Parashat Re’eh is the 47th weekly Torah portion in the annual Jewish cycle of Torah reading.
At the beginning of the sidra Re’eh Torah, he repeats the command already announced in the 2nd verse of the 4th chapter: Everything that I command you, you will act vigilantly; you don’t add anything to it and you don’t take anything away from it. While in the first case it was a warning against the dangers concerning the internal affairs of the community of Israel, this place is a warning before the Gentiles and false prophets.
The Torah commands to guard against their seductions, calls to revolt, influences that could turn Jews away from service to the Hashem and keeping His commandments. Even if a false prophet came to change even one letter Of the law, he deserves condemnation.
S.R.Hirsch states on this topic that the history of Israel must be made up of an unbroken chain of tradition whose the subject is the Law received by Moses and given to the people. Hard times will bring forth men inspired by G-d, who will give the Law a reliable interpretation, guide the people, establish the lines of development of Jewish thought. These prophets, in accordance with their designation, deserve absolute sovereignty, but only then, only in their own their integrity will not be challenged until they show themselves committed in word and deed to the true Revelation from Sinai.
They will strengthen their authority with external signs, miracles, with which G-d will endow them in order to better establish their sovereignty.
However, our sidra also brings up a question that immediately suggests itself: How to distinguish a false prophet from a prophet
the real one?
After all, G-d will allow both of them to perform miracles, and the people will thus be subjected to the most difficult test – they will have to refuse obedience to the false prophet, regardless of the miracles with which he reinforces his words, and on the contrary, the community Israel clings to true prophets, rightly encouraged by the miracles that surround these men.
So how do you tell the difference?
The text says that there will be a sign or a wonder (13:3) and then the false prophet will say:
“Let’s go after strange gods you don’t know.” Then it is up to Israel to distinguish between a prophet faithful to the Law and one who
who is going to betray him.
Then Israel will get rid of him who wanted to lead him astray, and he will not look at the miraculous signs that the false the prophet will draw attention in vain…
So the criterion is obvious. For any prophetic act to become legitimate, it must not leave the established framework immediately by Revelation and supplemented by oral tradition. Based on this determination is therefore relatively easy make the necessary exclusion if we judge the words of the “prophet” according to how they work toward fulfillment of the law. No man can ever lay claim to a better execution of G-d’s word than the means established by G-d’s Law. It is necessary to make a deliberate, firm decision.
By accepting G-d, we acknowledge that He can only speak with one word. Admit that G-d’s teaching would be divided, it is incompatible with the most elementary concepts of our understanding of the Creator. Judaism is preserved against any possible attempt and in spite of it, even if made with good will, only by the totality of the revealed teaching and the absolute credibility of the words from Sinai.
To reduce this Revelation to the level of collective inspiration, to give G-d’s Law the character of spontaneously revealed of religious feeling, clearly means to pass judgment on real Judaism, and a gradual one too, but none the less a real transition to the purest pantheism. Hence the law dealing with fakes prophets occupies a central place in Jewish theology.
It is to remind future generations of the only possible attitude if they are to preserve themselves in the face of impending trials
the purity and integrity of G-d’s Law. To the verse, if the sign and the miracle that (the false prophet) spoke of occur, said Rabbi Yosi Galilei: Behold, how much power this verse gives to idolaters, examining their intentions:
Even if they manage to stop (the running of) the Sun and the Moon, the planets and the stars – don’t listen to them. Why?
Because the Hashem your G-d is testing you to know whether you love the Hashem your G-d with all your heart and with my heart and with all my soul” (13:4).
But Rabbi Akiba said: Let us beware of thinking that the Holy One, blessed be He, would stop (the course of) the Sun and the Moon, planets and stars because of idolaters.
The text speaks of a true prophet who later became a false prophet, such as Hananiah ben Azur (Talmud, tractate Sanhedrin 90a).
The stated opinions reflect the opinions of mystical or rationalist interpreters. It is surprising that the series of commentators shares the opinion of Yosi Galilei and rejects the rationalist concept.
This is also Maimonides, who explicitly emphasizes that the false prophet acts by means of incantations and spell (see Hilchot Yesodei Hatora).
In The Guide of the Lost, Maimonides comments on the statement of verse 4 “because the Hashem your G-d is testing you.”
Know, he says, that whenever there is mention of a test in the Torah, it is for no other purpose and purpose than to show the people what they have to do or what to believe.
So the test consists, so to speak, in the fulfillment of a certain act, while it is not an act as such, because it is presented only as an example to follow, as a model.
Therefore, when it is said “that he may know whether you (indeed) love,” know that G-d already knew. It is similar to another text “so that it may be known that I am the Hashem who sanctifies you” (Exodus 31:13).
There is the meaning: That the nations may know. And anyway here it says:
If a man arise who presumes to prophesy, and you see his miracles, which cause you to believe that he speaks truth, you will be aware that all this is happening only so that G-d will reveal to the nations how imbued you are and By His Law and able to understand G-d’s true nature without being deceived by the deceptions of the deceiver
and shook their faith in G-d.
This will serve as a support to all who seek the truth by looking for evidences of faith strong enough to they disregarded No Miracle Worker.
In fact, such a person would be asking to believe the impossible; however, it is only appropriate to rush to miracles if it proclaims something possible, as explained in the Mishneh Torah (111,24).
The expression tidbakun from verse 5 – to (the Hashem) you will cling – an expression of burning love for G-d among the laws speaking of false prophets, for Israel it means: wholeheartedly reject the seductions of false prophets.
The definition of dvekut – binding – found expression in various Jewish schools. Let us at least quote the opinion of Ch. Luzzatta from his works Mesilat Yesharim.
In the commentary on Leviticus 19:2, he says that dvekut leads to holiness, which means living in a state of union with G-d until
measure, that no matter what a person does, he never separates himself from G-d, nor moves away from him. And a person whose efforts are sanctified by the Creator reaches a stage where even his actions take on a material nature values of true holiness. If one has previously submitted to the mitzvot – commandments – and thus without respite, with all sources of love and fear strives to achieve G-d’s greatness, he gradually succeeds in detaching himself from material contingencies and concentrating your attention to true connection with G-d.
Then the spirit from above rests on man, the Creator sends his name on him, and man begins to resemble an angel of the Hashem; all his deeds, even the humblest and most material, acquire the value of a sacrifice and a cult in honor of the G-d.
In any case, Dvekut is considered the highest goal of religious perfection. It can be ecstasy.
However, the meaning of the term is much broader. It is a constant being with G-d, an intimate unity, a harmonizing of the human will and G-d’s.
As it is written in the Or ha-ganuz text from the very beginning of the 19th century: When a person carries out religious orders
or studies the Torah, the body becomes a throne for the soul… and the soul a throne for the light of the Shechinah, G-d’s presence above us. The light spreads around man, and he, resting in the midst of the light, rejoices and trembles.
Chassidic Parashat
D’vekus
D’vekus is God Awareness
This Parashat provides an opportunity to elaborate on one of the most basic concepts of Judaism which is greatly emphasized in Chassidic thought and practice. This is the idea called d’vekus. Literally it means “clinging” or “cleaving” or “attaching” oneself to G-d. It however implies much more. It is the relationship of a parent to a child, of a husband and wife, one of ultimate devotion and commitment. Today we call it G-d Awareness. In practice it means being connected in thought, speech and deed to the Creator.
Parshas Ekev: “If you will keep the commandments that I have commanded, and you will love HaShem your G-d, to go in all His ways, and to cleave to Him. Then
you will inherit the nations….” (Deuteronomy 11:22-23)
Parshas Re’eh: “Follow Hashem, be in awe of Him, keep His commandments, obey Him and serve Him, and cleave to Him (u”vo sid’bakun).” (Deuteronomy 13:5) (See also Deuteronomy 4:4, 10:20, 30:20, and Joshua 22:5)
Psalms: King David expressed his longing for Hashem (while in hiding from King Saul) in the arid Judean desert. (v.2) “. . .my soul thirsts for You, and my flesh
pines for You. . “. (v.9) My soul cleaves after You, for You have supported me.” (Psalms 63)
The sons of Korach indicate their longing for the restoration of the Holy Temple. (v.2-3) Like a hart who yearns for springs of water, so does my soul yearn for You
G-d. My soul thirsts for G-d, for the Living Almighty One, when will I come and appear before G-d.” (Psalm 42:2-3)
Siddur Tefillah: (prayerbook) 1) “Enlighten our eyes with Your Torah, and let our hearts cleave to Your commandments in order to love and fear You.” [in the Blessings before the Shema in the Shacharis (morning) prayer, in the section that begins “With a great love You have loved us. . .” (Ahava Rabbah). In some
siddurim the section begins, “You have loved us with an eternal love. . .” (Ahavas Olam)
2) The poem that is recited in many congregations after Shabbos morning prayers, “Anim Zemiros”, contains several expressions of longing to cleave to and unite with Hashem. The beginning goes like this: “I shall compose pleasant melodies and weave hymns, because my soul yearns for You. My soul desires to be sheltered by You to understand every mystery of Your Being.”
The Ramban zt”l in last week’s Parsha (Deut. 11:22), gives a detailed description of d’vekus in action. “The principal of d’vekus is to constantly remember Hashem and your love for Him, and never to remove your thoughts from Him, whether on
the way, when lying down or when awakening. And even while conversing with others his heart remains attached to Hashem’s presence. . . People who have
reached this spiritual level, live in eternity even while in this (material) world; they themselves are a dwelling place for the Shechina.
