ALentz

 

וְנָתַתִּי שָׁלוֹם בָּאָרֶץ, וּשְׁכַבְתֶּם וְאֵין מַחֲרִיד. וְהִשְׁבַּתִּי חַיָּה רָעָה, מִן-הָאָרֶץ, וְחֶרֶב, לא-תַעֲבר בְּאַרְצְכֶם

“And I will place peace in the land, you shall repose there; there will be nothing to scare you. I will restrain any dangerous animal from the land, a sword will not cross your land.” (Vayikra 26:6)

This פסוק comes amidst the ברוכות that are promised to בני ישראל if they keep the obligations that are set forth in the Torah. What struck me about this פסוק was the statement  וְאֵין מַחֲרִיד, “nothing will scare you”. One who is fully observant fears only Hashem and is cognizant that any “scary” event or object in this world is a reflection of His will. What one is obligated to fear is that they have not been completely compliant with the מצות and that Hashem will send corrective measures (in order to spur one to fix what they have done incorrectly). Since however the ברוכות describe a state in which all of the מצות are being completely kept, this statement seems redundant. The Jewish people are already fulfilling the mitzvah of ‘יראת ה; nothing external frightens them. Why then is this assurance included?

I think that the answer lies in the root of the verb מַחֲרִיד itself: חרד connotes trembling, a physical manifestation of fear. While it is possible to reach a high level of ‘יראת ה on an intellectual level, the body still has its natural instincts: when confronted by a menacing animal or an enemy soldier, the body’s natural reaction is to tremble. What this pasuk is imparting is that when we are fulfilling our complete potential, Hashem will not cause situations in which physical fear is necessary. Since we are so close to Him already, we do not need an external event to bring us closer.

How do we apply this idea to our lives today when we possess barely an inkling of true יראת שמים? I think one lesson is that the closer we are to Hashem and His מצות, the less the physical world can scare us. The more we can step back from what is initially frightening or frustrating, and consider how Hashem is using it as a vehicle to draw us closer to Him, the more confident and capable עבדי המלך we can become.

Shabbat Shalom, Allison

Credit: Machon Mamre for the Hebrew text. Much of the ideas are based on the book Garden of Emunah, by Reb Shalom Arush.

 

The Netivot Shalom  states that true simcha is being שמח בחלקו (happy with what one currently has). How does Adar (and Purim in particular) function to increase this simcha, if true simcha is an internal mindset, not based on external settings?

The Netivot Shalom elaborates that Purim represents an אור לגלות, a sign that Hashem still cares for us, despite our inability to do proper teshuvah and extract ourselves from exile. When we enter Adar, we are reminded of that relationship,; we are reminded that our חלק is one in which Hashem is still our Redeemer and actively anticipating the Final Redemption, and that awareness should lead to increased happiness.

 

וַיִּפֶן כֹּה וָכֹה, וַיַּרְא כִּי אֵין אִישׁ; וַיַּךְ, אֶת-הַמִּצְרִי, וַיִּטְמְנֵהוּ, בַּחוֹל

“And he turned, this way and that and he saw that there was no person. He struck the Egyptian and buried him in the sand.” (Shemos 2:12)

This pasuk occurs after Moshe has left the luxury of Pharoah’s home and goes to see how his Jewish brethren are fairing as slaves. When he sees an Egyptian man beating a Jew, he is unable to bear the injustice and kills him. I have two questions about this pasuk: 1. Since Moshe Rabinu would not have killed someone without them deserving that punishment, why is he looking around to see if anyone will spot him? This type of cautious behavior is usually indicative of someone who is acting inappropriately, and fears he will be caught. Why should Moshe fear someone witnessing his actions when he is killing for just reasons?  2. The Torah never says that the Egyptian died; rather, it just says that he was struck and then he was buried. Is there an explanation for this omission?

The first question is answered by Rashi. He states that וַיַּרְא כִּי אֵין אִישׁ means that Moshe perceived through רוח הקודש (divine insight) that there was no one among this man’s (possible) descendants would convert to Judaism. The Targum of Yonatan ben Uziel* gives a more poetic description: “Moshe gazed into his knowledge of the future, and carefully examined each generation: there would not survive from this Egyptian a person would convert…”  Therefore, Moshe’s wasn’t afraid of being caught, rather, the Torah is telling us that he carefully examined the Egyptian’s lineage to ensure that no Jews would be lost if he died.

