Cities of Refuge

“You shall designate cities for yourselves; they shall be Cities of Refuge for you, and a murderer who killed a person unintentionally shall flee there” Bamidbar  (Numbers) 35:11

As Am Yisrael is about to enter the Promised Land, Moshe is instructed to designate six “cities of refuge,” three on each side of the Jordan river, to which anyone who accidentally kills a person can escape.  The purpose of such cities is to provide refuge, where the killer will be safe from being killed by a blood relative of the dead.

 

The vengeance of blood (or blood revenge) was a central concept in justice systems across the Ancient Near East. It refers to the right or duty of a family member to avenge the killing of a relative—usually through killing the murderer. This practice shaped legal codes, tribal customs, and religious thought in many ancient cultures. 

The Code of Hammurabi (18th century BCE), for instance, includes provisions for blood vengeance. In case someone kills another, the victim’s family could put that person to death. Retribution, in this Code, was based on lex talionis, “an eye for an eye.” Blood vengeance was also present in Hittite, Ugarit and Canaanite as well as in the ancient Hebrew laws.

However, as Lord Rabbi Sacks explains, in early societies, where blood vengeance was practiced, “there was a concern that people would take the law into their own hands,” which “would begin a cycle of vengeance and retaliation,” where, “one revenge-killing leading to another and another, until the community had been decimated.” 

In order to prevent unjust violence, it was, therefore, important to distinguish between murder, a deliberate killing and manslaughter, unintentional death. 

Over time, Ancient Near Eastern Societies, such as those mentioned above, moved toward a centralized legal system which distinguished between these two forms of killings. It gradually restricted blood vengeance as well as allowing kings and temples to assume more authority in criminal justice. Additionally, legal codes ( e.g.,Hammurabi, Mosaic law) attempted to channel vengeance through regulated procedures or sanctuary laws and permitted compensation in the form of monetary payment in place of blood revenge. 

While the notion of sanctuary or places of refuge which are one of the themes in this week’s Parasha, Masei, also existed in Mesopotamian societies, these were mostly confined to religious sites. The formalized, legalistic system of the Mosaic Cities of Refuge, though, is a distinct development. They did not have solely religious and legal importance; they also had moral and symbolic significance. 

Firstly, these cities did not only provide protection from vengeance, mostly for the accidental killer from the blood avenger who could seek retribution. They also prevented further bloodshed and more killings. 

Secondly, legally, the Mosaic concept provided due process. Although the main purpose of cities of refuge was to protect the accidental killer, in practice, murderers who killed intentionally went there as well (Talmud, Makkot 9b and 12a). Upon arriving in the City of Refuge, the court sent messengers to escort that person while, also, acting as his bodyguards and bring him in for a hearing. If the judges decreed that the murder was intentional, the verdict would be accordingly. However, if the judges ruled that his act of killing was unintentional, the messengers would accompany him back to the city of refuge for a mandatory stay. So long as the killers remained within the city limits, they were protected by law. They had to remain there until the death of the High Priest.

The mandatory stay in the City of Refuge is aimed at teaching a symbolic and spiritual lesson. The symbolic exile to a City of Refuge suggests a form of penance and moral reflection. It is aimed to tell us that even unintentional death is serious and requires atonement and rehabilitation. According to Ramba”n, it is a means to carry out Divine justice.Taking a life, he suggests, whether intentional or not, upsets the moral balance of the world.

The spirtual lesson relates to the revered status of the High Priest who represented the collective soul of the People. His death, which provided communal atonement and allowed the killer to leave the city, stressed the High Priest’s spiritual role for the nation. 

Midrash takes the importance of the role of the City of Refuge even one step higher. It explicitly compares the City of Refuge to Torah. “Just as the Cities of Refuge save lives, so, too, does Torah.”Midrash Tanhuma Buber (Appendix to Va’Etchanan,4).  In other words, just as someone, who accidentally killed someone, could find safety in a City of Refuge, engaging with Torah provides spiritual refuge, protection and healing.

It is noteworthy to mention that to ensure the clear and open access to justice, Talmud stresses the importance of precise and well marked signage to cities of refuge. “The roads to the Cities of Refuge were to be well-maintained and signposted….” (Makkot, 9b-10a). Likewise, Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Rotzeach u’Shmirat Nefesh (law of Murder and Protection of Life) where Ramba”m codifies the laws of the cities of refuge, he writes: “The court must prepare and repair the roads leading to the Cities of Refuge…They must build bridges, remove obstacles, and post signs: ‘Miklat (refuge)! Miklat!’ so that no one errs on the way. (Hilchot Rotzeach 8:5).

