Rabbi Mordechai Friedfertig
Rabbi
Mordechai Friedfertig
Rabbi of Congregation B'nai Shalom
Williamsville, New York
Email: mordechai at utj.org
Rabbi Friedfertig received Yoreh-Yoreh Semikhah from The Metivta - Institute of Traditional Judaism in 1998. He attended the University of Cincinnati, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and Bernard Revel Graduate School of Yeshiva University. He has learned in various Yeshivot. Rabbi Friedfertig currently teaches Halakhah and Mishnah at Kadimah Day School and High School of Jewish Studies, both in Buffalo, New York. And most importantly, he is the husband of his wife, Lory, and the father of his son, Bezalel.
Every Hanukah, it seems we discuss the famous dispute between Bet Hillel and Bet Shammai regarding the proper way to light the menorah (Shabbat 21b). Our general practice is in accordance with the opinion of Bet Hillel, who says that on the first night we kindle one light and on each subsequent night we add an additional light to the previous number, thus beginning with one light and ending with eight. Bet Shammai, however, maintains that one should begin with eight lights on the first evening, and decrease the lights by one each subsequent night. Bet Hillel and Bet Shammai are essentially arguing over whether to see the glass, as half full or half empty; are the days of Hanukah on their way in or on their way out.
I recently saw the new movie "Castaway" starring Tom Hanks. Tom Hanks works for Fed-Ex, and while he is on an overseas flight for work, the plane crashs into the water. Fortunately, Hanks is able to find a life-boat and lands safely on a small, deserted island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The movie chronicles his struggle to survive on the island. Within the first few days, Hanks desperately tries to create fire for warmth and cooking. He literally rubs two sticks together and, after an heroic effort, is eventually able to produce fire. Hanks is so happy that he dances around the huge bonfire, yelling and screaming. During this part of the movie all of I could think of was Rabbah bar bar Hannah, the great rabbi of the Talmud.
First Day
There was once a man who had a great desire to be an actor. Unfortunately, he couldn't act very well and never got the part. Audition after audition, he was turned down. One day, he finally got a part. It was a small part, but a part nonetheless. It didn't matter, the man was overjoyed. The part had only one line. Towards the end of the play, a huge cannon was going to shoot out a cannon ball and he was to call out, "Hark, I hear the cannon roar!" The man was so excited -- everywhere he went he practiced his line, "Hark, I hear the cannon roar!" The play began and he was filled with great anticipation. When it finally reached his part, the cannon let out a thunderous blast, and the man got startled. "What in the world was that?!" he yelled.
Second Day
How do we relate to a person who has sinned and repented? Jewish Law is very clear on this question. The Mishnah in Bava Metzia rules that it is forbidden to remind someone of their past sins after they have done Teshuvah. You may never say to someone, "Hey, I remember when you used to eat pork!" or "Remember how much you used to love golfing on Shabbat?" No matter what their purpose, such statements fall into the category of "Ona'at Devarim - hurting another person with words". But what about reminding yourself of your own past transgressions? Are we permitted to think or talk about sins for which we have already repented?
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Discussions of Jewish Law are usually found in Halakhic Codes, not in their introductions. There is, however, one introduction that contains an important Halakhic discussion; it is a short passage, but one that provides a gateway to a unique and fascinating piece of Torah.
On Shavuot, we celebrate the fact that "Moshe Kibel Torah MiSinai - Moshe received the Torah at Mt. Sinai." But what was it exactly that Moshe Rabbenu received? Was it the entire Torah as we now have it or, only part of the Torah? This question is asked not only by modern Bible critics, but by our greatest sages in the Talmud as well.
We all know that Shavuot is the anniversary of the giving of the Torah. But it is, in fact, much more. Shavuot is a day on which we must decide what to do with the Torah we have received. We must decide how we, as Jews committed to Torah, can best create a community dedicated to its observance? Observant Jews are divided on this question.
Reish Lakish is one of the most brilliant and famous rabbis in the Talmud. But his beginnings are shrouded in mystery. We first hear of him in Massekhet Bava Metzia (84a): one day, the Talmud tells us, Rabbi Yochanan was bathing in the Jordan River. All of a sudden Reish Lakish - who was a bandit – leapt across the Jordan and jumped in to attack him.
When Lory and I lived in Teaneck, New Jersey, we ate a lot of our Shabbat meals with our good friends Shimon and Amy. One thing was always clear at each meal - Shimon liked a sandwich. He would take his gefilte fish, put it between two pieces of challah and eat it as a sandwich. He would take each piece of chicken, wrap a hunk of challah around it and eat it as a sandwich. He would even take cholent between remnants of challah and eat it as a sandwich.
Rabbi Akiva decided to have seder at his home in Bnei Brak. He checked it out with his wife, a menu was planned and guests were invited. When the responses came back, Rabbi Akiva was surprised. All of those invited responded in the affirmative. They would be honored to attend. And so the stage was set for the only Peach seder which would be recalled at every seder throughout Jewish History.