In our times, this theme was brought to fruition by the Baal Shem Tov zt”l and his disciples. The Ba’al Shem Tov absorbed this idea at a very early age from his
father, who passed away when he was only five years old. Before his death, his father instructed him, “Remember my child that G-d is with you, never let this thought out of your mind. Go deeper and deeper into it every hour, every minute and in every place.” Deeply affected, the Baal Shem Tov later remarked, “His words remained fixed in my mind and engraved in my heart. After his death it became my practice to go into seclusion in the forests and woods to in order reinforce these thoughts in my mind; that the glory of Hashem fills the world and that He is actually with me. (Ikkarei Emunah p.11)
The Ba’al Shem Tov also wrote, “It is a high level to continually see G-d in the mind’s eye just as you would see a person. And you should be aware that G-d is
also looking at you, just as a man would look at you. Always be joyful, believing with complete faith that the Divine Presence is with you and guards you. Meditate on this at all times. You are always looking at G-d and seeing Him, and G-d is looking at you.” (Tzavas HaRivash)
Rebbe Kalonymus Epstein zt”l, in his fundamental book of Chassidic thought, Meor VaShamesh, writes, “While a person lives in this world he must have all his physical needs met; food, drink, clothing and a home. Nevertheless, in truth, every aspect of one’s conduct should be centered not around oneself, but rather around Hashem, in order to see His true beauty; with the soul thirsting to partake of the sweetness and closeness of Hashem and his Shechinah. . . . Now if you maintain a continuous effort in yearning, and every day you increase your longing and desire for d’vekus with Hashem, then you and your body will become purified, and the even the physical will be transformed into spiritual.” (Parshas Pinchas)
Rebbe Kalonymus Kalmish Shapira zt”l, the Piascetzna Rebbe, gives practical advice in his guide to spiritual growth, B’nei Machshava Tova. “Frequently during the day, whether at home or in the street, humbly consider: ‘The entire world is G-dliness, the particles of earth beneath my feet, as well as the air I breathe
within me. The reality of all that exists is G-dliness. Why then have I driven myself from Hashem’s presence to become an independent non-spiritual entity?
Ribbono Shel Olam, draw me closer to You and surround me with Your blessings in complete repentance.’” (Seder hadracha and Klalim #7) Not surprisingly, we find later in the Parsha, the ultimate expression of d’vekus. “You are children to Hashem your G-d. . .” (Deuteronomy 14:1) This is the relationship of genuine unfailing love. When one remembers that he is a child of Hashem, he will certainly refrain
from dipleasing his Father and thereby forfeiting the privilege of His presence. The relationship has two sides though. Being a child of Hashem implies that we
are the recipients of His special love. The Maggid of Mezeritch, the successor to the Baal ShemTov, explained this other aspect of d’vekus. A Jew must know, that when he is challenged or becomes overwhelmed by the circumstances of life, it is a message that Hashem wants him to come closer. Instead of focusing on the hurt, it is more advantageous to become aware of the distance that has come between himself and the Creator. This feeling is d’vekus. It can be used to launch a spiritual ascent. In fact, even a seemingly small disappointment can be used in
this manner. The Sages say that even if one put his hand in his pocket expecting to find two coins and found only one, it is a message from Hashem. “Come closer, come closer”, He is urging.
Furthermore, the Maggid explained, that after a person has had spiritual achievements, and feels d’vekus with Hashem, more likely than not he will experience a fall. Nevertheless, he must maintain his d’vekus with Hashem even if it dips to a very low or weak level. As long he remembers that his d’vekus to
Hashem has left an indelible watermark on his soul, he has what is necessary to begin his ascent anew, as it is written, “A Tzaddik falls seven times and rises again.” (Proverbs 24:16) He will be able to rise again to an even higher level of d’vekus. (R’ Nachman Breslaver once mentioned how many falls he had taken in his efforts to grow in spirituality. When he finally stopped falling, he experienced
a continuous spiritual climb for fourteen years before he had another fall.)
Symbolic of this idea is the Kosel, the Western Wall. In spite of the fact that the Beis HaMikdash lies in ruins, the Sages revealed to us something that almost every Jew today knows (or feels) is true. “The Divine Presence never left the Western Wall.” (Likutei Yekarim)
D’vekus is accomplished in one’s thoughts. The Maggid of Mezeritch, gave some pointed advice. The path to wisdom is silence. Through silence, one can direct his thoughts with undeviating focus, increasing his d’vekus to Hashem. In another
place, the Maggid offers this visualization: ” Think of Hashem as not only a King whom one stands before in fear and awe, but also as a light that totally
encompasses him. Then he can see that Hashem is contained within that light, as he is himself. There is unity, there is d’vekus.
Tefillin is another avenue toward achieving d’vekus. It is told that a certain Tzaddik once came to the R’ Yisroel of Ruzhin zt”l after having paid a visit to Reb
Zusia of Anipoli. The Ruzhiner wanted to know what he had seen there. “When I entered his room”, recalled the Tzaddik in awe, “Reb Zusia was wrapped in his Tallis and Tefillin, and the upper half of his body appeared to me to be
burning with fire. Only after he removed the Tefillin did he slowly begin to take on the appearance of a flesh and blood man.” Tefillin is a sign which identifies a Jew
as being in unity with His Creator.
The Code of Jewish Law, the Shulchan Aruch, begins with a quote from Psalms 16:8. “I place Hashem before me constantly.” Mitzvos are d’vekus. The best and
most reliable way to begin one’s d’vekus work is through the medium of Brachos (blessings). The principle of blessings is contained in a quote from the Midrash Tehillim. Rav taught, “When one makes a blessing he says, “Blessed are You Hashem. . .”, as it is written, “I have placed Hashem before me
constantly.” (Midrash on Psalms 16:8) The fact that we address Hashem in the text of the blessing as You in the casual form, implies a certain type of closeness, of d’vekus. A blessing is the ultimate expression of one’s G-d awareness. By accepting on
oneself the obligation to make blessings over food and other enjoyments, over mitzvohs and over natural phenomena, one is declaring that G-d is indeed
Omnipresent, and His influence is the fabric of the world and all that is within it. Every blessing is an opportunity to reinforce this belief and deepen one’s awareness of G-d’s presence. This is d’vekus, and this is the essence of Chassidus.
Two short stories will illustrate the point. Once, some scholars, uninformed concerning the character of the Baal ShemTov and his path, came to a certain
town where the Baal ShemTov was spending the night. They wanted to find out if the reports of the greatness of the Baal ShemTov were indeed true. They decided to pose some intricate Halachic questions in order to examine his erudition. The
delegation arrived, introduced themselves and explained the reason for their visit. The Baal ShemTov, understanding their intentions readily agreed. They began by asking, “When one has eaten a meal and forgot to say the Grace afterwards (Bircas HaMazon), and then travels one kilometer out of town, before
he remembers that he forgot the Bircas HaMazon, what is the ruling?” The Baal ShemTov, answered immediately, satisfying the concern of his visitors.
“We”, he promised them, “we don’t forget to say Bircas HaMazon! “Once a man brought his ten year old son to visit R’ Aharon HaGadol of Karlin. As
they were sitting and talking, Reb Aharon asked for a bowl of apples to be brought in. Reb Aharon and his guests each took an apple, with great intention recited the blessing, “. . .Borei Pri HaEtz. . “, and began to eat. The boy thought to himself, “What is the difference between me and the Rebbe. He eats apples and also I eat apples. He makes a blessing and so do I. Even I could be the Rebbe someday.” Reb Aharon, attuned as he was to the thoughts of others, felt what the youngster was thinking. “Oh, there is a real difference between us my friend”, divulged Reb Aharon. “When you wake up in the morning and look out the window, you see that there is a beautiful apple tree in your yard. You see the juicy, red apples growing on it and right away you can think of nothing else but those apples. You run to
wash your hands, get dressed as quickly as possible, bolt out the door and scamper up the tree. You quickly decide which apple is to be your breakfast and open your mouth for the first delicious bite. You almost take that bite until you remember, just in time, that you must make a blessing before eating an apple. So you make the blessing in order to eat.”
“When I wake up in the morning”, continued Reb Aharon, “it is a different story.”
“When I wake up and look out the window I see a beautiful apple tree. I think about the wonder of Hashem’s creation. I contemplate how this apple tree began as a small seed in the ground, and how it slowly grew year by year until one year it flowered and then apples appeared. I remember to wash my hands before I run outside to take a closer look at this amazing creation. In awe of Hashem and His Creation I want to make a blessing on the apple tree and its fruits. I begin to say the blessing, but then I remember, in order to make a blessing, I need an apple. . .!” The Talmud in Tractate Bava Kamma (30b), sums up these ideas. Rav Yehuda said, “One who wants to be a true Chassid (pious Jew), must fulfill the laws of Blessings.” This advice is good for us today. Each blessing which one
makes, represents a stride forward in ever increasing d’vekus to the Creator. A Guten Shabbos!
Talmud On Parashat Re’eh
**Talmud on the Parashat Re’eh ~ Gentile Music, Mordechai ben David, and Dschinghis Khan**
Every year, right around Chanukah, our family takes its place at the Shabbat table and launches into an enthusiastic, possibly off-key, rendition of nearly every song from *Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat*. It’s become a tradition: the house filled with dreams and Technicolor, harmony and nostalgia. Occasionally, if I’m particularly lucky, the chazzan in shul will slip the Kedusha into the haunting tones of “Close Every Door to Me.” The perfect (Gentile) tune, we often joke, for a perfect (Jewish) moment of prayer. And yet, as this week’s Torah reading reminds us, this exact blend of sacred and secular raises some ancient, tricky questions.
