When Fear Becomes Terror: Shelach Lecha.22

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Fear and faith are two sides of the same coin. They both play an important part in the continuous struggle for survival. Fear keeps us from safe from danger; faith keeps us going when the going gets tough. Of course, when fear gets out of hand, it can also hold us back from making progress. Likewise, faith too, when it turns fanatical, holds its own dangers. In this week’s Torah portion, Shelach Lecha (“Send Forth,” Numbers 13:1—15:41), we see an example of the fear that holds us back, and the consequences of giving in to our terrors.

“Shelach lecha!” God commands Moses. “Send men to spy out the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the children of Israel” (Num. 13:1, NKJV). From this verse we see that God’s faith is unwavering. There is no doubt of God’s full commitment to the promise God had made to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Now, four hundred years later, it is their descendants, the People of Israel, whose faith is weak and who need a lesson in courage and conviction.

Moses does as commanded; he sends out twelve spies, each a tribal leader. The spies scout the land for forty days, and at the end bring back their report. There’s good news and bad news. The land is indeed fertile and fruitful, as God and Moses had promised. As proof, they display a gigantic cluster of grapes and a sampling of other fruit. However—it is populated by fierce men who live in heavily fortified cities. Resorting to legend and myth, ten of the twelve spies describe these “men” as “Anakites, sons of Nephilim” (giants descended from mythological, semi-divine beings first mentioned in Genesis 6:4). What’s worse, they continue, “We were like grasshoppers in our own sight, and so we were in their sight.” 

The disparity in size and power that they describe is stunning, causing shock and fear to spread among the people.

Only two of the spies—Joshua and Caleb—reassure the Israelites that, with God at their side, victory is possible.

But the Israelites do not listen to them. Instead, they rebel, announcing their intention to return to Egypt rather than confront what they see as certain death at the hands of “giants."

Not unexpectedly, God is incensed at this failure of faith and follows through with extreme consequences: The Israelites will have to remain wanderers in the wilderness—an entire year for each day the spies scouted out the land, forty years in total. Additionally, during this time, all those born into slavery in Egypt will die out in the desert; only those born free would be able to enter the Promised Land. 

It's a tough prospect, but for the Israelites, these forty years will turn out to be a period of growth and learning. Their faith in God and Moses will be tested many times. Yet perhaps because of the struggle, or perhaps because they will need to weather harsh conditions in the Wilderness, they will emerge from this period stronger than ever. Their faith in themselves and in God will increase with each encounter. And at the end of the forty years, they will prove true descendants of Jacob, whose God-given name, Israel, means, “You will struggle with humans and with the Divine, and you will prevail.”

In this Torah portion, through the story of the twelve spies sent out to scout the Promised Land, the Israelites learn an important lesson: Fear can be helpful when it keeps us safe. However, when we let night terrors rule our thoughts and actions, progress becomes impossible. 

At the end of the day, fear holds us back, but hope and faith have the power propel us forward. With God’s help we have the power to overcome any obstacle that stands in our way. 

That is what has kept us going for more than three thousand years now.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

“Just So”: Be-ha'alotecha.22

 “Just So”

D’var Torah for Parashat Be-ha’alotecha

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Of all the symbols of Judaism, the Menorah is the oldest and most enduring. First mentioned in context of the Tabernacle—the Tent of Meeting, the portable Temple that served the Israelites during their 40-year wandering in the Sinai Wilderness—the seven-branch candelabra precedes by several hundred years other familiar symbols such as the mezuzah, the star of David and the chai. Though the other three often appear as jewelry, the Menorah stands alone, occupying honored space at temples and synagogues, on holy book covers, and as art and ritual objects in homes and museums.

Images of the Menorah are also found in ancient carvings, signifying sacred space and identity. Through millennia, city gates and burial grounds displayed the symbol in a prominent place, identifying Jewish presence and use. 

Originally formed of solid hammered gold, in the year 70 of the Common Era the Menorah that stood at the Temple in Jerusalem was captured by the victorious Roman armies and taken as booty to Rome. The Arch of Titus in the Roman Forum still displays a relief featuring the Menorah, symbol of the suppression of the Judean revolt in the year 70. 