The Halakhah teaches that just as one is obligated to eat at least an olive-size piece of matzah on the first night of Pesach, so too is one obligated to eat at least an olive-size piece of bread in the sukkah on the first night of Sukkot. These requirements really only apply to the first night of the holiday: during the rest of Pesach, while we may not eat any hametz, we are not required to eat any more matzah. Similarly, on Sukkot, although we may not eat bread or cake products outside of the sukkah, we could refrain from eating at all or we could choose to only eat foods that do not require eating in the sukkah. Our obligation is fulfilled on the first night. So the question arises: if one did not eat in the sukkah on the first night of Sukkot is the mitzvah simply lost forever or is it somehow possible to make it up?
Tomorrow, on Simchat Torah, we will conclude the annual Torah reading cycle. Perhaps, more importantly though, we will read about the death of our greatest teacher, Moshe Rabbenu. After Moshe Rabbenu's death, the Jewish People cried over their loss for 30 days. Then, the Torah reports, "Vayitmu Yemei Vekhi Evail Moshe - the days of tearful mourning for Moshe ended".
When our Holy Temple stood in Jerusalem, its Divine service was performed by the Kohanim, the priests. Since there were so many Kohanim, however, they were divided into twenty-four groups each called a "Mishmar," a "watch." These watches took turns performing the service for one week at a time. The Talmud in Massekhet Berakhot tells us that the outgoing watch would bless the incoming Kohanim with the following words: "Mi Sheshikain Et Shemo Babayit Hazeh, Hu Yashkhin Beneikhem: Ahavah, Veahavah, Veshalom, Verei'ut - The One Who has caused His Name to dwell in this house, may He cause to dwell among you: love, brotherhood, peace and friendship." Various commentators ask: why this particular blessing?
Chapter 1
1:15 - Shammai says, "Make your Torah fixed..."
Chapter 2
In Pirkei Avot 2:5, Hillel says, "Uvimekom She'ein Anashim Hishtadel Liheyot Ish - In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man." Most commentators understand this as a call for someone to step forward as a leader, in a situation when no one else is acting as one (See Bartenura). I would like to suggest another understanding of this mishnah, based on two incidents found in the Torah.
Chapter 3
3:13 - Rabbi Akiva said, "...tithes are a protective fence for wealth..."
Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
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If you were writing a commentary on the Torah, what is the first point you would want to make -- the first lesson you would want people to learn from your commentary? Perhaps it would have something to do with serving Hashem. Or maybe it would have something to do with the authenticity of the Torah. How about the importance of learning our holy books? Our greatest commentator on the Torah, Rashi, had another idea.
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Parashat Lekh Lekha begins with Hashem's call to Avraham to leave his homeland, his birthplace and his family's house. Hashem promises that Avraham will become a great and numerous nation through which all other nations will be blessed. But in the middle of the parashah, Avraham asks Hashem how His promises will be fulfilled. How will Avraham become a great and numerous nation when "Veanokhi Holeikh Ariri Uven Meshekh Beiti Hu Damesek Eliezer - I am childless and the heir who will inherit my house is Eliezer of Damascus" .
While the city of Sedom is being destroyed, Avraham’s nephew, Lot, is permitted to escape. Hashem directs him and his family towards the mountains where they can dwell. But Lot asks Hashem, “The mountains are too rigorous a journey, they are too far away, can I go to the city of Tzoar instead?” Tzoar is one of the five cities that Hashem was planning to destroy! Surprisingly enough, Hashem agrees: He will not destroy Tzoar so that Lot can take refuge there. Avraham prays and davens and begs and pleads, but can not save the cities. Lot makes a simple request, and Hashem saves a city.
The Book of Bereshit is about family relationships. The Torah teaches us that we must be extremely careful how we relate and talk to our families. Because we spend so much time with them, we often take our family members for granted. Sometimes we even treat complete strangers better than we treat those closest to us. The Torah demonstrates that treating our family members incorrectly can have devastating consequences.
The Torah reading cycle is organized around two main goals: first, the entire Torah must be read in a year, ending with Simchat Torah. Second, specific Torah portions must be read at specific times of the year. Parashat Devarim, for instance, is always read the Shabbat before Tisha B’Av. This is because the veiled rebuke contained in Parashat Devarim is thought to be an appropriate prelude to Tisha B’Av which commemorates the Destruction of the Temple. There are many other examples. One, however, is often overlooked. The fact is that this week’s parashah - Hayyei Sarah - is often read right around Election Day! But what’s the connection?
The Talmud in Massekhet Berakhot explains that the Avot - the Patriarchs - established that one should pray three times a day. Avraham instituted Shacharit, Yitzchak established Minchah and Yaakov created Maariv. The Talmud derives the fact that Yitzchak established Minchah from this week's parashah, Parashat Chayei Sarah. When Eliezer is returning with Rivka to marry Yitzchak, the Torah says, "Vayetze Yitzchak Lasu'ach Bashadeh Lifnot Arev - Yitzchak went out to supplicate in the field toward evening." This description of Yitzchak praying before nightfall, proves, according to tradition, that he instituted Minchah, the afternoon prayer. Halakhic authorities struggle, however, to explain why this afternoon prayer is called Minchah.