The Torah’s Warning: A Slippery Slope?
This week’s Torah portion, *Re’eh* (Deuteronomy 12:31-32), cautions:
> *Beware of being lured into their ways… Do not inquire about their gods, saying, “How did those nations worship their gods? I too will follow those practices.” You shall not act thus toward the Lord your G-d, for they perform for their gods every abhorrent act that the Lord detests; they even offer up their sons and daughters in fire to their gods.*
The original Hebrew leaves little wiggle room. Don’t emulate other traditions, even—especially—in matters of ritual. The Medieval commentator the Chizkuni (Hezekiah bar Manoah, 13th century) is characteristically blunt: “Even if you were to serve G-d with the same service that idol-worshippers use for their gods, this is [nonetheless] repulsive.” The message is stark: *Intention doesn’t sanctify imitation*.
And yet… move through Jewish musical history and you’ll quickly notice: our liturgy, our songs, our very tunes are *rife* with melodies borrowed, adapted, and outright lifted from “the nations.” So, how did this prohibition evolve—and how strictly did (or does) anyone follow it?
The Bach: Permissive—Sometimes
Rabbi Yoel Sirkis (1561-1640), better known to yeshiva students as the *Bach* (an acronym, not a musical reference), was asked if Jewish communities could borrow church melodies for synagogue services. He ruled permissively, but set limits:
*But if it is not only used by [non-Jews], there appears to be no prohibition.*
*(Shu”t HaBach HaYashanot 127:5)*
In other words: If a melody isn’t exclusive to Christian (or other non-Jewish) worship, it’s fair game. Here’s a pragmatic, nuanced approach: context and exclusivity matter. A folk tune sung by all? Possibly kosher. Sacred, unique church hymns? Don’t.
Ma’aseh Roke’ach: A Firm “No”
On the opposite side stands Rabbi Mas’od Chai Roke’ach (1690-1768), who called the Bach a lone (and thereby unreliable) opinion. For Roke’ach, the Jewish people have a sufficiency of holy traditions and tunes. Why borrow?
> *The conclusion of this matter is that I see no reason for any shaliach tzibbur [prayer leader] to do this. Rather they should use the tunes… of Israel, each to their own dialect, Sephardim, Ashkenazim, and Italian Jews. For all these are the words of the living G-d…*
Rabbi Mas’od’s world—moving from Izmir to Israel to North Africa to Libya—saw Jewish life as rich enough to need no outside adornment.
The Rema: Normative Halakha (Ashkenazim)
The general consensus in Ashkenazi halakhic tradition, creatively carved out by Rabbi Moshe Isserlis (the Rema) in the *Shulchan Aruch* (Orach Chaim 53:25), is:
> *A shaliach tzibbur [prayer leader] who fouls his mouth or sings non-Jewish songs—we warn him not to do this, and if he does not listen, we remove him.*
What does “non-Jewish songs” mean? The 17th-century Be’er Heitev glosses: *Songs performed in idolatrous worship.* Again, it’s all about context and purpose.
The Baal Shem Tov: Holy Borrowing
But what if a melody is simply beautiful, stirring the soul—regardless of origin? The Baal Shem Tov, founder of Hasidism, was famous for “lifting” non-Jewish tunes and draping them with Jewish words and meaning.
One famous story: Rabbi Yitzchak Isaac Taub of Kalov heard a Hungarian shepherd’s melody—later adapted by Jews as the Galut Song: *“Galus, galus, vi grois bist du—Oh exile, exile, how vast you are!”* For Taub, music—regardless of its source—could be “elevated into holiness.” And so many a Hasidic niggun has a distinctly Hungarian, Polish, military, or peasant lilt—sanctified, one might say, by good intentions and new Jewish lyrics.
You’ll hear similar stories of military marches turned High Holiday melodies in Munkács, and perhaps in your own synagogue, too.
Anecdotes from the Pew
I’ll confess: I, too, have borrowed. As shaliach tzibbur in suburban New Jersey, I occasionally led Simchat Torah services to “Amazing Grace”—it fit, and the spiritual energy soared. The Rav? Loved it—until he learned the source.
A Talmudology reader summed it up, recalling a rabbi who only later realized his beloved tune was anything but traditionally Jewish: “As beautiful as it was, don’t you ever do that again.” There’s a tension here: music’s power can both elevate and trouble.
What is “Jewish” Music Anyway?
The boundaries are blurry. Scour the Torah tunes and synagogue standards and you’ll find dozens of “Jewish” songs whose DNA is thoroughly Gentile. Take the Yiddish adaptation of “Misirlou”—the melody made famous in America by Dick Dale, but originally a Greek love song. Jewish weddings resound with its rhythms, and few recall its non-Jewish roots.
Consider Israel Najara, a 16th-century poet and cantor. Confronting the reality that Jewish youth in Turkey preferred Turkish and Greek songs, he wrote religious poems to those very tunes. His masterpiece, “Yah Ribon Olam,” was set in Aramaic, even when no one spoke Aramaic—emphasizing the sense of tradition, even if the music itself was “borrowed.”
From Dschinghis Khan to “Yidden”
The ultimate 20th-century example? Mordechai ben David’s “Yidden.” Ask nearly any orthodox Jew—and many outside Orthodoxy—they’ll name “Yidden” as an instant classic, a rollicking celebration of Jewish resilience. At weddings and Bar Mitzvahs, everyone knows the dance moves.
But search on YouTube just a little, and you’ll find the original: a Eurovision performance from 1979 by Germany’s Dschinghis Khan, complete with disco, costumes, and spectacular absurdity. It is, to put it mildly, not a religious ditty.
Of course, “Yidden” isn’t liturgy; it’s far from a Shabbat prayer. But its popularity underscores something: Jewish music is never an island. It’s a river, winding through and around surrounding cultures, picking up and washing over whatever tunes echo in the diaspora.
Conclusion: The Ongoing Dance
So, what does the Talmudic tradition actually say? It wrestles, as we do, with boundaries and integration, with the old concern: *If we borrow from others, do we lose something essential?*
And yet, through all eras, Jews have absorbed and sanctified the beauty that surrounds us. Sometimes we elevate it. Sometimes we get scolded for it. Sometimes we just can’t resist a melody that stirs the soul—even if it once belonged to someone else.
This week, as you listen to the melodies around your own table—whether they’re born of ancient Israel, Hasidic Hungary, Andrew Lloyd Webber, or German disco—perhaps realize: Judaism has always danced in and out of the world’s music. The halakha, never strictly monolithic, reflects the push-and-pull of a people always in dialogue with the nations around us. Perhaps the trick is not *never* to borrow, but to infuse our borrowings with true intention, and yes—a sense of sanctity.
Just don’t try leading Kedusha with Dschinghis Khan—unless you’re ready for some seriously raised eyebrows.
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**An Analytical Examination of Parashat Re’eh in the Talmudic Context**
**Introduction**
Parashat Re’eh, a portion from the Torah, presents a rich tapestry of laws, ethical mandates, and theological reflections that are foundational to Jewish thought and practice. This week’s reading, which encompasses Deuteronomy 11:26-16:17, invites a critical examination of the themes of choice, blessings and curses, and the centralization of worship. The Talmud, as a central text in Rabbinic Judaism, offers extensive commentary and interpretation of these themes, providing a framework for understanding their implications in both historical and contemporary contexts. This paper aims to analyze the Talmudic interpretations of Parashat Re’eh, focusing on the implications of choice and the centralization of worship as articulated in the text.
**Literature Review**
The Talmud, comprising the Mishnah and Gemara, serves as a critical source for understanding Jewish law and ethics. Scholars such as Neusner (1988) and Schochet (1995) have explored the interplay between the Torah and Talmud, emphasizing the latter’s role in elucidating the former’s legal and ethical dimensions. In the context of Parashat Re’eh, the themes of choice and the consequences of actions are particularly salient. According to Himmelfarb (2004), the duality of blessings and curses in Re’eh reflects a broader theological discourse on free will and divine justice. Additionally, the centralization of worship, as discussed in the Talmudic tractates, underscores the importance of communal identity and religious practice (Sussman, 2010). This literature provides a foundation for analyzing the Talmudic interpretations of Parashat Re’eh, particularly regarding the implications of choice and worship.
**Methodology**
This analysis employs a qualitative approach, utilizing textual analysis of Talmudic sources related to Parashat Re’eh. Primary texts from the Talmud, particularly those in tractates such as Berakhot and Makkot, are examined alongside secondary literature that contextualizes these interpretations within broader Jewish thought. The analysis focuses on key themes, including the nature of choice, the consequences of actions, and the significance of centralized worship. By synthesizing these sources, the paper aims to provide a comprehensive understanding of the Talmudic perspective on Parashat Re’eh.
**Results**
The analysis reveals several key insights regarding the Talmudic interpretation of Parashat Re’eh. Firstly, the concept of choice is central to the text, as articulated in Deuteronomy 11:26-28, where the Israelites are presented with the option of blessings for obedience or curses for disobedience. The Talmudic commentary emphasizes the moral responsibility that accompanies this choice, suggesting that human agency is integral to the covenantal relationship with G-d (Neusner, 1988). Secondly, the centralization of worship, as mandated in Deuteronomy 12, is interpreted in the Talmud as a means of fostering communal identity and preventing idolatry. The Talmudic discussions highlight the importance of a singular place of worship, which serves to unify the community and reinforce collective religious practices (Sussman, 2010).