The sanctity of life is of utmost importance in the Torah and Jewish tradition. The Cities of Refuge reflect this value. They highlight the Torah’s underlying view of justice, combining accountability, compassion and restorative principles. They offer a deeply humane approach to dealing with bloodshed, tragedy, moral responsibility, spiritual growth and societal healing.

Judaism and Some Women's Rights

 

                          "Why should our father’s name be eliminated from his family because he had no son?" - Numbers 27:4

One of the themes of this week's Torah portion, Pinchas, concerns women's rights to inheritance and ownership of property in Jewish Law.

Modern - day Women's Rights movements, as we know, have argued, over time, for social, political, and economic equality of the sexes. Ancient Judaism, as history shows, arose, as a religion, in the cradle of the patriarchal world of the Ancient Near Eastern cultures and, similarly, did not set women’s rights as its mission.  

These patriarchal societies, as the name suggests, were highly male dominated where men held primary power, with authority in political leadership, moral authority, social privilege and ownership of property. It meant that male heads of households controlled family structures, inheritance law and religious life, among other spheres of influence. 

Though in some cultures (notably Mesopotamia), women had legal rights to own property, manage businesses, initiate divorce or even hold spiritual roles, these were exceptions and reserved mostly to the elite class.  Even the Hammurabi Code (a legal code dating back to Babylonia, circa 1754 BCE), which provided wives and widows with some protective regulations, considered progressive for the time, still treated women as some form of possession.

Despite the restrictions on women in ancient Jewish law, Judaism specified some rights and valued roles that stood out when set side by side with other contemporaneous ancient societies. It is safe to argue that Judaism contains some proto - feminist elements in comparison to other archaic Near Eastern religions.

One can spot such elements already in the story of creation, recounted in the book of Bre’esheet. There, Torah tells us that “G-d created humankind in His image, male and female He created them” (1:27). In a world such as the Ancient Near East, where myths demean women, the notion that a woman is created in G-d’s image was considered radical.

Another example pointing at some egalitarian overtones in the Eden setting, can be found in Bre’esheet 2:24 where it states, “Therefore, a man shall leave his father and his mother, and cleave to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.” This decree which goes counter to the practice of patrilocality, exercised in other societies, at that time, where wives moved to their husbands' family home suggesting deep union, was revolutionary.

This week’s Parashah takes the titular theme one step further. It is a landmark Torah episode that addresses inheritance rights and highlights women’s role in shaping Jewish law.

The Parashah informs us that prior to entering the Promised Land, G-d instructs Moshe to partition the Land according to tribes, more precisely to the males in each tribe. In the case of death, only the sons will receive their father’s inheritance, thus ensuring that it remains in the family.

One family in the tribe of Menashe, the Zelophehad family, had only daughters. Their father died in the desert. The five daughters are concerned that they will not be entitled to land. They turn to Moshe to request their share.

Since patrilineality, the practice whereby descent and inheritance pass through the male line was the convention, at that time, it was an eventuality unexpected by Moshe. He, therefore, turns to G-d. G-d sides with the daughters, upholds their righteous claim and orders Moshe to grant them their request. This, naturally, is remarkable, especially in a tribal society where land was passed only through males. What is even more momentous is that the Torah adjusts the inheritance law in response to women’s advocacy, challenging existing norms.

There was, however, one condition to granting their request. They must marry men from their own tribe.  Rabbi Sacks sums this episode very succinctly, “The daughters did not lose their rights to the land,” he states, “but they did lose some freedom in choosing their marriage partner.”

Many Jewish scholars claim that it is the wisdom of Zelophehad’s daughters which brought about that outstanding achievement. Here is an overview of what some Jewish sources consider wise about them.

Midrash Sifrei (Numbers 133) states, “The daughters of Zelphehad were wise, they were interpreters of the Torah.” They understood that the purpose of the inheritance laws was to preserve each family’s stake in the land. By requesting an inheritance, they upheld the underlying value of the law, not just its letter.

Rash”i believes that it was their right approach which was respectful and sound that convinced G-d to respond favourably. “The daughters of Zelophehad speak rightly,” says G-d (Numbers 27:7). “Fortunate is the person,” claims Rash”i, in his commentary on this verse, “whose words the Holy One, blessed be He, agrees with.”