While this addresses the “sneakiness” problem, none of the מפרשים (commentators) address the second question of why the Torah doesn’t say outright that the Egyptian died. Rashi’s comment on the previous pasuk however sheds light on this issue: Rashi explains that the Egyptian had, the previous night, committed a terrible sin (raping the wife of the Jewish man he was beating). The Egyptian, having realized that the husband knew what he had done, was now driving him to exhaustion and (hopefully) his death. It is an well-known idea that רשעים, those who use their potential solely for the bad, aren’t truly alive in this world. While they are alive in terms of breathing and having a pulse, they are not really living: they are not using their energies to grow and serve Hashem. This could be the reason why the Torah omits וימות (and he died); since, being a רשע גמר (completely evil person), he wasn’t spiritually alive when his physical body died.

In our generation, in Jewish law, we no longer enact the death penalty or even corporal punishment. In fact, we are not allowed to make even mental judgments or determinations about others which cast them in a bad light. We make every effort to judge for the good, even concocting bizarre stories to that effect. So what is to be learned from this incident, where an Moshe Rabinu judged another and acted upon it immediately? Perhaps the lesson is that only someone like Moshe Rabinu, someone with רוח הקודש is in a position to do that. Anyone lacking רוח הקודש  is by necessity missing crucial parts of the picture (i.e. what the person’s motivations are? what is Hashem attempting to achieve by this situation?) and thus unable to accurately judge someone. While we still have the right to hold others accountable for their actions, we cannot approach rebuke with the undue sanctimony that we completely understand the situation and its background/ramifications.

Credit: Mechon Mamre for the Hebrew text and Chabad Rashi for Rashi-help.

*This translation was made possible by the similarity of the Aramaic roots to the Hebrew.

 

וַיְהִי, אַחַר הַדְּבָרִים הָאֵלֶּה, וְהָ’ נִסָּה אֶת-אַבְרָהָם; וַיֹּאמֶר אֵלָיו, אַבְרָהָם וַיֹּאמֶר הִנֵּנִי.

And it came to pass after these things, that God tested Abraham, and He said to him, “Abraham,” and he said, “Here I am.” (Ber. 22:1)

There is a well-known Ramban on this pasuk: that Hashem tests people in order to bring their inner potential into actuality. He sets up nisayons (tests) specifically for that purpose: so that we can either gain the reward of putting our inner potential into action or not receive the reward if we do not complete the test.

To go on a brief tangent..I recently read an interesting Nesivos Shalom on the idea of korbanos/sacrificing1.  His discussion occurs within the context of improving middos (character traits). He states that the essence of bringing a korban to Hashem is to sacrifice part of yourself in the process; what you are sacrificing is the middah which is the most difficult for you to overcome. By working tirelessly to change that middah, you are making a true korban to Hashem.The actual sacrifice (the animal or other object) is not as crucial as the inner-growth that are you supposed to be achieving.

I think that Avraham’s sacrifice read in this light of this drash brings up many questions. What middah is Avraham being asked to sacrifice? One possible conclusion is that he is being asked to sacrifice his rachmanus (mercy)/chesed: by killing his heir, his beloved, waited-for son, he is expressing the antithesis of rachmanus and chesed. Which brings me to a counterpoint: Avraham was praised for is known by his middah of chesed! How is it that this can be considered a “bad middah” that he is being required to sacrifice?

I think that the answer is found in another well-known idea. The middah that we are praised for and the one which is at the core of our success, can also be the source of our greatest struggles. Take for instance a person who is very independent; while this middah gives him many great benefits, it can also be a stumbling block: he can be reluctant to ask for help when he needs it for fear that others will perceive him as being weak or incompetent. The same was true with Avraham: his outpouring of chesed is a gift which has lasted the Jewish people until this day. His chesed also caused some problems: he was reluctant to send away Ishmael (a negative influence on Yitzchak) and his decision to make a long-term peace treaty with Avimelech may have been one of the reasons why Hashem commanded him to perform the akeidah.2

I think that Avraham’s experience in the akeidah teaches us a great deal about how to go about working on our middos. When our best middah is entangled with negative aspects, Hashem will put us into situations where that middah is “purified”. As Ramban stated, we can either choose to work on that middah or we can continue to have our middah entrenched with negativity. Ultimately, we can strive to become like Avraham Avinu, who woke up early in the morning and with great joy, entered into a tremendous nisayon without a word of protest.

Shabbat shalom, Allison

  1. Helek Aleph, Taharos ha’middos, mamer aleph, perek daled
  2. I do not remember the source for this, but at some point, Devora Rubin (of Midreshet Rachel v’Chaya) taught it to us during the thirty days we spent learning akeidas Yitzchak. The idea (as I remember it) was that Hashem was “irked” that Avraham made a covenant with Avimelech that would last during their offspring’s’ future generations without Hashem’s permission. Hashem decided to make it clear to Avraham (via commanding him to sacrifice Yitzchak) that he was not in control of the fate of his generations.
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