In Parashat Toldot, the Torah relates that Esav comes in from the field and is famished. He sees his younger brother, Yaakov, cooking a stew. “Give me some of that red stuff!” Esav barks out. “Only if you sell me your birthright!” Yaakov responds. “What good is the birthright going to do me if I starve to death?” Esav reasons. So he sells his birthright to Yaakov. In return, he gets some bread and lentil stew. He eats, drinks, gets up and leaves. The Talmud in Massechet Bava Batra states that on that very day, Yaakov and Esav’s grandfather, Avraham Avinu died.
In Massechet Kiddushin, the commentators collectively known as the Tosafot relate a very interesting case. The son of Rabbi Oshiya Halevi wanted to marry the daughter of a certain wealthy man. So he said, “Bitekh Mekudeshet Li - Your daughter is betrothed to me." But the wealthy man had more than one daughter, and Rabbi Oshiya’s son had neglected to specify which daughter he meant. This created a problem: it was unclear which daughter he was legally bound to marry. If it was not the one he had intended, he might have to give her a get -- a divorce -- before she was legally able to marry someone else. So the question arose: to which daughter was he betrothed?
The Torah tells us that Yaakov worked the seven years, but they seemed like only a few days to him because "Beahavato Otah - of his love for her" . When the seven years are up, Yaakov asks to marry Rachel and Lavan plans the wedding. But, Lavan replaces the younger Rachel with her older sister Leah. Yaakov is deceived. He agrees to work another seven years in order to marry Rachel. When he finally does so the Torah says, "Vaye'ehav Gam Et Rachel MeLeah - Yaakov loved Rachel more than Leah". Commentators point out that this statement implies that Yaakov did have feelings for Leah. He may not have loved her as much as he did Rachel, but he did love Leah. Otherwise, the Torah could not have said, "Vaye'ehav Gam Et Rachel MeLeah - Yaakov loved Rachel more than Leah." But the Torah seems to contradict itself in the next three verses.
In the days of the Talmud, hearing the Torah portion was a very different experience than it is today. The parashah was not only read in Hebrew: it was also translated into Aramaic, the vernacular of the day, so that everyone would understand its contents. It worked like this: the Baal Koreh would read a verse from the Torah in Hebrew. Then, the Metargeman, the translator, would read the Aramaic translation of that verse (Megillah 23a). The translation was permissible, because it was created Beruach Hakodesh, with Divine Inspiration.
In this week's parashah, Parashat Vayishlach, Yaakov prepares to meet his brother Esav for the first time in 34 years. The night before the meeting, Yaakov is left alone. Suddenly, an angel begins to wrestle with him. Seeing that he can not prevail, the angel dislocates Yaakov's Gid Hanasheh, the upper joint of his thigh. The angel pleads with Yaakov, "Let me go, for the day is breaking." But Yaakov will not release him until the angel gives him a blessing. The angel agrees, blesses him and leaves unharmed. The Torah then says, "Vayizrah Lo Hashemesh - the sun rose for him," and Yaakov was limping.
In this week’s parashah, Parashat Vayeshev, we learn that Yosef is sold into slavery and winds up in Egypt, in charge of the household of Potiphar. Yosef’s troubles, however, are just beginning. Potiphar’s wife lusts after Yosef and continually tries to seduce him. One day, when everyone is off celebrating a pagan festival, Yosef is cornered by Potiphar’s wife. But the Torah reports - Vayema’ain - Yosef refuses her advances (Bereshit 39:8). But exactly how Yosef refused is unclear. Did he refuse immediately? Adamantly? Eventually?
Every Hanukah, it seems we discuss the famous dispute between Bet Hillel and Bet Shammai regarding the proper way to light the menorah (Shabbat 21b). Our general practice is in accordance with the opinion of Bet Hillel, who says that on the first night we kindle one light and on each subsequent night we add an additional light to the previous number, thus beginning with one light and ending with eight. Bet Shammai, however, maintains that one should begin with eight lights on the first evening, and decrease the lights by one each subsequent night. Bet Hillel and Bet Shammai are essentially arguing over whether to see the glass, as half full or half empty; are the days of Hanukah on their way in or on their way out.
One of my jobs in our family is to pay the bills. At the end of each month, I bring out the checkbook and the bills, make a cup of coffee and start the arduous process. Some bills don't bother me. I look around the apartment we live in and feel okay writing the rent check. And I see the lights shining, and don't have any problem paying the Niagra Mohawk bill. But, whenever I get to the bill for insurance -- the car insurance, the life insurance and the renter's insurance -- I think about how long it's been since we actually benefited from this expense. I write out the check, but not happily... It helps me though, to think about a Teshuvah of Rabbi Moshe Feinstein.
Yaakov and his family come down to Egypt where Yosef can help sustain them during the famine. The Torah reports that Yosef presented his father before Pharaoh. When Pharaoh sees Yaakov, the fist thing he asks is, "How old are you?" Yaakov responds "I have lived 130 years. Few and bad have been the days of the years of my life. They do not compare with the years of the lives of my forefathers in the days of their sojourns" . One of my favorite commentaries on the Torah, the Daat Zekeinim MiBaalei HaTosafot, notes that Pharaoh's question to Yaakov is somewhat inappropriate.
