To Live by Torah: Shavuot.2024

To Live by Torah: Shavuot

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 11, 2024

In Israel today it is the eve of the holiday of Shavuot. Shavuot is a joyful holiday, with deep meaning for many. For school children, it signifies the end of the school year, the beginning of summer; it’s about dripping ice cream cones, cool watermelon slices whose sweet juice runs down your chin and chest, the beach and open swimming pools.

When I was a schoolchild so long ago, the week or two before the holiday, incoming summer air would bring in warmth and dreams of freedom through the windows of our classroom. I would daydream about going to the library, checking out a few books to read on hot summer afternoons, perched in treetops where the shade would provide cover and a cooling breeze… only to be awakened and brought back to reality by the teacher calling out my name, “Boaz!” Only she wouldn’t be referring to me personally, but rather to the noble character in the Book of Ruth, which is traditionally studied at this time of the year. I would groan and think to myself, “only two more weeks, two more weeks till freedom!”

Also called also Chag ha-Bikurim, “Holiday of the First Fruit,” we celebrated Shavuot by bringing in baskets of fruit to school, to be shared with the needy—there were always the needy: new immigrants from Europe, Yemen, Iraq, or just those unlucky ones who never found their calling, never managed to hold a job down, or a family, or a house no matter how cozy and intimate.

Shavuot was the start of the season of contentment, when the ground, once abandoned, arid and rocky, now yielded its plentiful best to us. Traveling by train from Netanya to Tel Aviv (where my grandparents lived) I would stick my head out the open window and breathe in the smell of the fertile earth; I would see the cows in the pastures that passed us by, looking at us with wide eyes while chewing their cud; the sheep and goats herded by Bedouin boys near their spread-out tents on the wide-open fields.

Through the open windows of religious schools, the sounds of Torah study would ring out all around as you walked through Jerusalem or some other, older neighborhoods. Shavuot after all celebrates the giving of the Torah to the Jewish People.

From almost all kitchens wafted the smell of fresh baked cheesecake—a traditional dessert signifying the sweet bounty of life.

Fast forward several decades now, to Erev Shavuot 2024, a day that began with tears: the sad announcement that four more IDF fighters had fallen in the fighting, with several others injured.

The study of Torah is intended to bring peace to the world, a teaching that many of us believe literally—but which life and reality sometimes harshly contradict. Under a constant barrage of missiles and drones, the northern portion of the Galilee is almost vacant of its inhabitants, its fields and orchards burning, with few workers left to pick whatever fruit is still hanging from the trees. Fighting still continues in Gaza, adding even more waste and destruction to the layers of horror and tragedy brought about by the brutal October 7 massacre. It was Simchat Torah that day—like today, a holy day devoted to the celebration of the Torah. Yet now, eight months later, that celebration is still dimmed, the letters of the Torah blurred, its message of peace almost completely wiped out by tears and blood.

It is a mitzvah—a sacred commandment—for Jews to come to the aid of fellow Jews. Moses had permitted the tribes of Reuben, Gad and Manasseh to settle east of the Jordan River only on the condition that they would come to help their fellow Israelites if and when they were beset by enemies. In the 12th century, Maimonides, to this day still considered the foremost compiler and interpreter of halakha (Jewish law), ruled that “It is a mitzvah for all Jews who are able to come and help defend their brethren to do so,” going even further to add that “it is forbidden to delay their coming until after Shabbat” (Mishneh Torah 2:23).

For the past 8 months we have been seeing this decree in action, with volunteers rising to help in any way they can, in Israel or elsewhere around the world. 

Not surprisingly, a large number of the IDF fighters come from an Orthodox background, with a disproportionate number of the fallen and injured from among their midst.

Ironically, there are some—Haredi, ultra-Orthodox Jews—who adamantly refuse to serve or help in any way. Their claim is that their highest duty is to study Torah. Some, whose beliefs take them to even further extremes, actually go so far as to engage in activity and talk that aid and abet the enemy. There is no excuse for this phenomenon.

The Torah and all subsequent Jewish texts can be said to have harbored and sheltered, even maintained, the Jewish soul. The laws and traditions derived from these texts have been the backbone and lifeblood of the Jewish People for thousands of years. In fact, the study of Torah is said by the ancient Rabbis to be one of the three pillars upon which the entire world rests (along with worship and acts of righteousness). Without a doubt, the Torah charts a path toward a better world. But claiming that it is of equal—or even greater—importance than fulfilling a mitzvah that Maimonides asserts is worth breaking the Sabbath for, is nothing short of heresy. 

Helping Israel in its fight for survival, doing everything in one’s power to save life, prevent injury, help the needy and free the captives—there can be nothing more sacred than this.