Midrash Tanchuma (Pinchas 9) asserts that their wisdom is reflected in their love for the Land which signals their deep faith in the promise of the Land of Yisrael.

The Babylonian Talmud (Baba Batra 119b) praises them for bringing a question whose answer was included in the Torah but had not yet been explicated. “They saw what Moshe did not see,” it states. Their question created a new legal precedent.

Zelophehad’s daughters have become an enduring model of righteous, intelligent and effective contributors to women’s rights within the Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern context. They turned their personal grievances into a lasting legal reform which made them pioneering figures of moral courage and legal influence at challenging and critical times in Jewish history.

Shabbat Shalom, dear Am Yisrael and fellow Jews and a peaceful weekend to all.

The Balance Sheet of Moshe's Sin and Its Punishment

 

“.........therefore, you will not bring this congregation into the land that I have given them.” – Numbers 20:12

Over three decades ago, I visited Jordan for the first time. One of the points of our tour was the site of the Biblical Mount Nevo, part of the Abarim mountain range. As I was standing there, inhaling the breathtaking view of “The Promised Land,” I could not help but think of Moshe, the greatest leader of Am Yisrael. The words of G-d’s decree to him, as expressed in Deuteronomy 32:52, “For from afar you will see the land, but you will not come there, to the land I am giving the children of Yisrael” were echoing against my Jewish essence and aching my heart. In my mind’s eye, I could picture Moshe standing there seeing his life’s goal his dissolving into dust. G-d delivered the punishment He had decreed, as stated in the verse above from this week’s Parasha, Chukat.

Many Jewish scholars have deliberated and discussed the incident related to the verse above. There are two questions concerning Moshe’s action and its ensuing punishment that I would like to address here.

The first focuses on the sin itself. The Parasha tells us that Bnei Yisrael are thirsty. G-d commands Moshe and Aharon to speak to the rock so that water will come forth. Instead, Moshe hits the rock, twice. The question that is begging to be asked is, if the directive given by G-d mentions speaking to the rock, why would hitting it turn Moshe's act from what might be regarded a minor form of disobedience into a sin, especially in light of past experience where G-d orders him to hit a rock, at Horev, in order to draw water (Exodus 17:1-7)?  

Rash”i bases his answer on Midrash. He believes that speaking would have been a greater Kiddush Hashem (sanctification of G-d’s name), indicating that even a rock obeys G-d’s word.

Ramba”m suggests that Moshe’s sin was losing his temper and calling the people “rebels.” It was a failure of leadership by displaying anger thus setting a poor example.

I would like to take Ramba"m’s interpretation one step further, one that is not a traditional theological one. I would suggest a psychological perspective where the act of hitting the rock might be perceived as “projection.” In psychoanalytical terms, “projection” is a defense mechanism where  internal frustration, anger or impatience, in this case with Am Yisrael, manifests itself physically by hitting the rock instead of speaking to it.

The second question has, likewise, been preoccupying our sages over time. It centers on balancing between the sin and its punishment.

Jewish tradition emphasizes that sin has consequences. The Babylonian Talmud clarifies that punishment should be proportionate. It was Rabbi Shmuel Bar Nachmani, speaking for Rabbi Yonatan, who coined the Hebrew phrase, “Mida Keneged Mida” meaning “measure for measure.” (Sanhedrin, p.90, column a). The phrase refers to the concept of Divine retribution, where deeds are met with a corresponding consequence, negative or positive, suggesting that G-d’s judgment is not arbitrary but rather reflects the nature of the action performed.

Moreover, the Talmud clarifies that warnings are necessary before melting out punitive action. “Ein onshin elah im kein mazhirim” is a Talmudic dictum which means that a punitive action is not meted out for the transgression of a prohibition unless there is a prior scriptural warning. (Makkot 17b).

It is obvious that Moshe was not forewarned about any consequences that his actions might carry. However, the more important part of this question, as crystallized by Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, is what "offence could warrant so great a punishment as not to be privileged to see the conclusion of the mission he had been set by G-d?" A just question. Sacks is not the only one who addresses the disproportionality between Moshe's sin and its punishment.

The commentaries and debates on this issue are as numerous as those who dwelled on it in search of an answer.