In this week's parashah, Parashat Vayigash, the Torah lists all of Yaakov's children and grandchildren who went down to Egypt. When it comes to the tribe of Dan, the Torah says, "Uvenei Dan Chushim - and the children of Dan were Chushim" (Bereshit 46:23). This verse has perplexed many commentators. Why does the Torah say "the children of Dan," when Dan only had one son?
An airplane explodes in mid-air and the passengers are killed immediately. An earthquake rocks a country and thousands of its citizens suddenly die. A person strolls down the street and suddenly suffers a fatal heart attack. On the news, and within our own families, stories of unforeseen death are all too common. When these tragedies occur, people often try to console themselves or others with the thought: "Thank G-d they didn't suffer long. They didn't even have a chance to think 'I am going to die.' At least, they were spared from that trauma." I recently saw a Dvar Torah by Rabbi Yissachar Frand, rebbe at Ner Yisrael in Baltimore, which challenges this idea.
I recently came across a fascinating midrash. Rebbi Yitzhak bar Meryon tells us, “If a person does a mitzvah, he should do it with a full heart.” The midrash continues with some examples from the Torah - but, somewhat surprisingly, they are not positive examples. They are negative ones.
Milk it does the body good! As a child growing up in America, this is what I learned. TV, billboards and my parents all emphasized this fact. Today, even movie stars, athletes and the rich and famous appear in ads with milk mustaches lauding the virtues of milk. Jewish law seems to concur. There are so many discussions in Halakhah surrounding the question of milk that it must be extremely important! How long does one have to wait between eating meat and milk? Since milk is only kosher if it comes from a kosher animal, must a Jew be present at its milking -- which results in Halav Yisrael -- or can we rely on government inspectors that when a carton advertises "milk," it means from a cow? And I once even saw a shyla if one can fulfill drinking the four cups on Pesach by drinking milk.
Every once in a while we encounter a story, statement or opinion in our sacred literature that disturbs us to the very core of our being.
In this week's parashah, Parashat Vaera, Moshe Rabbenu receives final instructions regarding his upcoming confrontation with Pharaoh. The moment we have been waiting for is finally here: the Exodus is about to begin, But just before it does, we encounter a strange verse, seemingly out of nowhere. The Torah says: "UMoshe Ben Shemonim Shanah VeAharon Ben Shalosh Ushemonim Shanah Bedabram El Paroh - And Moshe was eighty years old and Aharon was eighty-three years old when they spoke to Pharaoh". Why, all of a sudden, does the Torah mention their ages? What does Moshe being eighty and Aharon being eighty-three have to do with anything?
Imagine summarizing the classic novel “Moby Dick” and omitting any reference to Captain Ahab. What about recounting “Catcher in the Rye” and leaving out Holden Caulfield? How about retelling the story of the Exodus and failing to mention Moshe Rabbenu? It would make no sense. It would be a literary disaster! Or would it?
Most of us know that the Torah forbids us from getting a tattoo. There is a misconception though that someone who has intentionally violated this commandment can not be buried in a Jewish cemetery. I have searched the annals of Jewish law for such a ruling, but have come up with nothing. It seems that it's just not true.
The commandment to put on Tefillin appears four times in the Torah. Two of these commands are found in this week's Torah portion, Parashat Bo. First we read, "Vehaya Lekha Leot Al Yadkha Ulezikaron Bein Einekha - And it shall be for you a sign on your arm and a reminder between your eyes." And then we find, "Vehaya Leot Al Yadkhah Uletotafot Bein Einekha - And it shall be a sign upon your arm, and an ornament between your eyes." These two verses teach us that the whole point of putting on Tefillin is to be physically reminded of the close relationship we are lucky enough to have with Hashem. This being so, it is pretty bizarre to read in the Talmud that we are not the only ones who wear Tefillin: Hashem wears them too!
During the first five Plagues, Pharoah is in full command of his heart. After each of these devastating events, “Vayehezak Lev Paroh - Pharaoh, on his own, makes his heart strong” . Faced with Hashem’s great power, he is still able to strengthen his heart and carry out his true desires: he does not want to let the Jewish People leave. But, as Hashem continues to wage war through the Plagues, Pharaoh’s command of his heart seems to falter. It is now Hashem who strengthens Pharaoh’s heart - “Vayehazek Hashem et Lev Paroh - Hashem strengthens Pharoah’s heart”. Hashem prevents him from changing his mind and releasing the Jews. Why? Why did Hashem prevent Pharoah’s change of heart?
Saturday night came, and a group of rabbis were sitting in the Netziv's kitchen drinking hot tea. Suddenly, a man came in with a question. The man said, "More than twelve years ago, my business partner and I got into a terrible argument. In the midst of the fight, I swore that I would never look at him again. And I fulfilled my oath for many years: I left the Shul where we both davened, I stopped attending meetings, and I turned down invitation to weddings, brises and dinners to which I knew that he had been invited. Today this sworn enemy of mine died. Suddenly, I am racked with guilt over how I treated him. Before he is buried, I want to look him in the face and ask for his forgiveness." The man needed to know if he was permitted to look the deceased in the face, or if doing so would it be a violation of his oath never to look at him again?