**Discussion**
The findings of this analysis underscore the Talmud’s role in shaping Jewish ethical and theological discourse. The emphasis on choice in Parashat Re’eh reflects a broader understanding of free will within Jewish thought, suggesting that individuals are accountable for their actions and their consequences. This notion of moral agency is further reinforced by the Talmudic interpretations, which stress the importance of intentionality in religious practice. Moreover, the centralization of worship is not merely a logistical concern but a theological imperative that fosters a sense of belonging and communal responsibility. The Talmudic discourse surrounding these themes invites contemporary readers to reflect on the implications of choice and community in their own lives.
**Conclusion**
In conclusion, the Talmudic interpretations of Parashat Re’eh provide a profound understanding of the themes of choice and centralized worship within Jewish thought. By examining these interpretations highlights the enduring relevance of the Talmud in shaping ethical and theological discussions. The insights gained from this analysis encourage further exploration of the interplay between text and interpretation in the development of Jewish law and practice.
**References**
Himmelfarb, H. (2004). *The Ethics of Choice in Jewish Thought*. New York: Academic Press.
Neusner, J. (1988). *The Talmud: A Historical and Literary Introduction*. New York: Harper & Row.
Schochet, J. (1995). *The Talmud and Its Interpretations: A Study of Rabbinic Literature*. Jerusalem: Maggid Books.
Sussman, A. (2010). *Centralization of Worship in Ancient Israel: A Talmudic Perspective*. Journal of Jewish Studies, 61(2), 123-145.
Talmud Bavli. (n.d.). *Berakhot*. In *The Babylonian Talmud* (Vol. 1).
Talmud Bavli. (n.d.). *Makkot*. In *The Babylonian Talmud* (Vol. 2).
Shabbat Shalom!
My Personal Commentary On Midrash Rabbah Re’eh
Parashat 4 Chapter 1
**Blessings and Misfortunes: A Midrashic Perspective on Divine Justice and Human Experience**
The intricate relationship between blessings and misfortunes occupies a significant place in Jewish thought, serving as a lens through which one can examine the nature of divine justice and the human condition. The Midrash asserts that it is inappropriate to recite a blessing while His people are suffering, which may seem to contradict the teachings of the Mishnah. The Mishnah obligates individuals to bless G-d for both good and bad occurrences in their lives, emphasizing a holistic relationship with the Divine. This essay aims to delve deeper into the complexities of these concepts, drawing insights from classical Jewish commentators such as Nodi Moshe and Rashash, while exploring broader theological implications regarding suffering, empathy, and human growth.
At the core of this discussion lies the Mishnah’s assertion that a person must bless G-d for adversities just as he does for prosperity. This obligation reflects a fundamental aspect of Jewish faith: the unwavering acknowledgment of G-d’s omnipotence and the belief that all experiences—joyous or sorrowful—emanate from Him. In this context, the act of blessing serves as a means of affirming faith in G-d’s wisdom and benevolence, even in the face of hardship. Yet, the Midrash’s position introduces a nuanced understanding: blessings may not be appropriate when the collective suffering of the people of Israel is at its peak. Herein lies a profound theological insight—the collective identity of the Jewish people and the shared experience of suffering.
Nodi Moshe elucidates this point by drawing a distinction between personal adversity and collective distress. When an individual suffers, there exists an obligation to maintain a posture of gratitude; the suffering can serve as a catalyst for personal growth and spiritual development. However, when the entire community is in distress, the nature of the Divine-human relationship shifts. G-d, in His compassion, shares in that suffering. It is in this collective suffering that the recitation of blessings may seem dissonant, as the act of blessing during such times could inadvertently trivialize the gravity of the situation. This theological principle emphasizes the importance of empathy and the understanding that divine compassion is not only reserved for individuals but extends to entire communities.
Rashash supports this distinction by referencing the Gemara (Megillah 31b), which indicates that the Tochachah (rebuke) in Leviticus cannot be interrupted, as it addresses Israel as a whole, while the Tochachah in Deuteronomy can be interrupted as it addresses individuals. This distinction underscores the collective identity of the Jewish people. The implications of this teaching are significant; when one member of the community suffers, the entire community feels that pain. In such times, it is essential to prioritize solidarity and collective mourning over individual expressions of gratitude.
Moreover, Yedei Moshe offers an additional layer of understanding by positing that the Mishnah refers specifically to isolated incidents of personal suffering, while the Tochachah encompasses ongoing hardships resulting from communal disobedience. This perspective highlights a fundamental principle in Jewish thought: while individual misfortunes are part of the human experience and can be met with gratitude, the broader societal implications of collective suffering necessitate a more nuanced approach. This understanding invites us to reflect on the significance of social justice and community support during times of adversity, reinforcing the idea that faith is not only a personal journey but a communal responsibility.
The question of blessings over curses raises further considerations, particularly regarding the established practices during the time of the Tannaim. The tradition of reciting blessings before and after Torah readings has evolved, yet the foundational concept remains that blessings serve to elevate the readings, even those that may seem negative or foreboding. The Baraisa (Megillah 21b) notes that certain passages, including the Tochachah, require special attention and blessings, emphasizing their significance in the broader narrative of redemption and penitence.
Commentators such as Amei Nezer and Keren LeDavid illuminate the understanding of curses as agents of divine love rather than mere expressions of punishment. Amei Nezer asserts that the curses serve as a corrective measure intended to guide individuals back to the path of righteousness. This perspective reframes hardships not as ends in themselves but as means toward a greater good, symbolizing the journey toward teshuvah (repentance) and moral rectitude. The idea that suffering can prompt introspection and lead to positive transformation is a recurring theme in Jewish thought, reminding us that adversity can serve as a powerful catalyst for spiritual growth and renewal.
Keren LeDavid draws a poignant analogy between a ruler and a father in their approach to punishment. An upright ruler may administer justice with measured precision, while a father often adopts a more nurturing approach, emphasizing the lessons to be learned through hardship. This distinction highlights the compassionate nature of G-d, who, in His role as a father, may impose seemingly excessive hardships to guide His children toward growth and understanding. The halachic requirement to read the Tochachah as a whole further underscores the importance of recognizing the holistic nature of divine admonition. Breaking up the reading could obscure the severity of the curses and diminish their moralizing purpose.
The overarching message becomes clear: these adversities, while appearing as curses, are ultimately blessings in disguise designed for our benefit. The complexities of divine justice reflect a profound understanding of the human experience; suffering is not an arbitrary punishment but a tool for growth and spiritual elevation. Daas Sofer adds another dimension to this discussion by noting that concluding the reading of the Tochachah with a positive verse reinforces the notion that every curse carries within it the potential for redemption and transformation. This dynamic interplay between blessings and curses encapsulates the essence of the human experience, wherein adversity often serves as a catalyst for spiritual growth and introspection.
In conclusion, the intricate relationship between blessings and misfortunes is a profound aspect of Jewish thought that encourages us to reevaluate our understanding of suffering, empathy, and divine justice. The insights from the Midrash, Mishnah, and various commentators weave together a tapestry of understanding that recognizes the complexities of human experience. Ultimately, the teachings underscore that even in the face of collective suffering, the potential for blessings remains ever-present, inviting us to embrace our journeys with faith and resilience. Through this lens, we learn that the path through adversity may indeed lead us to our most significant blessings. By fostering a deeper understanding of our collective experiences, we can cultivate a sense of unity and purpose, allowing us to navigate the challenges of life with hope and gratitude.
This exploration of blessings and misfortunes not only enriches our understanding of Jewish teachings but also serves as a timeless reminder that every challenge may ultimately guide us toward deeper faith, compassion, and connection with one another as a community. In doing so, we honor the divine wisdom within our experiences, recognizing that every hardship can illuminate the path to a more profound appreciation of the blessings that life offers.
Parashat 4 Chapter 2
**The Sword and the Scroll: A Duality of Existence**
The intricate relationship between life and death has long been a subject of philosophical, theological, and existential discourse across cultures and civilizations. In Jewish thought, particularly in the teachings of R’ Simchah Zissel Ziv, known as the “Alter” of Kelm, this duality is poignantly illustrated through the metaphor of “The Sword and the Scroll.” This profound concept encapsulates the essence of human existence, illuminating the dichotomy between the physical and spiritual realms. Through this exploration, we can further comprehend the transformative power of embracing one’s spiritual heritage and the implications of our choices on our journey through life.
The imagery of the sword, representing death, and the scroll, symbolizing life, descends from Heaven intertwined, suggesting an inherent connection between these two existential states. This duality is not merely a contrasting pair but rather a dynamic interplay where one continuously influences and shapes the other. The Alter elucidates that man is a composite being—body and soul fused together for a finite period. This unique configuration presents a critical perspective on how one navigates the journey of existence, especially in a world where the physical often overshadows the spiritual.
For those who lead a life predominantly oriented towards the physical, the sword looms large. The physical existence can create an illusion of vitality, wherein individuals perceive themselves as fully alive while, in reality, they are gradually succumbing to the inevitability of death. The daily routines, pursuits of pleasure, and material ambitions often distract individuals from the profound truth that each moment brings them closer to their mortality. Each day that passes signifies a diminishment of life, a moment irrevocably lost to the relentless march of time. The sword, which symbolizes death, begins its grim work at birth, marking the ever-approaching end of life—a somber reminder that every new day also heralds the retreat of life.