In his commentary on the Torah, Rabbi Don Isaac Abravanel (15th-century Spanish-Portuguese commentator) suggests that Moshe's and Aaron's punishment for not entering the Promised Land was not solely due to the incident of striking the rock instead of speaking to it.  Abravanel proposes that their actions were the proximate cause and not the sole cause for their exclusion. 

According to Abravanel, their punishment is the result of past transgressions. Moshe's punishment was connected to his role in the Sin of the Spies, resulting in forty years of wandering. Aaron's punishment, on the other hand, was attributed, by Abravanel, to his participation in the Golden Calf incident. 

Abravanel argues that to protect their honour, these previous sins were not explicitly stated as the reason for their punishment in the biblical text. Their failure to enter the Promised Land was not the consequence of that single mishap but rather a culmination of earlier transgressions. It merely served as the trigger, allowing G-d to administer the punishment for those earlier, more significant sins (Perush Abravanel al HaTorah)

Today, thirty-some years after my visit to Mount Nevo, my heart still throbs at the recollection of the experience. Perhaps G-d held him to a stricter standard, I often wander and he was, therefore, decreed to die in the wilderness, I keep repeating to myself. 

There is no doubt, though, that Moshe was a great leader and a supreme teacher. If not for his great leadership, we would have never left Egypt. His leadership, as we know, was short-lived. His legacy as a teacher, on the other hand, has lasted for over several millennia, and will forever continue to light the path not only for our Jewish People but for humanity as a whole.

Does Being Chosen Mean Being Superior?

 

"You take too much upon yourselves, for the entire congregation are all holy, and the Lord is in their midst. So why do you raise yourselves above the Lord's assembly?" Numbers 16:3

 

This week’s Parasha is Korach.  It is named after the man who leads a rebellion against Moshe and Aharon. His complaint against them, as stated in the verse above, is centered on issues of challenging leadership, authority, and priestly privilege within the community, reflecting internal disagreements and power dynamics.

This, clearly, is an internal or a social conflict within Judaism.

Interestingly enough, as a Jew who lived for a few decades in the Diaspora, I heard, and more than once, a similar argument addressed against Jews, in general, by non-Jews.  “Who do you think you are?” I heard one of them (a professor!) complain, “the 'chosen  people,’ A master race? Aren’t all humans equal in the eyes of G-d?”

While both topics involve perception of superiority, one is a Biblical internal dispute about religious authority, the other, is a prejudiced external narrative rooted and fueled by misinformation and bias rather than factual or theological basis. It is used to justify discrimination, hostility or violence against Jewish communities.

The concept of the Jewish People being the “Chosen People” is, unfortunately, often misunderstood as implying superiority. History is interlaced with anti-semitic stereotypes about Jewish scholars and Jewish superiority. These are complex and have evolved over the centuries.

During the Middle Ages, for instance, Jews were often stereotyped as intellectual and theological rivals of the Church. Some narratives falsely claimed that Jews held secret knowledge or conspired to undermine it.

Even the Enlightenment and Modern eras, when emancipation encouraged Jews to embrace education, were not free of such phenomena. While Jewish scholarship led to contributions to science, philosophy, and medical advancements, anti-semitic stereotypes maliciously depicted Jews as cunning or overly intellectual, implying superiority.

Furthermore, in the late 19th early 20th centuries, some pseudo-scientific racial theories falsely claimed that Jews had innate racial qualities. While categorizing them as biologically inferior, they maintained that Jews possessed intellectual superiority.

In contrast to such accusations, Jewish sources, through the ages, have emphasized that the title “Chosen People” entails responsibility, a sense of mission and service rather than inherent superiority. Here are a few examples.

Rabbi Yehudah Halevi (1075-1141) believes that “G-d chose Yisrael not because of their righteousness, but because of His love and promise to the forefathers.” (Kuzari I:95). In other words, “Being Chosen” is rooted in Divine Covenant, not merit. Other nations, according to him, also have divine missions.

Ramba"m (1138-1204), in Hilchot Teshuvah 5:2, similarly states that there is no inherent spiritual ceiling to non-Jews. The title, “Chosen People,” does not imply that Jews are spiritually superior.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, one of the foremost Jewish theologians and philosophers of the 20th century, stresses that being chosen is not a privilege, but a burden of moral responsibility. That, he asserts, has nothing to do with racial superiority. (G-d in Search of Man, p.424)

In my view, one of the best responses to the accusations of Jewish claims to “racial Jewish superiority” is provided by my favourite Rabbi, Lord Jonathan Sacks. In his book Not in G-d’s Name (pp.198-199), he states, “A master race worships itself; a chosen people worships something beyond itself. A master race values power; a chosen people knows only that it has responsibilities....A master race produces....triumphant inscriptions and a literature of self-congratulations. Israel to a degree unique in history, produced a literature of almost uninterrupted self-criticism....”