In Parashat Yitro, the Jewish People receive the Ten Commandments. The fifth of these mitzvot reads Kabed Et Avikha Veet Emekha - Honor your father and your mother. The reward for fulfilling this mitzvah is great: we are promised a long life. It is one of only two commandments which merits this reward (The other is Shiluach HaKein - sending away a mother bird before taking her eggs or her young;). The Rabbis of the Talmud explain that the Torah’s promise does, however, not refer to a long life in this world, but a long life in the World-to-Come.
We hear some pretty crazy things in the midrash! Did you know that according to the midrash, Queen Esther's complexion was green, the color of an etrog? And did you know that according to another midrash Adam was so tall that his head touched the sky? There is even a midrash that each of Yaakov's sons had a twin sister, whom he married! As surprising as these midrashim may sound, they do not contradict any Torah or Midrashic text. They are not considered controversial. But the same can not be said for a midrash about Moshe Rabbenu.
This week’s parashah, Parashat Mishpatim, teaches us about a very dangerous creature: the Shor Hanagah - the goring ox.
The Torah, in this week’s parashah, commands that the loaves of bread be on the Table at all times: “Venatata Al Hashulhan Lehem Panim Lefanai Tamid - Place on the Table the show-bread before me, always”. But how exactly did the Kohanim keep the loaves on the Table all the time? After all, they had to be switched every Shabbat! Wouldn’t there be at least a few moments every week when the Table was empty?
It is always fun to try to figure out a word jumble. Don't you feel great when you make a word from all those mixed up letters? There is even a game which makes it more complex - Boggle. You get a group of dice that have letters on them, shake them in a special see-through box and have a limited amount of time to see how many words you can make. This is a fun way to get together with some friends, or to play a game with your kids. But what if Hashem decided to communicate with us through the word jumble or through Boggle. Instead of giving us direct answers to our questions, Hashem would give us a word jumble and tell us to figure it out. That seems less fun to me. For a game it seems all right, for my relationship with Hashem it seems somewhat bizarre.
The Chofetz Chaim paints a very distressing picture of the coming of the Moshiach. A time which we pray will be filled with peace and kindness is described as ridden with strife and filled with jealously.
It's taken two-and-a-half parashiot for Hashem to give Moshe Rabbenu all of the instructions he needs to build the Mishkan, the desert sanctuary, and all its implements. Halfway through this week's parashah, Parashat Ki Tisa, the instructions are finally done and it is time to build. We can be sure that Moshe Rabbenu made a list of all the supplies they would need and it must have been a pretty long list. Acacia wood, copper, gold, silver, different colored clothes, scarlet wool, linen, goat hair, ram skins, tachash skins, oil, spices and incense...Wow! But let's think about it for a minute: the Jewish People were in the middle of the desert! It is not like Moshe Rabbenu could bring his list to Home Depot. So where did Bnai Yisrael get all of the supplies for the Mishkan?
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Once there was a man who wanted to build a house, so he went to see his rabbi. “Forgive me for distributing you, Rabbi. But I want to build a house, and I don't know where to begin. Can you help me out?" "This is a most auspicious question," replied the rabbi. "For at this very moment I am sitting here studying Massechet Batim, the section of the Talmud that deals with houses.” Just for the record, no such tractate of the Talmud exists. “And right on this page, Rabbi Yochanan has a long digression about how to build a house. Here, take the Talmud, go home, follow these directions carefully, and you'll have yourself a beautiful house."
For some reason, older brothers like hearing the word "uncle." My brother is no exception. For many years, I had to be ready to say "uncle" at a moment's notice. A surprise attack could come at any time: my brother would take my arm, pin it behind my back like a chicken wing and wait for the pain to set in. When I couldn't take it anymore, my brother was able to hear that beloved word -- and not only once, but twice: "OK, OK, uncle, uncle!" I was coerced into saying it. In Parashat Vayikra, the Torah discusses the Korban Olah - a sacrifice which is completely consumed by fire. Certain individuals were required to offer a Korban Olah; others could opt to bring one in order to raise their spiritual level. In either case, the person must offer the sacrifice upon his own volition. No one can be coerced into bringing this offering.
It is hard not to sin. I try so hard not to transgress the Torah's commandments, but I do. Most of the time, the sins are accidental. For example, on Shabbat we often put tape over the light switches that we want to remain on, so we do not accidentally turn them off. Unfortunately, sometimes we forget. And the same thing always seems to happen: I turn off the bathroom light. It is so frustrating and upsetting. Every time I do this, I say, "when the Temple in Jerusalem is rebuilt I'll bring a big, fat sacrifice." This week's parashah, Parashat Tzav, gives the details for the Korban Hatat – the Sin-offering.
It began as a conversation between husband and wife. It ended up as a sugya in the Talmud in Massechet Hullin (109b). Yalta, obviously a very knowledgeable woman, makes a fascinating Torah observation to her husband Rav Nahman. "Kol Deasar Lan Rahmana, Shara Lan Kevateilk - For everything that the Torah forbids us, it permits us an equivalent." Rav Nahman must have questioned his wife's generalization. "What do you mean? That which is forbidden is forbidden and that which is permissible is permissible!"