After the destruction of Jerusalem, the seat of Jewish authority was moved to the Galilee, in northern Israel, with menorahs now signifying the enduring presence of Jewish life and ritual in Israel.

In its eight-candle version, the Hanukkah menorah (called hanukkiah in Hebrew) reminds us of the miracle of Jewish survival through the ages despite oppression and persecution.

In this week’s Torah portion, Be-ha’alotecha (“When You Kindle,” Numbers 8:1-12:16) the Torah gives instructions for lighting the Menorah. The section concludes with the words, “And Aaron did so… as Adonai had commanded Moses” (Num. 8:3). These few and simple words stand in stark contrast from the detailed description of the Menorah itself, and they merit a wonderful explanation by Rashi, the eminent 11th century commentator. The question he raises is, why does the Torah need to state this in the first place? Would Aaron not do what God commands? Rather, teaches Rashi, “This shows Aaron’s virtue in that he did not deviate [from God’s command].” In this explanation, Rashi refers to an early midrash that emphasizes the importance of the continuity of Jewish tradition: “The sons were equated with their father” (Sifrei Bamidbar 60). Aaron not only followed God’s instruction diligently, he also took care to teach his children to do the same.

Another commentary underscores Aaron’s humility. The Menorah is symbol of God’s light and instruction. Kindling its lights was seen as one of the most important functions assigned to the High Priest. It could have resulted in excessive pride, but not so with Aaron. In this interpretation, it was Aaron himself who did not deviate, whose character was not altered by his important role. Aaron carried on his accustomed work of seeking peace, caring for his people and offering solace and comfort in their time of need.

Though synagogues and temples have now replaced the Temple in Jerusalem, we, the Jewish People, have learned to turn our homes into “mini-temples.” Here we are the priests, entrusted with carrying on our ancient traditions and culture. And when we kindle Shabbat candles; when we teach our children to follow God’s instructions; and when we follow God’s teaching with love and humility, we prove ourselves true disciples of Moses and Aaron. We too do it “just so,” just as God and the Torah command.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

Taming the Uncharted Wilderness: Naso.22

Taming the Uncharted Wilderness

D’var Torah for Parashat Naso

Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Bamidbar—in the wilderness; the title of the fourth book in the Torah is at once both reality and metaphor. The physical setting is the Sinai Wilderness, but the lessons are just as much about navigating the meandering paths Life takes us on.

With the Exodus from Egypt now behind them, the Israelites have begun their journey towards the Promised Land. The Wilderness is uncharted territory, harsh and inhospitable. Located at the crossroads of three continents, the Sinai Peninsula is a desert where nomadic tribes interact—sometimes peacefully, other times not—with caravans of traders. Throughout the ages, it has seen empires clashing for power and control. And in the midst of it all, some 3200 years ago—it was the setting for the wandering tribes of Israel, a nation of nearly 700,000 men, women and children (at least according to the Torah’s account) trying to find its way, seeking to instill a measure of order, purpose and direction into its existence.

In this week’s Torah portion, Naso (“Count,” Numbers 4:21-7:89), Moses continues his task of organizing the Israelites by tribe and clan, assigning duties and obligations. But even as he attempts to bring order into the life of the newborn nation, chaos is always on the sidelines, ready to pounce. The dangers aren’t only on the outside. Human emotions can easily turn into dangerously uncontrollable passions, with chaos the inevitable result.

The Torah teaches that love and faith are sacred sentiments. But when love turns into jealousy and when faith becomes frenzied zeal, any semblance of order immediately disappears.

Naso therefore tries to set rules meant to contain these dangerous passions. It sets limits to religious fervor and ordains rituals that are meant to placate the jealous heart.

Even today we see how dangerous these two passions can be. Domestic violence is often directed against children or the elderly. Yet women account for the largest number of its victims. In Naso Moses sets up rules and rituals pertaining to a sota—a married woman suspected of adultery. Couched in misogyny, fear and superstition, the Ordeal of Bitter Water is horrifying and humiliating. Yet it has a much greater purpose in mind: to save the woman’s life. 