The fact, as Rabbi Sacks words imply, is that the Jewish People is neither better, nor worse than others. It is, merely, different. "Ask any anti-semite," proposes Rabbi Yosi Goldman, "and he will confirm it." The notion of “Chosen People,” as our sages repeatedly state, means greater and, sometimes, even harsher responsibility, not privilege. This mission," continues, Rabbi Goldman, "has turned us into one of the most sensitive and humane nations on earth."

What could be better proof of such a conclusion than the fact that the hypocritical world constantly holds Yisrael to a higher moral standard than its neighbours, demanding that it adheres to a different set of ethical principles?

This is who we are! That is what we are! Regardless of how hard and burdensome being Jewish can be, I, personally, would not have it any other way.

Long live Yisrael and the Jewish People. Am Yisrael Chai

From Scouts to Spies

 

“The Evil Inclination appears at first like a guest, then like a master.”                       Bereisheet Rabbah 9:9

This week’s Parasha, Shelach Lecha, begins with G-d’s directive to Moshe, “Send for yourself some men, and let them tour (vayaturu) the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Yisraelites. From each ancestral tribe send one of its leaders” (Bamidbar 13:2).

The men leave on their expedition. It lasts forty days.

When they come back, they show Moshe, Aharon and the community the fruit of the land which they describe as “flowing with milk and honey” (Bamidbar 13:27). “However,” they resume their report, “the people who inhabit the land are mighty; the cities are fortified and huge; and we even saw there the sons of the giant. The Amalekites dwell in the south land; the Hittites, the Jebusites, and the Amorites dwell in the mountainous region; and the Canaanites dwell on the coast and alongside the Jordan River” (Bamidbar 13:28-29). The experience results in their loss of faith in G-d and distrust in their leaders.  Worst of all, though, they have committed a great sin for they have libelled and spoken ill the land that G-d promised their ancestors.

The punishment for that transgression will be forty years of wandering in the desert. This sin is what has come to be known as “The Sin of the Spies.” The men that partook in this episode are referred to as meraglim (spies) at least from the time of the Mishnah (Sanhedrin 10:3).

Oddly enough, the Parasha never refers to them as “spies”.  Neither is their mission described as “spying.” Rather, the Torah uses the verb latour, which means “to tour” or “to scout, to explore,”  which is often used in a more neutral or positive context.  “To spy” – leragel, on the other hand, is generally used with negative connotations, involving secrecy, deception or betrayal.

The question that is, therefore, begging to be asked is, why are these twelve men commonly referred to as “spies” and their affair, as the “Episode of the Spies” in Jewish tradition?

Rabbi Ibn Ezra (1092-1167) suggests that they “produced bad reports,” that is, something that never happened. The “bad reports,” according to him, were not just bad, they were false. Rabbi Obadia Sforno (1470-1580) agrees with Ibn Ezra and emphasizes that the scouts were framing their reports in a way that discouraged the community. They added subjective, fear inducing interpretations, devoid of spiritual trust which revealed their lack of faith in G-d.

 Such deceptive reports tainted their reputation and turned them from scouts into spies. Their act which is truly a sinful act warrants a severe punishment. Am Yisrael is doomed to wander in the desert for forty years.

 It is important to note, at this stage, that there is another version of the same event which is recounted in Deuteronomy 1:22-23. There, Moshe says to Am Yisrael, “Then all of you came to me and said, ‘Let us send men ahead to spy out the land for us and bring back a report about the route we are to take and the towns we will come to.’ The idea seemed good to me; so I selected twelve of you, one man from each tribe.”

Jewish scholars have tried to reconcile apparent contradictions between the two versions. Rash”i  (1040-1105) is one of them. His suggestion of harmonizing the texts is that while in Numbers, G-d initiates the idea of sending people to Canaan, in Deuteronomy, it comes from Am Yisrael and G-d merely grants His Divine permission to their wish. In other words, as Rabbi Sacks interprets Rash”i’s suggestion, “G-d does not stop people from a course of action on which they are intent, even though He knows it may end in tragedy. Such is the nature of the freedom G-d has given to us. It includes the freedom to make mistakes.”

