Fulfilling Your National Duty--Matot-Massei

Fulfilling Your National Duty

D’var Torah for Parashat Matot-Massei 

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman 

On Friday mornings, the checkout lines at Israeli supermarkets are extra long. By one or two in the afternoon, everything closes for Shabbat, so anybody who needs anything to tide them over until Sunday or Monday do their last minute shopping now. Like half the rest of the country, Sally, my mother and I were also standing in line, more or less patiently, while the customer ahead of us argued with the cashier and then arranged and rearranged her groceries in the overfilled baskets that she wanted delivered to her house. 

Even with the AC on, the store was crowded, and it was hot and humid. To pass the time, we eavesdropped on the conversation of the three soldiers standing behind us in line. They were speaking English, and we immediately figured they were in the category called chayal boded, “lone soldiers,” a group of about 3,000 soldiers whose families do not live in Israel and yet volunteer to serve in the Israel Defense Force—despite the fact that they are not obligated by law to do so. 

Out of curiosity, I engaged the three in conversation. Their names, I learned, were Dan, Jared and Gabriel. 

Dan is from Illinois. Tall and sturdy, he had always wanted to be a soldier and at first thought of serving as a Navy SEAL. However, the time commitment asked of him was too long, and so he volunteered to serve for three years in the IDF and then make up his mind as to what to do next. 

Jared, though born in the US, has an Israeli father who had served in the IDF. His family now lives in Arizona. As the son of an Israeli citizen, Jared’s older brother came to Israel to serve in the army, and now Jared felt duty-bound to follow in his father’s and brother’s footsteps. 

Gabriel comes from New York State. “Near Albany,” he said. “Why did you volunteer,” I asked him. Without a moment’s hesitation, Gabriel responded, “Because I am Jewish.” 

No further explanation was needed. Coming to help the Jewish nation in its homeland is a tradition and obligation that goes back to Torah times. It is a mitzvah that we first encounter in this week’s Torah portion, Matot-Mass’ei (Numbers 30:2-36:13, the last double portion of this book). In this story, just prior to the Israelites’ entry into the Promised Land, the two tribes of Reuben and Gad, as well as half of the tribe of Menashe, choose to remain on the eastern bank of the Jordan River. The land there was fertile and promised to be a good one for their families, vast flocks and herds. Moses agrees to the request, on the condition that they help in the conquest of the Promised Land and then come to the defense of the rest of the people if and when they are ever attacked. Only when the two and a half tribes agree to the stipulation does Moses allow them to remain in the Diaspora. 

In the centuries that followed this incident, our history achieved peaks and lows that paralleled the evolution of Western Civilization. Twice was our capital, Jerusalem, destroyed; twice was almost the entire population of Judea forced to leave its homeland. But in both cases a remnant always stayed behind. Those who stayed were subject to further conquests, living in poverty and squalor. But they were never neglected by their brethren who lived in more peaceful and successful circumstances. There was no army—the Jews were forbidden from defending themselves; but money was collected and donations flowed to the impoverished communities. 

In the 20th century, history changed once again. For the first time in 20 centuries, Jews had an army. For the first time in as many years, they could defend themselves in their own land, as soldiers in a Jewish army—which, miracle of miracles, could also be source of protection and pride for Jews all over the rest of the world, in all the lands of our Diaspora. 

The Israel Defense Force is one of the mightiest armies in the world today, its skills honed in one war after another. Its reach seems to know no bounds. Serving in the IDF was a duty I felt personally bound to perform. I served because I could; because it was a privilege many of my immediate ancestors did not have; and also because it was a commandment. 

Of course, not all people think as I do. There are tens of thousands of ultra-Orthodox Jews in Israel today who enjoy the privilege of studying Jewish texts in freedom and luxury—the government actually pays them to be full-time students!— who do not spend one day either in the army or in any kind of national service, and yet who protest the call for universal draft in Israel. I often wonder if they and I are on the same page even when we study the same parasha. After all, doesn’t Moses make himself clear enough to the tribes of Reuben, Gad and Menashe? Only after they help their fellow Israelites may they return to their own homes, children and flocks. You can’t have the comfort if you don’t contribute to the safety and defense of your people. It’s a law for all times and all Jews, wherever they live! 