When my mom ztz"l passed away, I remember my dad and I talking about all the strange things that people said to us. One family friend said, "There is nothing left to say." After that, my dad thought, "You're right" and he hasn't wanted to speak to him since. My great aunt didn't want to say that my mother had "died," so instead, she said that my mother "was on the roof." Whatever that means. And, of course, we got the classic, "Well, at least she is not suffering anymore," which doesn't always feel like the best consolation prize. People really mean well, but just say odd things without really thinking first. This week's parashah, Parashat Shemini, teaches us a how to avoid making, and receiving, these kinds of remarks.
The Mishnah in Massechet Nega'im (4:11) discusses tzaraat, the dreadful disease which is the subject of this week's double-parashah Tazria-Metzora. One of the signs that someone has tzaraat is the appearance of bright spots on the skin followed by the hair on that part of the body turning white. If the white hair appears before the bright spot, however, the person is declared ritually pure. A question arises in a case of doubt. Did the bright spot appear first or did the hair turn white first? What should the ruling of the Kohain, who examines the ailment, be? Should the patient be declared Tahor O Tamei - ritually pure or ritually impure?
Imagine yourself in a house of mirrors. How do you look? Sometimes tall, sometimes short, sometimes big, sometimes small. Those distorting mirrors are really something! Now imagine yourself in front of your mirror in your bathroom. How do you look? Sometimes tall, sometimes short, sometimes big, sometimes small. Sometimes great, sometimes not-so-great. The way we see ourselves is not always the same -- and it may not have anything to do with the mirror we are looking in. We are always subjective viewers when it comes to ourselves.
Linked with Parashat Tazria.
The Mishnah in Massechet Nega'im (4:11) discusses tzaraat, the dreadful disease which is the subject of this week's double-parashah Tazria-Metzora. One of the signs that someone has tzaraat is the appearance of bright spots on the skin followed by the hair on that part of the body turning white. If the white hair appears before the bright spot, however, the person is declared ritually pure. A question arises in a case of doubt. Did the bright spot appear first or did the hair turn white first? What should the ruling of the Kohain, who examines the ailment, be? Should the patient be declared Tahor O Tamei - ritually pure or ritually impure?
One image that many Jews have etched in their minds is of the Kohanim saying the Priestly Blessing. The sight of the Kohanim duchaning -- with their hands raised and fingers parted – is powerful and fascinating. Stroll through any Jewish cemetery and you will see tombstones marked with these blessing hands. Watch any old episode of Star Trek, and you will see Spock using this gesture as a greeting. Even ask Bezalel – our not-yet two year-old - what the Kohanim do, and he will tell you "hands-up, shoes-off, under-talis." What an extraordinary image this is for the Jewish People. What an extraordinary moment it must be for a Kohain. How devastating it must be for a Kohain to be told he is not fit to participate in the duchaning.
When I was a kid, I used to love the deli meat tongue. One day my mom ztz"l asked me, "Do you know what tongue is?" "No," I said. "I never thought about it." "It's a cow's tongue," she informed me. "No, it's not." I said. "Yes, it is." She said, "That why it's called tongue!" After that, I never ate tongue again. I always remember this incident with my mom when I come across the following midrash. The midrash relates that Rabban Gamliel once asked his servant Tavi to bring him the best and tastiest thing he could find from the marketplace. Tavi came back with a tongue - a very fancy delicacy. Rabban Gamliel then asked Tavi to bring the worst and most disgusting thing he could find from the marketplace. Tavi again came back with a tongue!
Linked with Parashat Acharey Mot.
When I was a kid, I used to love the deli meat tongue. One day my mom ztz"l asked me, "Do you know what tongue is?" "No," I said. "I never thought about it." "It's a cow's tongue," she informed me. "No, it's not." I said. "Yes, it is." She said, "That why it's called tongue!" After that, I never ate tongue again. I always remember this incident with my mom when I come across the following midrash. The midrash relates that Rabban Gamliel once asked his servant Tavi to bring him the best and tastiest thing he could find from the marketplace. Tavi came back with a tongue - a very fancy delicacy. Rabban Gamliel then asked Tavi to bring the worst and most disgusting thing he could find from the marketplace. Tavi again came back with a tongue!
Advertisers think they are so smart. But I'm here to share their little secret with you. This week I bought some pampers for Bezalel - they cost $17.99. The advertisers subtracted one penny to make me feel like I was only spending $17. What a strange advertising gimmick! So transparent! And so different from the one we see in the Torah.
Two of the most famous statements in the Talmud are made by Rabbi Akiva.
How many times in the last few years have we heard or read reports about a religious Jew committing a crime? To see religious people breaking the laws of the country in which they live, especially a country like ours which allows us the freedom to practice as Jews, is terrible. But the source of our shame should go even deeper. We should realize that yes, it is horrendous for an individual to break the laws of this country. But it is even worse that they are violating the laws of the Torah. The fact that they totally ignore the decrees of Halakhah, which they claim to uphold in the most strict fashion, is the greatest Hillul Hashem, the greatest desecration of God's Name. It is surprising, and often disturbing, to learn that in some cases Torah appears to permit us to swindle or deceive non-Jews in order to benefit Jews.