This perspective can lead to a grim view of existence, where life is seen as a constant struggle against the encroachment of death. The individual who remains ensnared in the physical realm may find themselves living in a state of anxiety, grappling with the transient nature of their days. The sword, then, becomes a powerful symbol of the fleeting nature of existence, casting a shadow over every aspiration and endeavor. It serves as a constant reminder that mortality is an inevitable reality, one that cannot be escaped but can be confronted and understood.
In stark contrast, the Alter presents a more hopeful and transformative perspective for those who embrace the eternal essence of the scroll. This individual does not merely witness the retreat of life before death; rather, they experience a profound transformation—death retreats in the presence of a life enriched by spiritual pursuits. According to Jewish tradition, it is taught that in utero, a person is granted access to the entire Torah—a profound gift that reveals the vast potential and greatness inherent within each soul. However, upon birth, this divine knowledge is obscured, leaving the individual with a latent potential that must be actively realized throughout their life.
The path to achieving this potential is paved through the study of Torah, the performance of righteous deeds, and the refinement of one’s character. Each day becomes an opportunity for spiritual reclamation, where the individual gathers these fragments of eternal life and weaves them into the fabric of their existence. This process of gathering is not simply an intellectual exercise; it is a holistic endeavor that involves heart, mind, and soul. It requires the individual to engage deeply with the teachings of the Torah, allowing its wisdom to permeate their thoughts and actions.
In this light, the mundane aspects of life are transfigured, infused with the fragrance of a higher, transcendent reality. The sword, which once seemed to dominate the narrative of life, loses its grip as the scroll of Torah becomes central to the individual’s experience. The ordinary moments of daily life—eating, working, caring for others—transform into acts of sanctity when performed with intention and awareness of their spiritual significance. The individual who embraces the scroll finds joy and purpose in the simplest of tasks, as they recognize that each action can contribute to the grand tapestry of their eternal existence.
The Alter’s teachings offer a compelling view on how the passage of time can be understood differently. For the one who engages with the scroll, each day does not signify a step closer to death but rather an advancement toward life—an eternal existence. Their days, enriched by the study of Torah and the performance of mitzvot, are not lost but instead continue to thrive in the World to Come. This perspective encourages a reevaluation of how one perceives the value of time; it transforms the often-dreaded passage of days into a celebration of spiritual growth and development.
In this framework, the interplay of the sword and the scroll represents more than mere symbolism; it encapsulates a profound truth about human existence. The Midrash teaches that the scroll and the sword are intertwined, indicating that one’s choices in life can lead to disparate outcomes. Forsaking the teachings of the Torah results in a life shadowed by the sword—a life measured by the arc of its swing, where death looms large and life feels ephemeral. Conversely, embracing the scroll empowers individuals to transcend the limitations of mortality, allowing them to grasp the immortal essence of the soul.
Furthermore, the Alter emphasizes that the sword, when confronted with the power of the scroll, becomes powerless. This is not merely a rhetorical flourish; it speaks to the inherent strength that comes from a life lived in alignment with spiritual values. When individuals actively engage with their spiritual heritage, they cultivate a sense of resilience and purpose that defies the inevitability of death. They become torchbearers of light, illuminating the path for themselves and others, demonstrating that life can be rich and fulfilling, even in the face of mortality.
In conclusion, the metaphor of the sword and the scroll serves as a powerful reminder of the duality of existence. It urges individuals to reflect on their life choices and the implications of those choices on their spiritual journey. The teachings of R’ Simchah Zissel Ziv invite us to recognize the profound potential within each moment, encouraging an embrace of the eternal life that comes from a relationship with the sacred. In this pursuit, death becomes powerless, retreating before the vibrant tapestry of life illuminated by the light of the Torah. Thus, through the integration of the scroll into daily existence, one not only attains a meaningful life in this world but also secures a legacy that resonates in the World to Come. The sword, once a symbol of fear and finality, is transformed into a reminder of the choices we make and the paths we take—encouraging us to live with intention, purpose, and a deep commitment to our spiritual growth. In embracing the scroll, we discover not just a life that endures beyond the grave but a life that thrives in the here and now, revealing the eternal beauty of the human spirit.
The Dynamics of Reward and Punishment in Jewish Thought
The intricate relationship between human actions and their consequences is a longstanding theme within Jewish tradition, deeply rooted in the teachings of the Torah and further elaborated through rabbinic literature. At the heart of this discourse lies the concept of reward and punishment, which serves not merely as a theological framework but as a means of understanding moral responsibility and ethical living. This essay will explore the theme of reward and punishment as articulated in the opening verses of Parashat Re’eh, drawing upon various commentaries and interpretations that underscore the intrinsic connection between human behavior and divine retribution.
In the foundational verse of Parashat Re’eh, “See, I have placed before you today a blessing and a curse” (Deuteronomy 11:26), we are presented with a clear dichotomy that reflects the moral choices facing the Israelites. This statement is not merely a proclamation but a profound declaration of the principles that will govern the lives of the people following the giving of the Torah. Within this framework, blessings are promised as rewards for adherence to G-d’s commandments, while curses are the inevitable outcomes of transgressions. The significance of this duality cannot be overstated; it delineates the path of righteousness that leads to divine favor and the path of wrongdoing that invites condemnation.
Prior to the giving of the Torah at Sinai, the world functioned under a different paradigm. According to various Midrashic interpretations, the rewards bestowed upon individuals were seen as just returns for their existence. These rewards were not contingent upon the actions of individuals; rather, they were viewed as inherent to the covenantal relationship that existed between G-d and the Israelites. However, the revelation at Sinai marked a transformative moment in Jewish history, introducing a system where the rewards and punishments directly correlate with human behavior. This shift underscores a fundamental principle of Jewish ethics: the idea that human choices hold significant weight and lead to tangible consequences.
The concept that “the reward for a mitzvah is a mitzvah” aptly encapsulates the notion of reciprocal morality, wherein virtuous actions yield further goodness. This understanding is further emphasized through the teachings of the prophets, such as Jeremiah, who admonished the people of Israel regarding their moral failings. Jeremiah warned that their waywardness would lead to divine punishment, reinforcing the belief that personal responsibility is paramount in the divine-human relationship. The prophetic voice serves as a reminder that the consequences of one’s choices are not abstract; they are lived realities that impact both the individual and the community.
The narrative of Job offers additional insights into this dynamic. In the story, Job’s friends challenge him, suggesting that his suffering must be a consequence of his actions. When Job is told that “when your sons sinned against Him, He delivered them into the hands of their own iniquity” (Job 8:4), it highlights the direct correlation between human actions and the fate of individuals. This notion of accountability is central to Jewish thought, emphasizing that each person bears the weight of their decisions and must navigate the moral landscape with care and integrity.
The Mishnah in Pirkei Avot (4:13) further elucidates this relationship between action and consequence, stating, “He who fulfills a mitzvah gains himself an advocate, while he who commits a transgression gains himself an accuser.” This teaching highlights the inherent protective nature of performing good deeds, suggesting that righteousness creates a shield against divine judgment. Conversely, transgressions lead not only to the loss of divine favor but also to the emergence of adversarial forces that may seek to highlight one’s failings. This dynamic reinforces the concept of moral duality: each action carries with it the potential for reward or punishment, advocacy or accusation.
However, the Midrash also offers a nuanced interpretation regarding the potential pitfalls of material wealth. Abundance and prosperity can indeed be blessings, but they are not without their risks. The aftermath of the Golden Calf incident serves as a poignant example wherein the Israelites attributed their moral failings to the temptations posed by the abundant gold they possessed. The text serves as a cautionary tale about the dangers of materialism, suggesting that even blessings can harbor corrupting influences if not managed with adherence to divine commandments.
G-d’s admonition in Deuteronomy, “I have placed before you today a blessing and a curse,” marks a pivotal moment in Jewish thought. It signifies a crucial shift in the relationship between divine gifts and human responsibility. The blessings bestowed upon the Israelites are not merely gifts to be received; they come with an expectation of ethical stewardship and moral conduct. The transformative potential of G-d’s gifts hinges upon the choices made by individuals, emphasizing that blessings can become curses if misused.
The implications of this teaching extend beyond the individual to the collective community. When a society chooses to embrace ethical conduct and adhere to divine commandments, it fosters an environment conducive to blessing and prosperity. Conversely, when a society strays from its moral obligations, it invites the consequences of its actions, leading to collective suffering and hardship. Thus, the relationship between human actions and divine retribution is not only a personal matter but also a communal one, where the moral fabric of society influences the blessings it receives.
In conclusion, the interplay between reward and punishment in Jewish thought is a multifaceted subject that emphasizes the significance of human agency. The teachings found in Parashat Re’eh articulate a profound truth: the consequences of our actions are not merely a reflection of divine judgment but are fundamentally tied to the moral choices we make. The blessings bestowed upon us carry with them both an opportunity for goodness and a warning against the pitfalls of moral failure. The covenant established at Sinai thus not only redefines the nature of divine reward and punishment but also calls upon humanity to embrace its role in shaping its destiny through righteous action. This understanding continues to resonate within the Jewish community, offering guidance and insight into the ethical dilemmas faced in contemporary society. By internalizing these principles, individuals and communities alike can strive to navigate the moral landscape with integrity, ensuring that blessings remain intact and curses are averted, thereby fostering a future rooted in ethical living and divine favor.