Rabbi Sacks elaborates on the essence of granting “Divine permission.” In his brilliant essay, entitled, Freedom and Practice, Sacks asserts that G-d “wants human beings to construct a society of Freedom. Sacks further explains that “it takes more than a few days or weeks to turn a population of slaves into a nation capable of handling the responsibilities of freedom.” Sacks bases his claim on Ramba”m (1138-1204) who contends that it is irrelevant who sent the men nor the verdict of this episode. What is important, states Ramba”m, is that “another generation rose during the wanderings that had not been accustomed to degradation and slavery” (Guide for the Perplexed III:32). To teach Am Yisrael the meaning of freedom, “G-d had to deprive them of the very freedom He wanted them to create,” in Sacks’s words.

Ramba”n  (1194-1270), likewise, claims that G-d granted and allowed a tour of the land. However, Ramba”n believes that G-d never intended for those who toured or scouted Canaan to return with a negative, verging on evil, report.

The sin, so it seems, originated from those “scouts” who turned into “spies” and not from the act of sending them on the mission. This is the consequence of human nature, as the quote from Bereisheet Rabbah, above, states. When the “evil inclination” abuses the free will awarded to former slaves, it drives them to the illusion of control, of being the masters.

Judaism offers many deep insights into the idea that something initially positive can become negative, depending on intent, misuse, or moral failure. It can convert an innocent "scout" to a sinful "spy" with an ensuing severe punishment. Fortunately, this episode turns into a hard yet great and hopeful lesson. This is the central theme of the episode of “The Spies.” It tells us that the tragedy of the generation that left Egypt was that they were not yet ready to be free and master their own fate. “But their children,” concludes Sacks “would be. That was their consolation.”

Shabbat Shalom

The Blast of the Trumpets

 

“When you go into battle in your own land against an aggressor who is attacking you, sound the blast of the trumpets” - Bamidbar (Numbers) 10:9

 

Last week’s Parashah, “Be’haalotcha,” dwells on preparing Am Yisrael for their journey through the desert on their way to Eretz Yisrael. It also focuses on topics surrounding the Mishkan (Tabernacle), the rituals affiliated with it, preparing the Levites for their tasks in it and the rites linked to the golden Menorah.

As part of it, Moshe is directed by G-d to create two silver trumpets which are intended for his use only. “Make yourself two trumpets of solid silver” Bamidbar (Numbers) 10:2. The aim of this essay is to address this decree and some of its functions.

This commandment has engaged our Jewish scholars over the ages. One of the questions raised by the Rabbis in Midrash Bamidbar Raba,16, is, what is the purpose of the superfluous “yourself?” The answer that Midrash provides is that these, unlike horns, which were commonly used for the same purposes, trumpets were used to welcome kings. The silver trumpets were a symbol of authority. Moshe, as implied here, is to be treated as “a king” since he is unique in the sense that he is the direct messenger of G-d and the unique prophet. These trumpets were archived during Moshe’s lifetime.

Later, as Scriptures tell us, during the times of Beit Hamikdash, trumpets were used, however, only the Priests were in charge blowing them.

Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson suggests that a “beautiful trumpet, even in the midst of producing music, does not draw attention to itself. It is the music it produces, not the horn, which people focus on.” Rabbi Artson further quotes the sages who assert that by sounding the trumpets, we focus attention on G-d in whose service we delight. Our music, according to them, is the sacred deeds we perform while still living.

Another question that preoccupied the Rabbis was the specific directive regarding the use of silver, as opposed to gold or brass, two other metals used in the construction of the Mishkan and its vessels.

 Midrash (Bresheet Raba, 12, 5^th century C.E.) tackles the issue. It suggests that when G-d created the world, He debated with Himself, “If I create the world with the Measure of Mercy alone,” He contended, “its sins will be many and, thus, may not withstand the Measure of Justice which, hopefully, it will.” He, therefore, resolved to create the world with both Measures – Justice and Mercy. Moshe is instructed to make the trumpets from a single block of silver. According to Kabbalah, silver is a metal that symbolizes Mercy, the quality of giving and of loving kindness. Ultimately, it will be the Measure of Mercy that will overcome the Measure of Justice.