To be sure, there are some ultra-Orthodox who have joined the fight, even at the cost of being ostracized or even disowned by their families and community. Their sacrifice is one we must all acknowledge and show appreciation for, for it truly shows their love and commitment to God, Torah and Israel.

This, for me, today at least, is the highest form of observing the holiday of Shavuot, a.k.a Chag Matan Torah, the holiday that celebrates the giving of the Torah to the Jewish People: To study Torah, to live by its teaching, and to come to the aid and defense of the people who have sworn allegiance to it.

May Israel continue to live by the light of Torah. Adonai ‘oz l’amo yiten; Adonai y’varech et amo ba-shalom. May God give strength to God’s People; may God bless us all with peace.

© 2024 by Boaz D. Heilman

Mapping the Wilderness: Numbers.24

Mapping the Wilderness: Numbers.24

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 7, 2024

I have to admit—my interest in math dropped precipitously in 10th grade, when advanced algebra, trigonometry and calculus became the focus of the curriculum. My pursuits at the time were directed elsewhere, and honestly, I don’t regret my choices.

For many people, however, mathematics means more than balancing one’s checkbook or figuring out how much tip to leave. It’s a way of understanding the universe around us, a method for building bridges across time or place.  

Since the dawn of humanity, people have always loved numbers. They loved to play with them and learned to build with them. But in addition to helping us calculate and measure, numbers were given additional, metaphysical meanings. So, for example, in Judaism, the number 7 is especially meaningful, so much so that it embodies holiness. And in fact the Passover song Echad Mi Yode’a, (“Who knows One?”) connects numbers with important Jewish concepts and beliefs.

Numbers measure not only the physical world, but also unquantifiable values: In Psalm 90:12 we read, “Teach us to number our days.” We measure our lifetime with meaningful benchmarks: from birth to death, through holidays and anniversaries, birthdays and other life-cycle events.

The Mishna tractate Pirkei Avot (“The Chapters of the Fathers”) has this lesson for us:

   “[Rabbi Yehuda ben Teima] used to say: At five years of age [a child is ready to begin] the study of         Scripture; at ten, the Mishnah. At thirteen, he [or she] is subject to the commandments; at fifteen the        study of Talmud. At eighteen one can enter the bridal canopy; at twenty the pursuit [of livelihood].         At thirty, one reaches the peak of strength; at forty, wisdom. At fifty they give counsel. At sixty they        reach old age; at seventy, the fullness of years. At eighty, power; at ninety, a bent body. At one                 hundred, one is counted as good as dead and gone completely out of the world” [Pirkei Avot 5:21].

The Torah’s fourth book, Bamidbar (In the Wilderness), which we begin studying this week, is also known by its English title “Numbers.” That is because it begins with God commanding Moses to conduct a census of the Israelites at this point in their wanderings. But this title can be misleading, as there is so much more than just counting that happens in the story. 

While in the Talmud this book is sometimes referred to as Chumash Ha-Pekudim, “The Book of Counting,” its title in the Torah, Bamidbar, refers to the wider scope the book has: In the Wilderness. Having left Egypt, received the Torah and constructed the Tabernacle, the Israelites are now at the start of the longest part of their journey to the Promised Land. The wilderness is a region that is unmapped and unknown. It can be beautiful and inspirational (it is, after all, where Moses first encountered God and where the Israelites received the Torah). But it can also be deceivingly dangerous. That’s why the first thing Moses must do at this point is to measure the size and strength of his people. This knowledge will lead to the next step, organizing and directing them to specific functions and purposes. Some will serve in the military; others will become kohanim (priests) or Levites, whose tasks will involve the service of God in the Tabernacle.

To be fair, however, the English title of the book, “Numbers,” too carries more than just literal meaning. As in Psalm 90:12, to number also means to search for, and find, value and meaning.

In the end, both titles encompass more than meets the eye. Both stand for mapping unknown regions, including the many paths we take in life. More than only a geographical place on a map, the wilderness represents a state of being bound by the two landmarks of birth and death; it forms a bridge from ignorance to knowledge, from innocence to wisdom.

It would be a mistake to think that the Sinai Wilderness—the geographical setting of this part of our history—was unpopulated. Then as now, it has always been the bridge between two continents, on which material goods, culture and ideas went back and forth. Mystics and wanderers; outlaws and marauders; refugees and trade caravans from all corners of the world crossed paths in the Sinai Wilderness. The Israelites’ journey through it will test the people physically and spiritually. Their experiences here, the many lessons taught and learned, the encounters with different cultures and tribes, will define and strengthen them along their path. 

The ultimate teaching of this book of the Torah is that we can find purpose and meaning everywhere and at every moment. Each step we take counts. Every choice we make will carry consequences, leading us—hopefully—to the desired result. God has given us a goal: The Promised Land. Now it is up to us to chart the course.

© 2024 by Boaz D. Heilman