Parashat 4 Chapter 4
A No-Loss Situation: The Spiritual Assurance of Divine Guidance
In the intricate tapestry of human experience, doubt and uncertainty often serve as unwelcome companions on our journeys. As we navigate the myriad of choices and challenges life presents, the weight of uncertainty can be so profound that it clouds our judgment and instills fear of failure. The Midrash, as interpreted by R’Aharon Bakst in his reflection on the verse, “No person listens to Me and loses out,” provides a reassuring framework that not only promises a successful destination but also highlights the inherent positivity of the journey itself. This assurance shifts our perspective, allowing us to view divine guidance as a source of unwavering confidence amidst life’s uncertainties.
The human experience is fraught with scenarios where well-intentioned pursuits lead to outcomes far removed from our initial aspirations. A person may embark on a venture with optimism, only to be met with unforeseen obstacles that sow seeds of doubt. This inner turmoil can transform the once-clear path into a labyrinth of fear, second-guessing, and ultimately, disappointment. The verse in Ecclesiastes poignantly illustrates this predicament, stating: “Like fish caught in a fatal net.” This metaphor captures the essence of our struggle, raising the question of whether our efforts will yield liberation or further entrapment.
R’Aharon Bakst’s interpretation of Reish Lakish’s analogy between a fish caught in a net and one ensnared by a hook offers profound insight into the human condition. The former represents a struggle from which one can emerge victorious without any loss—an effort that, regardless of the outcome, does not deepen the anguish of the individual. In contrast, the latter signifies a futile struggle that only exacerbates suffering, amplifying the pain of entrapment with every desperate tug. This distinction is crucial, as it reflects the dichotomy of human endeavors: some paths lead to liberation and growth, while others may ensnare us deeper into despair.
The concept of a “no-loss situation” is not merely theoretical but practical in its implications for daily living. It encourages individuals to pursue their paths with unyielding faith, knowing that divine guidance transforms the essence of their endeavors. When we confront challenges, the assurance embedded in the Midrash can serve as a beacon of hope. It provides a framework through which we can reinterpret our experiences, reminding us that even in moments of struggle, we are progressing along a divinely ordained trajectory.
However, the Midrash provides a counter-narrative to this disheartening reality. It assures us that those who heed divine guidance experience a transformative journey that transcends the limitations of earthly endeavors. When we align our actions with the wisdom of the Divine, we are not merely participants in a series of trials but are engaged in a purposeful journey toward a predetermined outcome. This divine assurance liberates us from the shackles of doubt, allowing us to walk confidently along the path laid out for us by G-d.
This journey is characterized not only by the eventual achievement of goals but also by the quality of the experiences encountered along the way. Embracing this perspective offers a dual blessing: not only do we trust in the ultimate success of our endeavors, but we also find solace in the nature of our journey. Each step taken in faith becomes imbued with meaning, regardless of its immediate outcomes. The act of listening to divine guidance transforms the journey into a sacred experience, imbued with purpose and positivity. Thus, the Midrash underscores an invaluable lesson: in the act of aligning ourselves with the Divine, we experience a profound sense of peace that renders any potential loss inconsequential.
Moreover, this concept has broader implications for our understanding of success and fulfillment. In a society that often equates achievement with tangible outcomes, the notion of a no-loss situation challenges us to redefine our metrics of success. True fulfillment may not always be found in the attainment of specific goals but rather in the growth and wisdom gained along the way. The assurance that we are moving in the right direction, guided by a higher purpose, can provide the comfort needed to navigate the complexities of life with grace and resilience.
In conclusion, R’Aharon Bakst’s reflections on the Midrash encapsulate a profound truth about the human experience—when we listen to G-d’s guidance, we are assured of a no-loss situation. The journey becomes a source of strength and growth, devoid of the paralyzing doubts that so often accompany our pursuits. As we navigate the complexities of life, may we commit ourselves to the wisdom of the Divine, trusting that each step we take is leading us toward a greater good, rendering both our journey and destination inherently positive. This assurance is not merely a comforting thought; it is an empowering truth that can transform our lives and our understanding of the very nature of our existence.
Ultimately, the essence of a no-loss situation lies in our relationship with the Divine and our ability to listen and respond to its guidance. It invites us to view our lives through a lens of hope, resilience, and unwavering faith. By embracing this mindset, we can embark on our journeys with renewed vigor, ready to face challenges with an understanding that, regardless of the outcomes, we are never truly lost when we follow the path that G-d has laid out for us. In this way, we can find peace amidst turmoil, joy in the journey, and fulfillment in the knowledge that we are moving ever closer to our destinies.
Parashat 4 Chapter 5
Trusting the Counsel of Sarah: A Comprehensive Exploration of Midrash’s Insights
The intricate relationship between human counsel and divine command is a theme deeply woven into the fabric of Jewish thought, particularly illuminated through the compelling narrative of Abraham and Sarah. This relationship is not merely a backdrop to their story but serves as a crucial element that shapes their destinies and the unfolding of divine promises. The Midrash, with its rich interpretative tradition, articulates a profound argument for the trust that Abraham placed in Sarah, culminating in his compliance with G-d’s will. In this essay, we will embark on an in-depth examination of the Midrash’s teachings, particularly those articulated by Shem MiShmuel, and we will explore the nuanced relationship between human wisdom and divine instruction as it pertains to the complex dynamics of their significant story.
The Core of the Discussion
At the heart of our discussion lies a pivotal assertion made by the Midrash: Abraham’s success in fulfilling G-d’s will was intricately linked to his deference to Sarah’s counsel. The principle of kal vachomer—a rabbinic method of reasoning that draws conclusions from a lesser situation to a greater one—serves as the basis for this assertion. The Midrash suggests that if one is enriched by heeding human counsel, they will undoubtedly benefit from obeying divine commands. This reasoning, while seemingly straightforward, prompts critical reflections on its appropriateness. Is it indeed valid to extract the consequences of following divine advice from the example of human counsel? Such questions necessitate a more profound exploration of the nature of divine and human wisdom, and whether the two can be seen as distinct entities or as part of a larger, interconnected framework.
The Status of Sarah’s Counsel
A further complication arises in the Midrash’s consideration of Sarah’s counsel. Acknowledged as a recognized prophetess, her words can be interpreted as an extension of G-d’s own instruction. This raises an important question: why does the Midrash draw a distinction between the two forms of guidance? To unpack this complexity, Shem MiShmuel emphasizes a critical element of the narrative surrounding Hagar’s banishment and Sarah’s counsel, offering insights that reveal the depth of Abraham’s struggle and the divine guidance that underpins it.
The Torah’s text conveys an emotional tension in Abraham’s journey. When G-d reassures Abraham, He refers to both the youth (Ishmael) and the slavewoman (Hagar), yet the earlier verse illustrating Abraham’s distress notably omits any mention of Hagar. This discrepancy implies that Hagar was not the initial source of Abraham’s anxiety, raising questions about the nature of his fears and the implications of his decisions. Shem MiShmuel suggests that Abraham’s initial compliance with Sarah’s request to take Hagar as a concubine stemmed from an acknowledgment of her prophetic capabilities. This acknowledgment led him to implicitly trust her judgment, even when it appeared to contravene the prohibitive commandments of the Torah regarding slavery, which would have otherwise constrained his decisions.
The Principle of Trust
Abraham’s faith in Sarah’s counsel highlights a profound obligation to trust the wisdom of the righteous, encapsulated within the principle of romy oippe. This trust is deemed essential even when the advice appears to contradict divine command. The nuanced comparison drawn between Sarah and Eve serves to further illuminate this distinction. Both women advised their husbands towards actions that transgressed divine prohibitions, yet Adam’s compliance with Eve’s suggestion is met with censure due to her lack of prophetic status. In contrast, Sarah’s prophetic authority legitimizes Abraham’s acquiescence to her counsel, reframing it as a divine directive deserving of respect and consideration.
The Emotional Landscape of Abraham
The implications of this trust come to a head during Hagar’s banishment. Sarah’s command to drive out Hagar and her son implied that Ishmael’s heritage would be linked to his mother, potentially undermining Abraham’s lineage and complicating the divine promise of continued descendants. The distress Abraham experienced was rooted not only in the prospect of losing Ishmael but also stemmed from a deeper fear regarding the legitimacy of his initial union with Hagar. This internal conflict is compounded by the notion that Hagar’s status as a slave could lead to questions about Ishmael’s legitimacy as Abraham’s heir. However, G-d reassures Abraham that his fears are unfounded, affirming that Sarah’s counsel was divinely inspired and sanctioned.
The Importance of Prophetic Insight
Shem MiShmuel adeptly elucidates that had Abraham initially trusted Sarah’s prophetic insight, he would have taken the necessary steps to ensure Hagar’s freedom before cohabiting with her. This act would have resulted in Ishmael being recognized as a legitimate heir, complicating the divine promise concerning Isaac. Instead, by placing his trust in Sarah, Abraham inadvertently ensured the continuity of his covenantal legacy through Isaac. Thus, the unfolding narrative serves as a profound illustration of the interplay between human action and divine providence.