The Hebrew word for trumpets is hatzotzrot חצוצרות) . In his commentary on “Be’haalotcha,” the Mezeritcher Maggid (1710-1772), explains that the word can also be interpreted as ‘half forms’(חצאי צורות) . According to him, this interpretation teaches us that Man and G-d are only two half-forms. Man without G-d, his Creator, is only half a form. G-d, he claims, is also lacking when He does not have the connection with the People of Yisrael. Neither, by themselves, is whole. Jointly, though, they are a complete unit (Ohr Ha’Torah 134).

The hatzotzrot, as G-d’s commands Moshe, should be used on several occasions. One is for the purpose of declaring war, “When You go to battle…against an enemy who is oppressing you sound a blast of the trumpets. Then,” resumes G-d, “you will be remembered by the Lord your G-d and rescued from your enemies” Bamidbar 10:9. The blast of the trumpets is aimed to signify that G-d would remember His Covenant with Am Yisrael and grant them victory.

Another occasion, on which the hatzotzrot are to be used, is on special events, festivities and solemn assemblies, “at your times of rejoicing…..” Bamidbar 10:10. At that time, the use of the trumpets is intended to create an atmosphere of sacred joy, divine remembrance and expressing gratitude.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe, ZT”L (1902-1994), derives an important lesson for life, from these verses. He asserts that we should blow the trumpets to plead with the Creator with a broken heart so that He has pity on us and brings us to a victorious war. However, when our joyous day arrives, following the achievements on the battlefield, Am Yisrael may, G-d forbid, forget to be thankful to our Creator and, therefore, requires of us to blow the hatzotzrot, again, to remind us by whose virtue our victory was achieved. (Likutei Sichot, part 13, p.28).

Last Friday, in the early hours of the morning, Yisrael blasted the trumpets and launched a pre-emptive strike against the Iranian regime and its nuclear enrichment project. Am Yisrael and its supporters the world over, have since been praying to G-d pleading with Him for a swift triumph against their enemies. It is not an easy time for the People of the Covenant. May we, soon, reach the day when we blast the hatzotzrot, declare, B’ezrat Hashem, our sweeping victory over our enemies, the release of our hostages and the safe return of our soldiers from the combat zone.

Am Yisrael Chai

Education - The Way To Mend Our World

 

 “There is only one way to change the world, and that is through education.” – Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

 

As a person who was reared in a Jewish home, in Yisrael, education was one of the most prominent values of my upbringing. It was not merely about formal schooling or about gaining knowledge that shaped my childhood, adolescent and my maturing years. It was the kind of education that aimed at preparing me to live as close as possible to our Jewish code of ethics, to attaining wisdom and personal as well as national responsibility. It prepared me, unbeknown to me, towards becoming a teacher and an educator, myself.

Although the circumstances that pushed me to earning a teaching certificate and becoming a teacher occurred at a very turbulent time in the history of Yisrael and were, thus, beyond my control (https://wingnsonawildflight.blogspot.com/2019/06/that-second-most-important-day.html), I am grateful to having received such a magnificent gift. The skills and the benefits that the teaching vocation have awarded me are immeasurable.

Education, I reckon, should aim at teaching facts and building awareness. It should also help people see the world more clearly and objectively as well as help them understand others more deeply. Above all, I believe that education is about encouraging people to question what they think they know and helping them gain the courage to learn something new at any age.

And this is where the quote of Rabbi Sacks, ZT”L, above comes into play with regards to an important event that has recently taken place in Yisrael.

As many of you know, Yisrael intercepted a flotilla carrying representatives of several countries whose goal was to infiltrate the naval blockade over Gaza. Yisrael’s moves to bring the event to peaceful ending, by providing the activists on board with food and water, was applauded by many. Yisrael displayed what our Jewish tradition refers to as “Ahavat Chinam,” unconditional love.

However, what caught my attention, even more, was the directive issued by Minister of Defense, Yisrael Katz. He instructed the IDF to show the movie exposing the horrors of the October 7th pogrom, as documented by the Hamas terrorists themselves, to the activists. His motive, I believe, stemmed from the supposition that they were ignorant about the depth of the horrendous barbarities committed on that day. In his view, they needed to be educated on it. Whether that goal was achieved or not, only time will tell.

From personal experience, though, I can assure you that, in some cases, such a strategy does work. Here is one such example.

It happened in the early 2000's. I lived in New Zealand and was on the Board of the small Jewish community, in Christchurch. At that time, Yisrael was, unfortunately, experiencing what is known as, "The Second Intifada." One day, to try and cease Palestinian terror attacks against Yisraelis, the IDF entered Gaza. The New Zealand media, which has, generally, not been Yisraeli friendly, portrayed the incursion in a negative light.

