Thus, when one is faced with “someone you hate,” rather than be a proverbial bull in a china shop and rigidly push away any thought of helping, or not even stop to notice the animal’s pain, one must leave open a space in his mind and heart to notice the suffering of the animal as well. For he should know intuitively that his “mitzvah” cannot come at the expense of the animal.

This explanation could perhaps illuminate another part of the Parsha. After the law of relieving the burden of your enemy’s animal, the very next verse is a call to Judges: “You shall not pervert the Judgement of your destitute person in his dispute” (ibid. 6). The Sforno explains: “You [the Judge] shall not be soft with this one, and difficult with this one during the court proceedings when each side presents their cases.” Why not? Is this person not destitute? Perhaps ruling against the poor man may be devastating for him financially! Furthermore, perhaps the other side is rich! Can he not spare a few dollars to help this poor man? The Mechilta (ibid.) even says that this verse refers a situation to where one litigant is wicked and the other is righteous. Would it not be appropriate to rule in favor of the righteous individual? Is this not justice? Isn’t this what G-d would want? The answer is of course not. The Torah calls this way of thinking actually a perversion of justice. By taking these foreign factors into account when rendering the Halacha, the Judge is perverting the system of law. Nothing other than the facts of the case, regardless of the economic or social status of the baalei dinim, may be taken into account.

This ability for the Judge to see each person equally can only come when the Judge has trained his mind and שכל to not allow outside factors to cloud his judgment. Whether one side is destitute, a widower, or an orphan, this skill will allow him to filter out or properly weigh the factors that are needed to render a דין אמת.

Both of these instances – one who helps the burden of an animal, by ignoring his hate for the owner, and a Judge who rules against the poor man, by ignoring his social status – result in a fair, just and kind society that is in tune with the needs of the people, yet at the same time creates the environment for enforcement of an equal system for justice.

This is the result of God-centered society: fairness, sensitivity for all of G-d’s creatures, and a proper application of morals and values. May we merit to implement these ideas and see this in our own society.

Shabbat Shalom

Parsha Paragraphs in the Jewish Tribune UK - Yisro 5779

Parshat Bo 5779 - The Chains That Bind Us

Parsha Paragraphs

Rabbi Naftali Moshe Kassorla

Parshat Bo 5779

The Chains That Bind Us

The D’var Torah for this week is dedicated in memory of:

 ר׳ אלחנן יעקב ז״ל בן מורי וחמי ר׳ שמואל פנחס

If you are interested in sponsoring a D’var Torah in honor or in memory of someone, or for any occasion, please email: ParshaParagraphs@gmail.com

In this week’s Parsha, Hashem prepares for the final three plagues against Egypt. These plagues will pave the way for the ultimate redemption of the Jewish People, as they serve to be the final knockout to Egypt.

At this crucial moment, Hashem tells Moshe that He is bringing these plagues upon the Egyptians: למען תספר באזני בנך ובן בנך את אשר התעללתי במצרים…“so that I can put these signs of Mine in his midst; and so that you may relate in the ears of your son and your son’s son that I made a mockery of Egypt…that you may know that I am Hashem” (Shemot 10:1-2).

Hashem commands us to relate, in detail, the plagues and His domination over Egypt, for in seeing the power of the plagues, we and the generations to come will have a greater recognition of Hashem.

However, we must ask a glaring question: Why now at this very moment? Have all the plagues been completed yet? No! Three more plagues have yet to come, yet the Torah is now telling us of the obligation to recount the plagues. It seems logical that at the conclusion of the plagues, we would have the fuller picture and greater perspective of Hashem's greatness. Wouldn’t that then allow for a better and greater recounting of the story of the גאולה? Yet, Hashem tells us of this need to tell over the מכות to the next generation in the middle of the story. Why?

There is a famous Gemara in Yevamot (79a) that can perhaps give us greater clarity into the timing of this obligation. The Gemara tells us something about the unique traits of the Jewish People:

שלשה סימנים יש באומה זו, הרחמנים והביישנין וגומלי חסדים
There are three attributes to this [Jewish] nation: Merciful, Modest, and Generosity

It is a fact borne out by our common history that the Jewish people tend to be merciful (albeit often misplaced). Jews of all religious backgrounds tend towards charitable and political/social activism. It manifests itself in an almost gut level reaction to defend the vulnerable. This innate reaction no doubt stems from the Divine ethos that were revealed to the Jewish people at the foot of Har Sinai millennia ago and ingrained within us for generations.