The three Lone Soldiers I met while waiting in line at the supermarket were fulfilling not only their own destiny, but also an ancient mitzvah—and their glowing faces and full smiles gave testimony to just how they felt about doing so. 

 ©2012 by Boaz D. Heilman

Refreshing Visions--Balak

Refreshing Visions

D’var Torah for Parashat Balak

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

A joke has been making the internet rounds lately.  A salesman for a popular soft drink comes back from Israel, looking totally worn out and frustrated.  “What’s the matter,” asks a friend when he comes home.  “Why weren’t you successful in selling them the most popular soft drink in the world?”  The salesman explains:  “When I got there, I prepared a series of three cartoon panels.  In the first, you see a man lying in the hot summer sand, totally exhausted and fainting.  In the second, he is drinking an ice-cold glass of our soda.  In the third panel, the man is totally refreshed.”  “Sounds pretty clear to me,” says the adman’s friend.  “Yes, to me too,” replies the man.  “But nobody told me Israelis read from right to left!  They saw it all backwards!”

Sometimes misunderstandings happen because we don’t read the signals right.  Take this week’s Torah portion, Balak (Numbers 22:2-25:9).  Balak, king of the Moabites, sees the Israelites towards the end of their journey to the Promised Land; they have withstood the harsh desert and the violent tribes and peoples that stood in their way, and now they are poised to overcome their final enemy—the Moabites.  Balak commissions Balaam, an internationally famous prophet, to cast a curse on the Israelites.  Balaam at first refuses but finally concedes, adding that he will only say what God tells him to.

On his way to a mountain that overlooks the Israelite camp, Balaam encounters a fiery angel, visible only to his donkey.  Trying to avoid the angel, the donkey veers from the road, and Balaam beats the animal.  This happens three times until the donkey finally speaks to Balaam and tells him about the danger only he perceives.

When Balaam finally reaches the top of the mountain, he sees the tents of the Israelites.  Intending to curse, he utters a blessing instead.  Balak, the Moabite king, is enraged; his intent was the exact opposite, and he had paid Balaam richly to do his bidding!

Once again, Balak sends Balaam to curse the people, and again the curses turn into a blessing.  On his third and final attempt, Balaam utters the famous words that convey such an exalted vision that they have entered our prayer book:  Mah tovu ohaleicha Yaakov, “How goodly are your tents O Jacob, your dwellings O Israel!”  After forty years in the dessert, shouldn’t the image Balaam sees be one of an exhausted and worn-out people? 

A similar image struck me just a couple of days ago, as the plane I was on descended towards Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv.  Summer had already begun in our land, and I could imagine the heat and humidity that awaited me below.  But from my perspective, it all looked so orderly and cool!  Traffic on the roads seemed to flow evenly and easily.  New and sparkling high-rise apartment buildings alternated with older houses easily recognizable by the red-tile roofs favored by Israelis in the 1940’s and 50’s.  Urban areas alternated with orchards and fields, creating a multi-colored jigsaw pattern astounding with geometric beauty.

Considering that almost none of this was a reality fifty years ago; considering that just 67 years ago we emerged from a Holocaust that destroyed half of our people; considering that the majority of those who built up this amazing country came here with nothing but the clothes on their back, the vision that now unfolded before my eyes was nothing short of miraculous.

It all depends on how you look at things.  You could see a people worn by thousands of years of wandering and hatred, or you could see a people whose blood pulses with purpose and amazing vitality.  You could see a land beleaguered by enemies from within and without, or you could see a people whose confidence and self-assurance amaze all those who behold them.

For six days a week, you see a people working at least one job to keep up with the demands of security and the economy; the roads are crowded with impatient drivers, while the heat and humidity drive you to seek shade and air-conditioning wherever these can be found.

On Shabbat, however, things are different.  Everything seems to slow down and stop.  Families and friends gather in synagogues or around a table laden with all sorts of wonderful foods.  It’s as though someone has uttered a magic spell on the land.  A blessing.  How wonderful, how goodly indeed are the tents of Jacob, the dwellings of our people in our Land, Israel.

This prayer and blessing is part and parcel of our entire being.  It’s hard to understand unless you’ve been there and seen it yourself. 

Just be sure to read from right to left.

©2012 by Boaz D. Heilman