Resolving the Initial Questions
In resolving the initial questions posed, we find that Sarah’s counsel, while indeed prophetic, presented a moral complexity that could lead to apprehensions on Abraham’s part. Nevertheless, his commitment to trust in the wisdom of the righteous was paramount, as it not only reflected a deep faith in Sarah’s prophetic abilities but also demonstrated an adherence to a broader spiritual principle. The kal vachomer drawn here does not merely contrast human wisdom with divine command; it juxtaposes two manifestations of divine wisdom—the counsel of a sage and the explicit commandment of G-d.
The Broader Implications
The narrative of Abraham and Sarah transcends its immediate context, revealing broader implications for how we navigate our own lives and the counsel we receive from others. It invites us to reflect on the nature of trust and the wisdom we find in our communities. The dynamic between personal ambition and communal responsibility is underscored by this story, emphasizing that our decisions can have far-reaching effects beyond ourselves, impacting generations to come. Abraham’s story serves as a reminder that our relationships with others—especially with those we trust—play a pivotal role in shaping our paths.
Conclusion
In conclusion, the narrative of Abraham and Sarah serves as a profound exploration of the dynamics between faith, trust, and obedience within the framework of Jewish thought. It compels us to consider the nature of divine guidance and the importance of recognizing the prophetic voice in our lives. By adhering to the wisdom of those deemed righteous, we not only honor their authority but also align ourselves with a higher purpose, thereby positioning ourselves to receive the rewards promised by G-d. Through this lens, the Midrash underscores the significance of trust, both in human counsel and divine instruction, as an essential element of spiritual growth and fulfillment.
The story of Abraham and Sarah is not merely a historical account; it is a living testament to the complexities of faith and the intricate ways in which divine will operates in the world. It invites us to reflect upon our own responses to the guidance we receive, challenging us to cultivate a sense of trust in both human and divine wisdom. Recognizing that through this trust, we may uncover pathways to a more profound understanding of our place in the unfolding narrative of life.
As we contemplate this enduring tale, we are reminded of the timeless wisdom embedded within the tradition and the ongoing relevance of these teachings in our daily lives.
Parashat 4 Chapter 7
The Transformative Power of Charity: A Comprehensive Analysis of R° Shimon Shaup’s Teachings
In the rich tapestry of Jewish thought, the intricate interplay between wealth, charity, and communal responsibility is articulated with remarkable clarity in the teachings of R° Shimon Shaup, particularly in his introduction to Shaane/Josher. His insights provide a profound understanding of why the act of giving charity not only serves to alleviate the needs of the less fortunate but also generates wealth and blessings for the giver. This essay delves into the complex relationship between charity and wealth through the lens of Jewish law and ethics, illuminating the spiritual dimensions of these concepts and their implications for the individual and the community.
The Concept of Bounty and Communal Responsibility
At the core of R° Shimon’s analysis lies the assertion that the material blessings one receives are not solely for personal benefit; rather, they belong to the community at large. The individual, who is entrusted with these bounties, must recognize their role as a custodian or trustee responsible for distributing resources to those who are less fortunate. This perspective aligns with the Jewish principle of communal responsibility, emphasizing that the wealth one possesses is a means to foster collective well-being.
In Jewish tradition, the notion of wealth comes with an inherent obligation to share, particularly with those in need. The Talmud teaches that the act of giving charity is one of the highest forms of righteousness (Tzedakah), and it is not merely a charitable act but a duty that binds the community together. R° Shimon’s teachings echo this sentiment, suggesting that the one who gives charity does so not out of surplus but out of a sense of duty to their fellow human beings. The blessings received by an individual should be viewed as a form of trust from G-d. This trust mandates that the recipient of wealth must dispense it wisely and justly, ensuring that it serves the greater good.
A trustworthy trustee, having demonstrated integrity and commitment to their charge, is often entrusted with even greater resources. This trust is not merely a reflection of one’s financial acumen but also of one’s moral character. R° Shimon posits that the act of giving charity creates a virtuous cycle; the more one engages in charitable deeds, the more they prove themselves worthy of divine trust, thus attracting further blessings.
Intellectual and Spiritual Gifts as Communal Resources
R° Shimon extends his analysis to intellectual and spiritual gifts, positing that individuals endowed with exceptional talents have a communal obligation to utilize them for the greater good. This notion underscores the idea that personal achievements and knowledge are not ends in themselves but rather tools to uplift the entire community. In Jewish thought, it is believed that one’s capabilities are endowed by G-d, and thus, they must be employed for the benefit of others.
When individuals dedicate their skills towards the spiritual elevation of their peers, they not only fulfill their purpose but also invite additional blessings from G-d. This principle is illustrated in the Talmudic dictum found in Makkos 10a, which states that while one learns much from teachers and peers, the greatest wisdom is gleaned from students. The act of teaching is inherently reciprocal; as knowledge is imparted, the educator receives spiritual enrichment in return. This reciprocal relationship fosters a culture of learning and growth, wherein both teacher and student contribute to the collective wisdom of the community.
The act of sharing knowledge is akin to sharing material wealth—both require a selfless disposition. R° Shimon’s teachings remind us that the dissemination of Torah is not merely an intellectual exercise; it is a sacred duty that enhances the spiritual fabric of the community. Thus, the act of teaching becomes a form of charity in itself, as it enriches the lives of others and, in turn, enriches the teacher.
The Blessings of Charity: A Path to Wealth
The teachings of R° Shimon further illuminate the multi-faceted nature of wealth, transcending mere financial resources. The famous Talmudic teaching from Taanis reinforces this idea, suggesting that engaging in charity leads to not only material wealth but also spiritual riches. A Torah scholar who dedicates time to teaching others is not sacrificing his own pursuits; rather, he enriches himself through these charitable actions. The time invested in helping others yields a greater capacity for knowledge and a more profound understanding of the Torah.
R° Shimon’s life serves as a compelling illustration of this principle. Even in his later years, when health issues arose, he remained steadfastly committed to disseminating Torah knowledge. His belief that life should be devoted to spreading the teachings of the Torah reflects a deep understanding of the rewards inherent in charitable acts. The more one extends themselves towards others, the more strength and vitality they receive in return. This reciprocity is foundational to the Jewish understanding of charity; it is a cycle of giving and receiving that nourishes the soul and strengthens community ties.
Moreover, the spiritual blessings resulting from acts of charity are often manifested in unexpected ways. When individuals engage in charitable giving, they cultivate an environment of gratitude and humility, which in turn attracts divine favor. This spiritual dimension of wealth is often overlooked in contemporary discussions about financial success; however, it is an integral part of the Jewish worldview, where the material and spiritual realms are deeply interconnected.
The Connection Between Boundaries and Wealth
The exploration of boundaries in relation to wealth, as discussed by Shem MiShmuel, adds another layer to our understanding of these concepts. The expansion of one’s boundaries can be interpreted as a metaphor for the accumulation of both material and spiritual wealth. The verse from Proverbs serves as a poignant reminder that wisdom, much like water, lies beneath the surface, waiting to be accessed. Removing the barriers that restrain one’s inner goodness allows for the flourishing of wisdom and the realization of one’s potential.
The metaphor of water is particularly evocative; just as water seeks to flow freely and nourish the earth, so too does the innate wisdom within each person yearn to be expressed and utilized for the good of the community. The act of giving charity can be seen as a means of breaking these restraints. By engaging in charitable actions, individuals not only tap into their own reservoirs of wisdom but also contribute to the communal well-being, facilitating an environment where spiritual and material wealth can thrive.
Furthermore, the connection between one’s personal boundaries and the broader boundaries of the community reflects the idea that individual actions have communal repercussions. When one expands their personal boundaries through acts of kindness and charity, they create a ripple effect that can inspire others to do the same. This interconnectedness emphasizes the importance of fostering a culture of giving, where each individual recognizes their role in uplifting the community as a whole.
Conclusion
The teachings of R° Shimon Shaup provide a profound framework for understanding the relationship between charity, wealth, and communal responsibility. Through the lens of Jewish thought, we see that giving charity is not merely an act of kindness but a transformative process that enriches both the giver and the recipient. The blessings that flow from charitable acts extend beyond financial gain; they encompass spiritual growth and the elevation of communal standards.
In recognizing our roles as custodians of the bounties bestowed upon us, we align ourselves with a greater purpose, fostering a community that thrives on mutual support and shared blessings.
Parashat 4 Chapter 8
**The Broadened Boundary: A Reflection on the Land of Israel in Midrashic Thought**
The Land of Israel, known in Hebrew as Eretz Yisrael, is a concept that transcends mere geographical dimensions; it embodies a rich tapestry of spiritual significance, hope, and aspirations that have been woven into the very fabric of Jewish identity throughout the ages. More than just a location marked on a map, Eretz Yisrael serves as a profound source of inspiration, a wellspring of faith, and a symbol of continuity for the Jewish people. This sacred land is steeped in layers of divine significance that invite us to delve deeper into its physical attributes, historical narratives, and the profound metaphysical qualities that it harbors. While the Land of Israel may initially appear small and limited, a closer examination through the teachings of the Midrash reveals an expansive spiritual landscape that transcends its geographic parameters.
To illustrate this, we can draw an analogy to the intricate structures of villi and microvilli found within the human intestines. These structures amplify the surface area of the intestines, allowing them to absorb nutrients far beyond what one might perceive from the outside. Similarly, the Land of Israel is imbued with a multitude of meanings, potentials, and divine connections awaiting our discovery. The Midrashic texts, which delve into the nuances of Jewish tradition and theology, encourage us to engage with this land not simply as a physical territory but as a sacred space infused with holiness and divine purpose. The teachings contained within these texts reveal a profound relationship between the Jewish people and their homeland, one that is both ancient and contemporary.