However, while having mercy for the downtrodden is a praiseworthy quality, it can act as a double-edged sword. Vague and unchannelled feelings of mercy for the downtrodden (simply for one being in a downtrodden state, without a sense of context) is monumentally dangerous. It can cause one to be too trusting of others in a time that does not call for mercy. Chazal warns of this type of misplaced mercy, and the detrimental impact it can have on maintaining a healthy balance of justice in society.

With this in mind, we can now answer why Hashem chose this very moment, in the middle of the plagues, as the time to recount the story. Egypt was in-effect desolate, literally standing on one crippled foot, about to crumble. Anyone with a semblance of a heart, it would be impossible not to feel some sort of mercy at this point, even with Egypt’s long history of abuse to the Jews. In truth, the most appropriate time to recount the plagues was specifically in the middle of plagues, to prevent “misplaced mercy.”

Growing up I was always fascinated with an interesting phenomenon that would occur in Boxing. The lead-up to a fight would be raucous and tense between the fighters. Taunting and threats thrown between the two boxers, with the media breathlessly covering it all. The fans, all aligning behind the fighter of their choice, become divided among themselves. In fact, it was not uncommon that in press conferences to promote the match, fist fights and brawls would break out between the two camps of fighters. Ginning up more anger and blood lust between the fans. Finally, after all the hoopla, the big night arrives and the tension is palpable. And when that bell rings and the fists fly, the heartbeats are racing as the crowd squeals in excitement at every blow landed and every drop of blood drawn.

Yet what I found so amazing, comes at the very moment when it is clear that the fight has been won. The boxer has his opponent pinned up against the ropes, and is landing one powerful blow after another. Jabs, uppercuts to the head, and blows to the body. Each punch delivered  with enough force to permanently damage organs and break bones. Yet, maybe out of pride or most probably out of sheer stupidity, his opponent just won’t go down or give up. I recall on many occasions the commentators, almost in a scolding tone, calling “the Ref has got to stop this fight”. The crowd, though initially hungry for this very gore, begin to internally cringe and look away, as their stomachs turn at the sight of such a brutal beating. The next day, the media and the public condemn the referee, the trainers and the sport as a whole for being callous and irresponsible in being late in stopping the fight.

Why is this so? Why is the reaction so visceral and extreme? Didn’t the people just cheer for the fighters to destroy each other? Isn't this exactly what we want? 

The answer, I believe, is that deep down we are not brutal savages, we are not completely cruel. No normal person wishes for a person to be beaten past the point of being indefensible and to an inch of his life. This is a natural response for any human, but all-the-more so for the Jewish people.

This is again what, I believe Hashem wanted to forestall. Hashem knew that the Jews would have the innate emotional reaction of empathy for the Egyptians. Thus, Hashem chose a time in the midst of the punishment to state the obligation to recount the plagues. For through recounting the story, we remind ourselves of the reasons why Hashem is doing this to Egypt – the pain they caused, and the evil decrees they enacted upon us.

To now feel empathy for Egypt would have detracted from the message that Hashem wanted to ingrain in us and the world. The response of mercy would have been wrong here – רחמנות במקום אכזריות. Now was the time for Hashem to glorify Himself for all generations and for this, our nerves needed to be steeled. We couldn’t allow ourselves to feel the Egyptians pain.

But, Chas V’Shalom for one to walk away from this idea thinking that we shouldn't never have any mercy for the Egyptians. On the contrary; on Seder night, the very night when we recount the story of our redemption, we actually spill wine and detract from our own happiness in recognition of the fallen Egyptians.

However, the difference is that this act only comes at a time when we can look back as free people, from the perch of history, where we can see everything come together to form the beauty of the redemption. This is not misplaced, for here the mercy is not stemming from an automatic emotional response. Instead on this most joyous of nights, when we are free men of royalty, we still relate to the pain of others – even of those of our enemies. In this way, we revel in the joy of the Exodus and the recognition of Hashem’s Sovereignty, but we also show that we are masters over our own mercy – a sign of true freedom and autonomy.