The ritual is effective in that it takes matters out of the jealous husband’s hands and turns them over to a hopefully more objective priest. It’s also intentionally designed to prove the woman’s innocence. Yet it is still a vile and horrible ordeal. It also reinforces the continuing subjugation of women, part of a primitive social order that most of the civilized world rejects today, yet which still exists in many places around the world. “Honor killing” is still an accepted practice in much of the Near East, while even in more advanced cultures the incidence of violence against women remains appallingly high. This week’s Torah portion, while unable to root out this evil, at least attempts to control it. 

Also in this portion, and serving a similar function, is the case of the Nazirite—a person who takes on extraordinary vows of religious devotion. While faith can lead to acts of goodness, it can also become extreme and dangerous. Throughout history we see how easily religious zeal turns into intolerance. Religious hatred has the power to destroy not only individual lives, but also entire nations. Naso, again in an effort to limit what it cannot eradicate, therefore sets boundaries to such behavior. 

Arguably more than other Torah portions, Naso reflects the culture of the time. Yet the mindset and behavior that it describes are still widespread today. Faith and love enrich our lives and give us purpose and direction. But when they adopt extreme forms, they result in conflict and chaos. 

As we try to navigate the uncharted wilderness that life sometimes is, this portion offers important cautions and guidelines. Its teaching is just as important today as it was thousands of years ago.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Sum of All Numbers: Bamidbar.22

 The Sum of All Numbers

D’var Torah for Parashat Bamidbar

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 1, 2022

As most people see it, more is better.

We measure success by how much we earn, or by how large our homes, backyards and cars are. Elections are often decided not only by the number of votes a candidate gets, but also by how much money enters their coffers. Competitions are won by numbers, as are bets; while “influencers” get their title by the number of followers they have on social media.

In our world we organize our lives by numbers—months and days, years and anniversaries.

Our fundamental sacred text, the Bible, is also filled with numbers—beginning with the number of days God worked in creating the world, going on to the size of Noah’s ark and the number of days that the ark remained borne upon the waters of the Flood. 

Yet some things are immeasurable, such as God’s promise to Abraham, “I will bestow my blessing upon you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars of heaven and the sands on the seashore.” 

Some things cannot be measured. Values exceed any effort to quantify or estimate. Holiness expands to no end, while evil plumbs the inestimable depths of human imagination and capacity.

Superstition has it that counting people is bad. This superstition is reflected several times in the Bible, where a direct census of the people leads to plagues and other disasters. In the fourth book of the Torah, Numbers, Moses avoids this mistake by counting not the people, but rather the half-shekel coin that each individual must bring forth to be counted.

This may reflect the superstitious belief, but it also has at least two important lessons for us. 

First is that everyone is equal in the eyes of God. No one, for richer or poorer, is of greater importance than another. Before God, all are equal. There are no kings and no servants; a half-shekel’s worth each, no more and no less.

The other important lesson is that human beings, no matter how insignificant in the universe, also possess infinite potential. When we think of people merely as numbers, we become statistics, soul-less bodies without imagination, without the power to love or hate, to feel pain or inflict it. Yet the truth is that in these respects humanity is almost limitless. 

In this week’s Torah portion, Bamidbar (“In the Wilderness,” Numbers 1:1-4:20), Moses is commanded to take a census of the Israelites. But the purpose of this census is not merely to count the Israelites, but rather to make each one count. To make everyone matter. To enable each of them to rise to their full and unique potential.  

The Rabbis teach that the value of the life of each human being is equivalent to the entire universe. Each one of us contains an infinite number of possibilities. We are truly as immeasurable as the stars in the heavens and the sands on the seashore. To think otherwise of ourselves, or anyone else, is to make a mockery of the endless potential planted within us by the mysterious and infinite force we call God.   

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

Keeping The Promise Alive: Bechukotai.22

 Keeping The Promise Alive

D’var Torah for Parashat Bechukotai

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Sometimes potted plants need to be replanted. The root system may have outgrown the original pot, or perhaps the soil isn’t appropriate, or has become depleted of nutrients.

This week’s Torah portion (Bechukotai, “By My Laws,” the last parasha in the book of Leviticus, chapters 26:3—27:34) contains a list of consequences resulting from following (or failing to follow) God’s commandments. One of these refers particularly to the laws regarding the maintenance of the Land. It’s pretty simple: If we follow God’s laws, then God “Will give the rain in its season, the earth shall yield its produce, and the trees of the field their fruit. Your threshing shall last till the time of vintage, and the vintage shall last till the time of sowing; you shall eat your bread to the full, and dwell in your land safely” (Lev. 26:4-5, NKJV). However, if we fail to observe these laws, then “Your land shall not yield its produce, nor shall the trees of the land yield their fruit…” (Lev. 26:20, 32). God “Will make your cities waste… and will bring the land into desolation.” 