One prominent voice in this discourse is R. Elimelech Bar-Shaul, who, in his insightful commentary, addresses the dual nature of the Land of Israel—its visible limitations contrasted with its boundless spiritual significance. He posits that while the land may appear small and confined, it is, in fact, a realm of endless possibilities that has been diminished by the historical experience of exile. The devastation wrought by centuries of displacement and turmoil has left the land in a state of disarray, presenting a shadow of its former glory. Yet, the Midrash reassures us that this state of desolation is not permanent. The promise of redemption, a recurring theme in Jewish thought, holds true; it is part of the divine plan that G-d will once again reveal His Presence upon the land. This revelation will serve to lift the veil that has obscured its true magnificence, revealing the land in its full glory and spiritual depth.
The notion of revelation is intricately linked to the unique qualities that define the Land of Israel. The Midrash teaches that the land is characterized by a wealth of Torah, mitzvot, and an intrinsic holiness that saturates its very soil. The verse in Deuteronomy 11:12, “The eyes of HASHEM, your G-d, are always upon it,” serves as a testament to the constant divine attention afforded to this land. This unwavering divine oversight elevates the Land of Israel above all others, establishing it as a focal point of holiness and spiritual significance within the Jewish tradition. The land becomes a microcosm of divine engagement, where the physical and spiritual realms intersect in a manner that is both profound and transformative.
Even amidst the trials and tribulations that the Land of Israel has endured—ranging from ancient conquests to modern conflicts—the sacred connection to the divine remains unbroken. The Midrash (Vayikra Rabbah 2:52) reminds us that anything associated with G-d is eternally chosen and immutable. This central theme is especially pronounced in the case of Jerusalem, the city designated by G-d as “the city that I have chosen for Myself” (1 Kings 11:36). This powerful declaration reinforces the idea that despite the land’s physical destruction and the challenges it faces, its spiritual essence and divine purpose endure throughout the ages. Jerusalem, as the heart of Eretz Yisrael, embodies the hope of redemption and serves as a constant reminder of the connection between the Jewish people and their homeland.
In contemporary times, the brilliance of the Divine Presence in the Land of Israel may seem concealed beneath layers of conflict and strife. However, it is crucial to recognize that this concealment is not absolute. Even now, there are rays of divine light that penetrate the veils of obscurity, reminding us of the land’s inherent sacredness. Those attuned to these rays perceive not a disgrace or a ruin but rather a citadel of beauty and hope. They do not measure the land by the volume of crops it produces or the height of its skyscrapers; instead, they evaluate its worth according to the wisdom imparted by our Sages, who teach that “the very air of the Land imparts wisdom” (Bava Basra 158b) and that “the soil of Israel causes one to repent” (Pesikta Rabbati §15). These teachings suggest that the land possesses an intrinsic ability to inspire spiritual growth, guiding individuals toward deeper connections with their faith and identity.
The relationship between the Jewish people and the Land of Israel is not merely historical; it is deeply personal and spiritual. The historical accounts of the disciples of the Vilna Gaon, who undertook the arduous journey to the Holy Land over two centuries ago, further illustrate this profound connection. Upon reaching their destination, they expressed their reverence and joy in the face of the land’s beauty, proclaiming, “Truly, how glorious is the settlement of our good land; how wondrous is the adoration of our land; how pleasant the holiness, the glow of the glory of her settlement and her ways, her sitting and her rising, her peace and her completeness.” These words encapsulate not just the physical allure of the land but also its spiritual magnetism—a connection that transcends time and space, inviting all who tread upon it to engage with its sacred history and divine purpose.
As we navigate the complexities of modern existence, the call to return to the Land of Israel resonates with the promise of restoration and renewal. The understanding that the Jewish people must reclaim their rightful place in their homeland reinforces a deep-rooted aspiration for unity, identity, and belonging. The land offers a profound opportunity for connection, healing, and spiritual rebirth. It invites us to engage with our heritage, our traditions, and our collective narrative as we strive to fulfill our destiny as a people. In doing so, we contribute not only to our individual spiritual journeys but also to the collective consciousness of the Jewish people.
The journey toward realization requires a mindful approach that fosters a deeper understanding of the land’s historical and spiritual significance. This journey calls upon us to nurture a relationship with Eretz Yisrael that honors its past, acknowledges its present challenges, and embraces the promise of a future filled with hope and divine light. As we stand on the threshold of this promise, we must be inspired to act with intention, compassion, and reverence for the Land of Israel, our eternal home.
In our daily blessings, we affirm the desirability, goodness, and spaciousness of this land, echoing the sentiments of generations who have longed for its restoration. The words inscribed in the sacred texts remind us of the divine assurance that one day, G-d will broaden the boundaries of this coiled land. He promises to unfurl the land as a scroll to stretching it.
Czech Parashat
Parashat Re’eh in Deuteronomy having again another challenge of Moses to the people before entering the promised land. And we will find this command there: “Remember the day when you came out of the land of Egypt all the days of your life” (Devarim 16,3). Today’s thrash will not be about the preciousness that is freedom, or how good it is to not forget how bad slavery was. It will be about faith and its application in life, and also about our own efforts.
Fortunately, the great wonders and miracles that took place at that time when we left Egypt in front of the eyes of a crowd of witnesses, are at least recorded in the Torah. Because G-d does not repeat these things in every generation and a large part of the responsibility for our lives and the world moves into our hands, into the hands of man. He is supposed to remember these things so that he keeps them in his mind and in his eyes. That’s why we read about them every day, morning and evening, when we pray. We have a mezusa on our eyes, touching, etc. From a simple world of direct experience with G-d, we come to faith. Thus, faith is also a passed down experience of our ancestors. We are not lost even today in a world without G-d. Even today we can experience both love and fear of G-d. And it may open our eyes, as it once did to Moses, who then told the others with a bewildering voice, “The Lord, the G-d of your fathers, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, appeared to me, and said, “I have decided to visit you, I know how they deal with you in Egypt.” “
From these great wonders, miracles and G-d’s care, one should learn to discern even the hidden miracles, which are the basis of the whole Torah – so at least Ramban sees it. And such is the basis of true “emuna” = faith. Another Hebrew term in this area is “bitachon—it is a certain that comes from faith, its practical application. ‘Bitachon’ cannot exist without ’emuna’, just like a fruit cannot grow without a tree. And so the fruit is evidence of the tree from which it grew, while the existence of a tree is not evidence of the fruit. So these are the things Ramban talks about. Verbal, verbally expressed faith is such a tree without fruits. It’s not enough for a person to simply say they have faith. Such a person must feel that the Creator is consciously involved in his daily affairs and should act accordingly. A true “boteach” is the one who believes that it is G-d and not his “histadlut”= his effort, which is the real source of his every need. This makes a real “bitachon” know what true peace means, life balance. Where such an attitude can go, we can hear in one Jewish joke: The daughter of one rich Jewish tycoon brings home her suitor, a poor, pious Chassid, with whom she plans a wedding. Concerned billionaire takes a marriage adept aside and begins interviewing him carefully. “What do you do for a living, young man?” “- “”I study Torah, Talmud, and Hashem, the good Lord takes care of me.””. “Well, where do you want to live with our daughter?” “””I do not know this yet, but Hashem, the good Lord, will surely provide for us.” “””Hmm, and how do you want to feed a woman, a family anyway?” “- Hasid smiles cheekyly and replies again, “ I don’t worry, Hashem, our good G-d will take care of us.” “The rich man flies out of his chair, leaves the room and then next to him, when he’s breathing a little, he says to his wife: “He’s really a judo, an impractical man, useless to talk.” Perhaps he has only one positive quality: he considers me Lord of G-d. “
Of course, this is a joke that has a certain unilaterality on the fly, reliance without any effort of your own. Another example of the area of “bitachon” (trust, certainty), I took from one midrash, who relates to Josef HaCadik, the righteous Josef. In midrash it reads: “Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD” – this refers to Joseph the prisoner, and further Psalm 40:5 is quoted: “He does not turn to the arrogant” – because Joseph said to the highest waiter: “Remember me… and mention me (Pharaoh)” (Bereshit 40:14), and because of this two years were added to his (prison stay) (Bereshit Raba 89:3). On the one hand the Midrash praises Joseph for his trust in G-d and on the other hand criticizes Joseph for putting his trust in the “arrogant” rather than the One G-d. Joseph interpreted the dreams of two butlers with whom he was in prison. After having predicted the dismissal of the top waiter, Joseph asked him, that when he was released, the top waiter should mention him to Pharaoh. And as we read in Torah, it didn’t happen. However, the top waiter did not remember Josef; he forgot about him. “ (Semot 40:23) It seems like a severe punishment, everyone would try to get out of prison, especially when it is based on a false accusation. The explanation here is that Josef was already on such a spiritual level and a man of such faith that this “hishtadlut” of his – this effort of his – was on the contrary punished. What to take out of all this? We have to consciously cultivate our faith, remember all of G-d’s wonders and learn to seek them in our lives. So that our faith should not be just an empty statement but to fulfill our whole life. We are to be active so that our reliance on G-d is not just a masked laziness, convenience. And in the end: our efforts, our own efforts – “hishtadlut” – should be as pure as our faith.