I once heard a quote: “Control yourself or someone else will control you”. But the message conveyed in it, in my opinion, is not a Jewish concept. Autonomy for its own sake is not a Jewish ideal. Rather I want to amend that quote like this: “Control yourself or something else will control you.” If we aren’t actively working on controlling our behavior, then ultimately some other force will end up controlling you.

This lesson can show us how a Jew is to internalize messages and utilize his emotions. Feelings should not be simply a reaction to external stimuli; rather, they can be controlled and felt at the appropriate times. There is a time to be merciful and a time to be harsh, a time to be happy and a time to be sad. Hashem, in His unfathomable wisdom wants us to be true masters over ourselves.

Shabbat Shalom

Parshat Va’eira 5779 - Unreflective Reflexes

Parsha Paragraphs

Rabbi Naftali Moshe Kassorla

Parshat Va’eira 5779

Unreflective Reflexes

The D’var Torah for this week is dedicated in the memory of:

Sra Frida Ferdose bat Rivka

If you are interested in sponsoring a D’var Torah in honor or in memory of someone, or for any occasion, please email: ParshaParagraphs@gmail.com

This week's Parsha begins the מכות that Hashem will bring down upon Egypt. Hashem commands Moshe to confront פרעה with a miracle – turning his staff into a snake – to show that Moshe is Hashem’s shaliach. פרעה summons the חרטומים - the “wise men and sorcerers” (7:11) and they manage to copy Moshe. Later, Moshe and Aharon, confront פרעה and warn him of the first plague: the changing of the Nile to blood, and the death of the fish in it. Aharon strikes the Nile and it turns to blood. Again פרעה has the חרטומים copy this.

In describing פרעה’s reaction to the מכה, the Torah tells us: ויפן פרעה ויבא אל־ביתו ולא־שת לבו גם־לזאת - “Pharoah turned and went home, and he paid no heed, even to this.” Rashi explains, “ולא־שת לבו: to the נס of the staff which was changed into a snake and also not to that of the blood” (7:23).

However, we already know from the previous pesukim that when the חרטומים copied the miracles: “פרעה’s heart stiffened and he did not heed them…” (7:11) and “when the Egyptian sorcerers did the same with their spells, פרעה’s heart became hard, and he did not heed them…” (7:22)

What is the Torah adding by telling us again that פרעה did not take listen or care? And what connection is there between the beginning of the verse “פרעה turned and went home..” to the end of the verse that “he paid no heed.”

I believe the answer lies within ourselves. There are times in life when we are inspired to overcome a challenge or a bad habit, to finally make that change that we know we so desperately need.

Yet so often, those feelings which have grabbed us seem to vanish. This can leave us feeling without direction, and dejected - the feeling of helplessness and incapability only solidified further.

But the most important thing to do - to keep that moment, is to quickly act upon it: to write a note, or do something concrete - immediately.

But what ends up happening? What do we do that kills that moment? We return to our daily routine, unchanged. We miss opportunities to grow when we go back to what feels familiar, to our “comfort-zone”. There we can forget and ignore the inspiration we experienced.

With this in mind we can now, understand the parsha. Upon seeing ניסים גלויים that only a fool could ignore, פרעה should have taken a moment to stop and reflect. Even after his own sorcerers copied Moshe, he could have seen Hashem’s יד. The Sforno says that פרעה should have questioned what he saw. For the makkah of Moshe killed the fish. But the חרטומים only changed the color of the water. If only Pharaoh had stopped and thought a bit, he would have noticed this obvious difference.

Yet, what does פרעה do? Does he take a minute to stop and think? No, instead he turns and goes home; he returns to his comfort-zone, his familiar surroundings, and ultimately, to the same self as before. This seemingly insignificant action, of ויבא אל־ביתו inevitably led to: ולא שת ליבו גם לזאת. That moment, that chance to reflect, was lost. Thus, it was only natural that פרעה would not take anything to heart. But not only that, this refusal to think, ultimately would be his undoing.

For ourselves, all too often, we allow moments of התעוררת to slip away. But when we realize that it's in our hands to seize them and build on them we can actually grow. Unlike Pharoah, we have the desire to become better, can then use these moments to achieve our goals.

Shabbat Shalom