The worst of it is that, because of the ensuing desolation, the People of Israel would be dispersed to far and widespread places all over the world.

Yet God promises that even in the Diaspora, the Covenant would remain intact. Even when transplanted to foreign soil, as long as we held on to our faith, the People would remain God’s Chosen People and eventually would return to the Promised Land.

Throughout the 2000 years of the Diaspora caused by the Roman destruction of Judea, the validity of this promise has proven true. Despite oppression and persecution, the Jewish People have held fast to our beliefs. Adapting to various climates and cultures, we continued studying our Sacred Texts, we continued following the Commandments. There were dark times when we were forced to abandon or hide our faith, yet even then many continued practicing Judaism in secret, or held on to elements of the faith even without understanding the reason why. 

Amazingly, even in the darkest of times, the bloody crusades, the pogroms in Russia, Ukraine and elsewhere, even during the Holocaust, many found the strength to hold on to their faith despite the horror and tragedy. 

Some people may see the Torah as no more than stories or legends meant for a specific people and time. Yet the eternal truth of Bechukotai is found in the fact that Am Yisrael Chai, “the Jewish People yet lives.” Throughout our history, we learned to adapt while keeping our roots intact. No matter the soil or culture that surrounded us, we kept our traditions alive. We learned to adapt the ancient laws—sometimes with greater flexibility, at other times more stringently. But we never abandoned our basic beliefs. We maintained the connection to our lifeline, to the Source that kept nourishing and sustaining us. 

To this day, the spiritual strength that the book of Leviticus imbues within us remains undiminished. We live in various lands—including now, thank God, also in the Land of Israel—while holding on to the goal Moses had set for us: to be a holy people, a light unto the nations. We do so not by being “holier than thou,” but rather by adhering to the basic premise of Leviticus: that being civil to one another, maintaining our dignity and humanity especially when bigotry, prejudice and hatred proliferate around us, will lead us forward despite all the challenges and obstacles along the way.

The People of Israel may have been uprooted and transplanted many times over throughout our history; yet, just as this portion promises, we continue producing fragrant blossom and resplendent fruit. It is the greatest possible blessing.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Reset Button: Behar.22

The Reset Button: Behar

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Sometimes it seems that things go out of control. No sooner are we out of one situation than another comes up. Pandemic is quickly followed by war; one horrific shooting comes on the heels of another. Not to complain, but have you noticed gas prices? And baby formula shortage??? Tempers flare and misunderstandings turn into squabbles; friends get dropped; families are torn apart.

Where is the stop and reset button for heaven’s sake?

This week’s Torah portion, Behar (“At the Mountain,” Leviticus 25:1-26:2) seems to anticipate our question, offering us exactly that: a reset button: A fiftieth year jubilee. Every fifty years everything returns to “normal.” Families reunite; everyone comes home again, turning to one another with an outstretched hand and warm embrace. Loans are forgiven, slaves are set free. Every seven years (and then, in addition, on the fiftieth) even the land is given a year off: No cultivation, no reaping of the aftergrowth of the harvest: The abundance is returned whence it came—to enrich the earth. 

The highest principle of our Republic is found in this unmatched portion (Lev. 25:10): “Proclaim liberty throughout the land for all its inhabitants.” It’s hard to compete with this lofty idea. 

However, what Moses could see from the mountaintop was an idealized vision, not easy to accomplish. It would require that we find humility and compassion within us, not only resentment and anger.  

Like all ideas of perfection, this one too may seem impossible. Who in their right mind would be willing to release their slaves? Who would leave their land untended and permit wild animals to forage in it? Where would banks and the market be if loans were forgiven every fifty years? It would be chaos!

But the Torah anticipates this too and has some suggestions, such as that the value of the land should not be measured by some imaginary matrix, but rather by how many years are left before the Jubilee year, when the property would return to its original owner. The value of an orchard or vineyard should be calculated not only by how much fruit it may yield, but also by how many harvests are yet to come before the land is permitted to rest. 

