Rabbi's Corner

The Talmud teaches us that one who starts to perform a mitzvah (duty/obligation) has a greater responsibility to complete it than one who has begun to undertake to perform it in the first place.  Why is that?  We look to a verse from this week's parashah, Parashat BeShallach: "And Moshe brought up the bones of Yoseph with him, for he [Yoseph] had indeed caused the B'nei Yisrael (the Children of Israel) to swear saying, 'G-d will indeed remember you, and you will bring up my bones from this [place] with you.'" (Shemot 13:19)  You may ask why Yoseph did not instruct his brothers to immediately bury him in Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel) upon his death.  the fact is that he could not make such a request as he knew that Pharaoh would not have allowed it.  After they swore to fulfill Yoseph's request, his brothers, in turn, obligated their descendants to do so as well.  As we have already noted, the Torah tells us that only Moshe retrieved Yoseph's remains to fulfill his request.  However, it is indeed surprising to note that the Tanakh (the Hebrew Bible) says the following: "The bones of Yoseph, which the B'nei Yisrael had brought up from Egypt, were buried in Sh'chem,...." (Yehoshua 24:32)

It is interesting to note that it is from this verse that the Talmud Bavli in Masekhet Sotah 13b teaches the importance of completing a mitzvah.  The Talmud Bavli explains that if one person begins a mitzvah and another person comes along and completes it, the latter will receive credit as if s/he performed the entire mitzvah him/herself.  Yes, it is true that Moshe alone was responsible both for removing Yoseph's remains from Eretz Mitzrayim (the Land of Egypt) and for watching over them during the 40-year sojourn through the wilderness until he passed away, but it was because B'nei Yisrael completed his mission by actually burying Yoseph's remains in Eretz Yisrael that they, and not Moshe, receive the credit for doing so.  What does this episode teach us?

We can all be inspired to complete an important task.  However, that inspiration is limited to those things we believe ourselves capable of doing.  When we begin to take action, a part of us often becomes discouraged due to whatever challenges of difficulties may arise as we proceed with our task.  In such a situation we can and should request from HaShem through heartfelt prayer for a moment of clarity that will give us the ability to carry on and complete the task at hand.  There is no doubt that the media pays more attention to the finish line of a marathon than it does to the starting line.  After all, anyone can begin a race, but what matters most is those who finish it.

In this week's parashah, Parashat Va-Eira, we read the following: "And I will bring you into the land concerning which I raised My hand to give to Avraham, to Yitzchak, and to Ya'akov; and I will give it to you for a morasha: I am Hashem."  (Shemot 6:8)  Not too long ago my wife and I decided to update our wills.  Of course, every parent would like to leave an inheritance to their children and grandchildren and (Barukh Hashem) great grandchildren.  Some parents work their entire lives denying themselves everything in order to amass a huge nest-egg to leave as an inheritance.  Others live in frustration that they will not leave a sizable "will and testament."  Just what does our Torah have to say about this?

Our Torah has two Hebrew words that relate to leaving a bequest to those who survive us: morasha and yerusha.  The word morasha first appears in this week's parashah and does not appear again until the last parashah of the Torah, Parashat Vezot HaBerakhah.  The word morasha is usually translated to mean "heritage" while the word yerusha is usually translated to mean "inheritance."  Yerusha is usually used for everything except for the Torah and Israel.  Note that Webster's Dictionary translates the word "heritage" as "property that is or can be inherited."  This makes the words "heritage" and "inheritance" synonymous.  The Hebrew of the Torah does not do this, and, in fact, comes up with four possible distinctions in the meaning between morasha and yerusha.  I want to concentrate on one distinction only, because I feel it speaks to generation after generation of our people.

A yerusha (inheritance) is usually a substantive object whereas a morasha can be an abstract idea or ideal.  There is a Yiddish folk song in which the singer laments that while his friends' wealthy parents gave them automobiles, his parents could only give him good wishes: "Go with G-d!"  While his friends' parents gave them cash, his parents could only gave him aphorisms: "Zai a mentsch!" ("Be a good person!")  However, eventually the automobiles and the cash of his friends were quickly dissipated while the words of his parents remained with him so that he could pass them on to the next generation.