Imagine if this Shabbos, when we arrived at the Torah service, I announced that we were not going to read the Torah this week. I don't find what the parashah says appealing. It makes me uncomfortable. We continue with Yekum Purkan in the middle of page 448. This scenario is not as outrageous as it sounds.
What ever happened to Moshe Rabbenu's sons? We know from Parashat Shemot and Parashat Yitro that two sons, Gershom and Eliezer, were born to Moshe and Tziporah. Gershom and Eliezer were the children of Moshe, our greatest teacher and rabbi, and yet we never hear about them. Why not? After all, we hear plenty about Moshe's nephews, the sons of Aharon, and even more about Moshe's successor, Yehoshua bin Nun, but nothing about Gershom and Eliezer. Nowhere is this omission more striking than in this week's parashah.
We all know that Shavuot is the anniversary of the giving of the Torah. But it is, in fact, much more. Shavuot is a day on which we must decide what to do with the Torah we have received. We must decide how we, as Jews committed to Torah, can best create a community dedicated to its observance? Observant Jews are divided on this question.
In Parashat Noach, Noach is informed that Hashem is going to destroy the entire world with a flood. Hashem commands him to build an ark and bring in his family, the animals and food. The Torah tells us that Noach obeyed "Kekol Asher Tzivah – as Hashem commanded". This same language of "Ka'asher Tzivah" is used over and over again to indicate that the Jewish People obeyed the command of Hashem. In this week's parashah, Parashat Naso, the Meshekh Hokhmah notices a change in this pattern.
When all the potential candidates from the Twelve Tribes seemed to have arrived, the process of choosing the first Sanhedrin began. It was a lottery. Seventy-two candidates for seventy spots. Seventy-two men -- six members from each tribe -- anxiously awaiting their turn in a lottery that was designed to eliminate two of them. Hashem would decide which tribes had six, and which had five.
At the end of Parashat Beha'alotekha, Miriam speaks Lashon Hara, cruel speech, against her brother, Moshe Rabbenu. Soon thereafter, she is stricken with tzara'at, a Divinely imposed skin disease which is the punishment for this transgression. One of the things Miriam had to do in order to be purified from tzara'at, was to remain outside of the camp for seven days. The Torah tells us that the Jewish People were ready to travel on when Miriam was still outside the camp. But they did not move until she was brought back in. The Mishnah in Massekhet Sotah (1:9) says that the Jewish People waiting for Miriam was actually a reward for a time when Miriam waited for someone else.
A man steals a lulav and shakes it on Sukkot. A woman lightsShabbat candles after Shabbat has already begun. A person embezzles money from his company and then donates it to the Shul during a Mi Sheberakh (See Maharsha, Ketubot 67). In each of these cases the individual clearly violated the Halakhah. But they also performed a mitzvah. The question is, did their mitzvah count?
Every morning when I drink my first cup of coffee for the day, I learn the weekly Torah portion. This past Monday morning, though, was different. I was sitting drinking my coffee, and, for some reason, decided to turn on the radio. I was just in time to hear a live report from the penitentiary where Timothy Mcveigh was receiving a lethal injection - his punishment for killing 168 people in the Oklahoma City Bombing. The reporter was describing what Mcveigh was wearing, what he had eaten for his last meal, what his last words were and which chemicals were being injected into his body, and how long they would take to kill him. As I took a sip from my mug, I thought to myself, "This is surreal. I can't believe I am sitting here, listening to a person being put to death, in the comfort of my living room."
According to Halakhah, we must check the mezuzot in our homes twice every seven years to make sure they are still kosher. When was the last time you checked yours?
The Talmud tells us about a non-Jew named Netina who lived in Ashkelon and dealt in precious stones. He used to keep his gems in a very secure box to which only he possessed the key. Wherever Netina went, so did the key. He would even place it under his pillow when he went to sleep. In the middle of one hot summer day, Netina decided to take a nap. He returned home, put the key under his pillow and fell fast asleep, leaving his son, Dama, in charge. While Dama ben Netina was minding the store, a group of rabbis entered.
I find it very interesting that of the fifty-four Torah portions we read each year five are named after people: Parashat Noach, Parashat Yitro, Parashat Korach, Parashat Balak and Parashat Pinchas (These are parashahs which are exclusively a name. Hayyei Sarah is not included since its contains another word.). The obvious question: why these five individuals?
Yaakov Avinu had twelve sons. When his ninth son was born to Leah, it was she who named the baby. Leah believed that Hashem had given her the child as a sechar - a reward for offering her maidservant Zilpah to Yaakov to produce more children. She therefore named her son Yissachar; a play on the word "sechar." It is interesting, however, that although we pronounce his name as Yissachar, it is, in fact, always written as Yissasschar with the letter "sin" appearing twice.
Suppose, G-d forbid, you were in prison. For some strange reason, you are suddenly given permission to leave for one day in order to daven with a minyan. Which day of the year would you choose for your furlough?