The closer you get to the Jubilee Year, so does the retail value decrease. No price gouging permitted.

If all this feels so contrary to human nature, perhaps it’s because we as a society have become arrogant, proud with our possessions and always wanting more. Our biggest need has become not to fit in, but rather to dominate; not merely to blend harmoniously with nature and all life, but rather to control and repress. Winner takes all.

Maybe that’s why this portion is so important. Its task is to remind us of the vision of the way things should be, and how to get there.

The lesson of this portion is that our purpose here on earth is to remind us of our own value; we cannot consider ourselves so important that we allow our egos to get out of hand. We do not own and master land, people or animals. Rather, we are here to cultivate the earth, not deplete it. To care for one another, not to hurt with rocks or words, but rather to care for all those who dwell on it. This, Behar tells us, is the way to set things right once again, to ensure that things go well again.   

It’s time to push the reset button, and it starts with ourselves.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

A Delicate Balance: Emor.22

 

A Delicate Balance

D'var Torah for Parashat Emor

This week’s Torah portion, Emor (“Speak,” Leviticus 21:1-24:12) contains rules regulating the behavior of the priests, in ritual as well as private life. These rules reflect extremely high standards, nearly impossible to achieve, covering everything from marriage to mourning; from rules on what they could or couldn’t do while in a state of impurity (such as illness), and even—in detail—describing physical flaws that may disqualify a priest from officiating. 

The implied expectation is that only a person of perfect physical and moral qualities may perform the sacred tasks. 

This, however, would leave unrequited Moses’s most ardent wish, “May all Israel be a nation of priests, a holy people.” Obviously, based on this portion, this could never be. This contradiction is puzzling, and most of the early commentators treated it as a reflection of the ancient days when priests served at the Temple, but irrelevant in our day. Only Rashi, the great rabbi and commentator of the 11th century, attempts to give another explanation, writing succinctly (yet enigmatically), that the purpose of these rules is “to caution the major along with the minor” (al ha-g’dolim v‘al ha-k’tanim). Is Rashi referring to a caste system differentiating between the priests and the laypeople? The rich and the poor? Or perhaps adults and children? This is unclear.

Perhaps, however, Rashi highlights a different teaching: that in carrying out all his sacred duties, the priest would need to focus both on the larger goal as well as the details of his obligation.

Perfection is an impossible bar to reach. Rashi teaches that getting there is much more important.

Sometimes, when we only keep our eyes on the prize, we tend to overlook how we get there. We might be tempted to cut corners, or gloss over some of the more challenging tasks. No one would notice, we tell ourselves. Other times, we might be so carried away by an idea or commandment that we become blind to the reality around us. Some time ago a person consulted with me about her son, who had become Orthodox and had become inflexible with regards to kashrut, the strict dietary laws commanded by the Rabbis. It reached the point where the young man refused to eat at his parents’ home. In this case, while his intentions were good, the son overlooked an even higher mitzvah, kibbud av va-‘em –-honoring one’s parents. Sometimes we try so hard to get somewhere that we fail to pay close attention to how we get there.

The opposite may also true, of course. The myriads of details that we encounter along our path can be overwhelming, causing some to become lost, unable to perceive a larger purpose. 

The art of balancing vision with everyday behavior is not easy to master.

Sometimes it requires us to stop, to step back and gage our course and direction. To assess our own strength and ability. To think things out. And there are times when we find ourselves in need of revisiting a situation, to try and rectify some details we may have missed the first, or even second time. 

Perfection isn’t the goal. Getting there is. That’s what this portion, Emor, teaches us. As Rashi explains, it’s about ha-g’dolim, the major, the important, the visionary matters; v’ha-k’tanim, as well as all the finer details along the path. 

While some of the commandments in this portion may have become irrelevant in our own day, the idea behind them hasn’t. It’s still about how we make our lives meaningful, how to turn life, along with all its challenges, into a blessing. Rashi empowers us all to sanctify ourselves, to fulfill Moses’s prophecy and make all Israel a nation of priests. His gentle reminder is that the best way to do that is by finding the delicate balance between maintaining the sacred obligation entrusted to us and how we live our daily lives.

© 2022 By Boaz D. Heilman