Truth be told: an inheritance pales in comparison to a heritage.  The question to be asked is this: What will you leave your children and grandchildren and great grandchildren - a transitory inheritance or the magnificent heritage of Judaism and the Jewish People?

Every morning when Michael would stroll down the busy corridors towards his office, his boss (the President & CEO of the company) would greet him with a warm "Good morning!" and a smile.  Even if Michael was late to work, behind on an assigned project, or absent from attending a morning meeting, his boss always smiled at him.  It seemed to Michael that his boss was pleased with his performance.  Sure enough, after six years of fulfilling his duties as administrative assistant, Michael was promoted to warehouse manager .  One morning, shortly after his promotion, his boss met him in the corridor with a stern look on his face.

"Where were you during yesterday's meeting?" he demanded to know.  Surprised at the tone of the question, Michael apologized profusely.  Then he politely asked his boss why he was concerned about his absence from this meeting when he missed so many meetings in the past.  What had changed?  His boss responded as follows: "As an entry-level employee, you made me happy if you were just getting the job done.  However, you are no longer an entry-level employee.  You are now a manager.  You are a valuable asset to this company, and your time, input, and effort are all very important to me.  As a manager, I need you to be on time and present at all meetings."

In this week's parashah, Parashat Vayechi, we read the following: "'And now, your two sons who were born to you in Eretz Mitzrayim (the Land of Egypt) until my coming to you in Mitzrayim - they are mine; Ephrayim and Menashe, like Re'uveyn and Shim'on will they be for me'...And Yisrael saw the sons of Yoseyf, and he said, 'Who are these?'  And Yoseyf said to his father, 'They are my sons whom G-d has given me in this [place].'  And he said, 'Take them to me now, and I will bless them.'"   (Bereshit 48:5 & 8-9)  In this passage, we see that Ephrayim and Menashe, who have been raised in an idolatrous society, have been "promoted" from the status of merely being Ya'akov's grandsons to that of being two of the Tribes of Yisrael that would eventually settle the land.  In essence, Ya'akov was overlooking what they lacked in being brought up in Mitzrayim and was instilling in them , through his blessing, the self-confidence they needed to truly become part of the Tribes of Yisrael.  Ya'akov recognized their unique ancestry and their potential for greatness.  And because of this, we bless our children every Erev Shabbat and Erev Chag with the words, "May Hashem make you like Ephrayim and Menashe."

When Rabbi Akiva Eiger of Posen and Rabbi Yaakov Lorberbaum of Lisa, two of the greatest scholars of their generation, arrived in Warsaw, the Jewish community came out to greet them in great numbers.  The crowd surged forward to show further respect by unhitching the horses and pulling the wagon into town.  Inside the coach, the two Torah giants sat in opposite corners, each man engrossed in his own thoughts.  Rabbi Akiva Eiger pondered how the great Rabbi Yaakov of Lisa was in the coach with him and how this magnificent welcome must be for him.  Because Rabbi Eiger wished to take part in the mitzvah of honoring this Torah giant, he quietly alighted from the coach and joined with those who were pulling the wagon.  In the opposite corner of the coach, Rabbi Yaakov Lorberbaum was having similar thoughts.  Because he believed that the reverential welcome was meant for Rabbi Akiva Eiger, he also wanted to join in the demonstration of respect.  So, he also slipped out of the coach and joined the throngs of people drawing the coach.  And so here it was that the a multitude of people continued their joyous reception of the two Rabbis totally unaware that they were pulling a coach that was completely empty of its two passengers but totally filled with humility.

We are in the midst of another Presidential election campaign as well as the impeachment of the current sitting President.  We must ask important questions as to what and why this is happening.  Do people who aspire to become President do so because they are actually qualified to fill the position, or are they so filled with their egos that they forget about you and me?  Does one who becomes President get so carried away with the power they are given that they forget what they are there for?  Maybe we should ponder these questions as we read about the main character in this week's parashah: Parashat Mikeitz.  We read the following: "You shall be in charge of my palace, and by your command shall all my people be sustained; only the throne shall outrank you."  (Bereshit 41:40)  What did Pharaoh, the king of the wealthiest and strongest nation in the word at that time, see in this young Hebrew slave who had just spent the last 12 years of his life in prison?  Why did Pharaoh believe that Yoseif was qualified to be second-in-command over Mitzrayim (Egypt)?