I have always been fascinated by a teaching in the Talmud in Moed Katan (18b). We learn from the Torah that it is forbidden to be married on Chol HaMoed - the intermediate days of a holiday. This is because we are not allowed to mix one happy occasion with another: it was feared that celebrating a wedding would divert our attention from the joy we are supposed to have for the holiday. In Moed Katan, however, Shmuel says that while it is forbidden to be married during a holiday, one is permitted to become betrothed.
Linked with Parashat Mattot.
I have always been fascinated by a teaching in the Talmud in Moed Katan (18b). We learn from the Torah that it is forbidden to be married on Chol HaMoed - the intermediate days of a holiday. This is because we are not allowed to mix one happy occasion with another: it was feared that celebrating a wedding would divert our attention from the joy we are supposed to have for the holiday. In Moed Katan, however, Shmuel says that while it is forbidden to be married during a holiday, one is permitted to become betrothed.
Have you ever noticed that before we shake the lulav on Sukkot we say a blessing, but before we visit the sick we do not? And that before we affix a mezuzah to a door we say a beracha, but before we honor our father and mother we do not? And what about the fact that before we read the Megillah on Purim, we say a beracha, but before we deliver Mishloach Manot - gifts to our friends - we do not? The question often appears in the Halakhic literature: why do we say a blessing on some mitzvot, but not others?
When our Holy Temple stood in Jerusalem, its Divine service was performed by the Kohanim, the priests. Since there were so many Kohanim, however, they were divided into twenty-four groups each called a "Mishmar," a "watch." These watches took turns performing the service for one week at a time. The Talmud in Massekhet Berakhot tells us that the outgoing watch would bless the incoming Kohanim with the following words: "Mi Sheshikain Et Shemo Babayit Hazeh, Hu Yashkhin Beneikhem: Ahavah, Veahavah, Veshalom, Verei'ut - The One Who has caused His Name to dwell in this house, may He cause to dwell among you: love, brotherhood, peace and friendship." Various commentators ask: why this particular blessing?
In the Talmud in Massekhet Menahot (37a-b), a man named Pelemo asked Rabbi Yehudah Hanasi, "If a man has two heads, on which head should he put his Tefillin?" The rabbi, assuming that he was being mocked by this question, told the man to leave or he would excommunicate him. In the meantime, another man entered the room and told Rabbi Yehudah Hanasi that his first-born child was born with two heads.
The Rabbis of the Talmud issued a decree that to us sounds incredible: It is forbidden to make milchig bread – dairy bread. They feared that if we were to do so, we might inadvertently, eat it with a meat meal. So cautious were these Rabbis that they also forbade us from eating milchig bread by itself. Later commentators point out that this ruling applies to fleishig breads as well. In one case, however, the Rabbis do allow us to make a dairy bread: when we make it "K'Ein Tora." The question is: What do they mean by "K'Ein Tora?"
Many people seem to hold that the louder and more forcefully you say something, the more likely your opinion is to be followed. Thankfully, our tradition says otherwise.
On July 20, 1969 Neil Armstrong left the lunar module, beginning a new chapter in human history. Even for those of us who didn't see the event until years later, it is forever etched in our minds: a human being actually walking on the moon. "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." It was the first real indication that people might one day inhabit the moon or, at least, spend time in outer space. This giant leap for mankind led to a giant shyla for Jews: Are the time-bound mitzvot relevant on a celestial body where time, as we know it, does not exist? Does the Torah's command to observe certain mitzvot in Chutz LaAretz - outside of the land of Israel - include the moon? Simply put, must Jews living on the moon observe the mitzvot?
It is well known that Rebbi Akiva did not start learning Torah until later in life, probably when he was around forty. Sometime in his early years of study, a surprising event took place, which Rebbi Akiva relates in the midrash: "I was walking along," he recalls, "and I happened upon a met mitzvah – a murdered corpse laying in the road with no one to bury it. So I picked up the corpse and carried it four miles until I arrived at a cemetery, where I gave it a proper burial. When I returned to the yeshiva, I proudly told my teachers, Rebbi Eliezer and Rebbi Yehoshua, what I had done. They said to me: 'For each and every step you took, it is considered as if you spilled the blood of an innocent man.' I responded: 'If, at a time when I intended to do something meritorious, I transgressed, how much more must I transgress when I do not intend to do something worthy'"
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Most people know that the first mitzvah in the Torah is "P'ru Ur'vu - Be fruitful and multiply." A pretty easy one to remember. But how many of us can recall just as quickly the last mitzvah in the Torah, the 613th mitzvah?
Linked with Parashat Nitzavim.
Most people know that the first mitzvah in the Torah is "P'ru Ur'vu - Be fruitful and multiply." A pretty easy one to remember. But how many of us can recall just as quickly the last mitzvah in the Torah, the 613th mitzvah?
There is an important halakhah that every sofer must know before writing a Sefer Torah: Shirat HaYam - the song which the Jewish People sang after passing through the Red Sea - must be written in the form of a brick wall. A brick wall symbolizes strength: it reminds us of the strong foundation upon which our relationship with Hashem is built. And then there is the song in this week's parashah, Parashat HaAzinu: it too must be written in a special way. The halakhah demands that we write it in two narrow columns, resembling not a brick wall, but two stacks of bricks.
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Copyright 2003 by Mordechai Friedfertig