The answer is really quite simple: Pharaoh recognized that he was dealing with a man who was imbued with the Spirit of Hashem.  Even more importantly, Pharaoh saw Yoseif as someone who believed himself to be a conduit for others.  Despite his ability to correctly interpret dreams, Yoseif had declared to Pharaoh that he was "biladai."  He was not the one who interpreted Pharaoh's dreams; it was HaShem.  So we see that when people choose to forgo their own honor and use their talents to act as an agent of Hashem, they enable H-s blessings to flow through them to their intended recipients.  Is it any wonder that Moshe Rabbeinu (Moses, our teacher) the greatest leader in Jewish history, was also the most humble? 

By human nature, we tend to adapt our behavior to our surroundings, meaning that we act like those people with whom we are at the time be it our friends or our neighbors.  We had direct evidence of this last Sunday as close to 200 people gathered at CSS to honor Jacques Lurie for the 18 years he has functioned as Educational Director and Executive Director.  We gathered with an intended purpose and that was to celebrate Jacques' dedication and commitment to CSS.  We see in this week's parashah, Parashat Vayishlach, how important it is to be associated with people whose ultimate goal is to live in peace.

We read the following in this week's parashah: "Rescue me, please, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Eisav." (Bereshit 32:12)  The scenario as presented in the Torah is that Ya'akov was on the road traveling to reconnect with his brother when he received the report that Eisav was heading towards him with no fewer than 400 men.  It is at that moment that Ya'akov prayed the words just cited imploring HaShem's help.  The question is asked as to why Ya'akov repeated himself in describing Eisav.  Why did he use the term "my brother" as well as Eisav's name?  Our commentators state that Ya'akov's fear was two-fold.  First and foremost, he was afraid that Eisav, the man, would threaten his physical survival.  But Ya'akov was also afraid that in greeting him as his brother, Eisav would have a negative influence on his family if both brothers ended up making peace between themselves.  This is why he prayed for HaShem to save him from the two possible outcomes.It is remarkable that Ya'akov prayed for his spiritual well-being before he prayed to be rescued from possible physical harm.  He was more concerned about the negative influence Eisav might have on him than he was about his own life.

Here at CSS, we are not merely members of a Synagogue.  We are a family with all the ups and downs any family experiences.  In spite of this, we must "keep our eyes on the prize."  We must always remember to concentrate our efforts on what unites us as a family.  We must always work towards the "shalom bayit" (peace of the home) which enhances our family life here at CSS.

This week's parashah, Parashat Toldot, contains the story of the births of Eysav and Ya'akov and the resulting relationship each had with his father, Yitzchak.  We read the following: "And Yitzchak loved Eysav because [he brought] game into his mouth, and Rivkah loved Ya'akov.  Now Ya'akov stewed a stew; and Eysav came from the field, and he was weary.  And Eysav said to Ya'akov, 'Pour into me now some of this red, red [stuff], for I am weary'...And Ya'akov said, ' Sell me - as it is day - your birthright.'  And Eysav said, 'Behold, I am going to die; so why do I need a birthright?'" (Bereshit25:29-32)  The Torah goes on to tell us that Eysav indeed did sell his birthright to Ya'akov for the mere "price" of bread and a stew of lentils.  We are further told, "...and Eysav despised the birthright." (Bereshit 25:34)  Especially in the culture of the Ancient Middle East, the first born son had special privileges which included his father's blessing of the birthright.  He would become, upon his father's death, the primary heir of his father's household.  So the question that must be asked is this: why did Eysav so willingly give up this privilege of the first born son which was so important?

The great Medieval Bible commentator Rashi explains that Eysav knew how important the birthright was and that it entailed huge responsibilities for him and his offspring.  These responsibilities would have included the eventual service by his offspring in the Holy Temple.  If there were any shortcomings in performing the service in the Temple, says, Rashi, Eysav surmised that his offspring could be punished with death.  But why does the Torah tell us that Eysav despised his birthright?  By doing what he did in giving it to his brother, did not Eysav show how important the birthright and the eventual avodah (service) to HaShem it entailed was to him?

Our tradition teaches us that Hashem  places before us many opportunities that make us better human beings and better members of the People Israel.  The lesson of this Torah portion is that we should never let those opportunities slip away from us.  We must never say, "It's too hard for me to do" or "I will do it tomorrow."  Eysav had the opportunity to engage in the service of the birthright that was rightfully his, but he gave it away and eventually rationalized his action by despising it.  Our tradition considers this action to be nothing but disgraceful and dishonorable.  May none of us ever fail to seize any opportunity to honor both ourselves and the People Israel when we are presented with the ability to do so!

A colleague of mine was telling me that the first day of kindergarten was a bit overwhelming for his son.  Since the little boy was eager to get home when his first day of school was over, he ran into his father's arms as soon as he saw him and would not let go until they both were a "safe" distance from his school.  A mere two weeks later, things were very different.  When the little boy left school, he walked slowly back to his father who was waiting for him in the family car all the while turning back toward his new friends and teacher to look at them.  In that short time span, he had become so comfortable with school that he considered it to be his "second" home.  In my colleague's son's case, there was nothing wrong in looking back.  However, we see in this week's parashah that taking such action produces tragic results for the wife of Lot, Avraham's nephew.

We read in this week's parashah, Parashat Vayeira, the angels warn Lot and his family not to look back as Sedom was being destroyed.  Despite the warning, Lot's wife could not contain her curiosity: "And his wife looked from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt." (Bereshit 19:26)  Our Sages say that this was punishment for a sin she had committed while living in Sedom.  After her husband had invited the angels to be guests in his home, Lot's wife went to her neighbors presumably to borrow salt.  However, her real reason was to inform her neighbors that Lot had violated the Sedom city policy of not inviting guests into one's home.  But the question must be asked as to why she was punished for this act after she left Sedom and looked back?  Why was she not punished earlier?

Lot and his family were not like Avraham and his family in that they sinned just like the rest of the inhabitants of Sedom.  So why were they rescued by the angels?  Because they were related to Avraham, they were allowed to redeem themselves by leaving the city and putting their past behind them.  Because Lot's wife demonstrated that she was still connected to the people of Sedom, she was punished along with them.  We are like Lot and his family in that we make mistakes and go through difficult times.  The key to getting through such situations is to look forward and not get stuck in the past.  A person cannot grow by being mired in the past.  One can learn fro the past, but one cannot and must not live in the past in order to move forward.

The Talmud teaches us that the Torah does not "waste" words.  Every single letter is filled with meaning.  Sometimes, if we come across a word or a phrase that appears to be superfluous, we must give it further analysis.  In this week's parashah, Parashat Noach, we find the following verse: "Of the pure animal and of the animal that is not pure" (Bereshit 7:8)  These words are, of course, describing the kinds of animals Noach was to bring into the ark with him.  The Talmud asks why so many words were used to describe an animal that was not pure when the Hebrew word "tamei" (impure) could have been used instead.  The Talmud answers that the Torah was "saved" from explicitly writing the word "tamei" thus teaching us an important lesson that we must always be careful not to speak in a vulgar ("tamei") manner.  Words have the power of life and death.  The following story illustrates this most explicitly.

Rav Elya Lopian was forced to take shelter with a group of Jews as bombs were falling around them.  Although the fear in the shelter was tangible with people crying and screaming, the Rabbi sat in the corner and began to learn Talmud hoping that his action would help protect the people.  Suddenly a man rushed over to the Rabbi and exclaimed: "They are speaking 'lashon hara' (gossip) here!"  "What?!" the Rabbi declared. " We must al leave this place!"  With that, he picked up his volume of Talmud from which he was learning and ran out of the shelter.  Together, the Rabbi and his companion ran through the streets of Jerusalem, dodging bullets, shrapnel, and bombs as they made their way to another place of safety.  After they settled in, the Rabbi continued his learning.  Shortly afterwards, the situation calmed down.  The Rabbi then learned that the shelter he and his companion had left had taken a direct hit leaving no survivors.  He concluded: "Death and life are in the power of the tongue!"  Amen!