The following day, our chairperson found a very offensive message on our synagogue’s answering machine. The caller, among other curse words, suggested that “Hitler should have finished the job.” The police, following our complaint, traced the call to the home of an elderly kiwi businessman who resided in a very exclusive area of the city.

The man explained that he was upset with the Yisraeli display of power over the “defenseless Gazans” (his words). When the police officer, handling the case, asked us whether we would like to press charges, I objected. Something in me suggested that the culprit was not fully aware of the extent of the atrocities committed by the Nazis against the Jews. He needed some education on the subject, I felt.

I, therefore, proposed that instead of going to court, he should read a few books, which I sent him, about the Shoah. I also suggested watching “Schindler's List.”

A few weeks later, we received a most heartwarming letter from the man. There were not enough words in the English language, for him, to express his remorse over the message and apology for his ignorance. These were wrapped in his deep gratitude for the education and for helping him have a better understanding of Jewish history, coupled with a promise to do all he can to help educate others and ensure that history's lessons are passed on. 

Remembering Forward

 

“Without memory, there is no culture. Without memory, there would be no civilization, no society, no future” - Elie Wiesel

“Memory is deceptive because it is coloured by today’s events.” – Albert Einstein

“To be a Jew is to know that over an above history is the task of memory” – Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

 

The command to remember is an important pillar in our Jewish tradition. “The imperative of the Hebrew word zachor,” asserts David Pillegi, “is mentioned more than twenty-five times” in the Tanach (Jerusalem Post, March 29,2012). The Jewish year, accordingly, is mottled with many memorial days, national and private.

One of my favourite modern Yisraeli poets, Yehudah Amichai (May 3, 1924 – September 22, 2000), also, dwells on the notion of memory. “The world is filled with remembering and forgetting,” he writes. Amichai likens memory and forgetfulness to “dry land” and “sea” as metaphors to our duplicate realities which, he believes, are elements of our existence. “Dry land,” he suggests, is the memory of our starting point, our past, the anchor that keeps our feet secure on the ground. The “sea” is a metaphor for the unknown that awaits us in the days ahead. It is an unpredictable zone where we sail into the future in our desperate effort to hold on to forgetting memories, the ones that threaten to overwhelm, drown our essence in their torrent and prevent us from forming a future. Only those who have a stable dock on dry land, suggests Amichai, have some firm fulcrum, to which they can return to and safely resume their daily routine.  

Though our Jewish heritage prizes memory, I must admit that in my many years of interaction with Jewish communities around the world, I have encountered, on more than one occasion, the desire to forget and consciously erase our bad memories. Many Jewish parents want to spare their children the exposure to dark chapters in our history for fear that such a disclosure might affect them emotionally.

One example that comes to mind is during the time that I lived in New Zealand. I was once asked to conduct the Passover Seder at some friend’s house. All went well until I got to the part where the ten plagues were mentioned. When I reached the tenth one, where the first-born son of every Egyptian family was smitten, the father stopped me and said, “we don’t talk about death to our children…..” I was dumbfounded. Though I understood that the father’s silence and the temptation to forget, stemmed from concern, at the same time, I felt that it created a distortion. How could anyone not mention this very constitutive and cardinal act in our Jewish history? Can we raise a new generation without exposing it to the painful segments of the story?

This, however, is not merely a matter of a private case. Throughout history, many Jews elected to forget. That choice was the product of the yearning to prevent trauma and the wish to enable a future for their children.  Regrettably, though, it has always been at the cost of sacrificing the vital role of memory.

Jewish culture puts memory at the center of our collective identity. The Talmud (Yoma 56,1) teaches us that authentic remembering of events, good and bad, is the first move towards tikkun, improvement. Rabbi Nachman Bar Yitzchak, similarly, suggests that genuine memory leads towards action and change (Kiddushin 40, 2)

The horrors of the Shoah, a more recent sad episode in our People’s history, which happened eighty years ago, is another example of such a tendency. Sadly, quite a few Jews, both in Yisrael and elsewhere, spare details of that chapter from their children again, for fear of the impact it might have on their emotional well-being.

More recently, Yisrael has experienced one of the most horrific pogroms since the Shoah. I am referring to the massacre that took place close to two years ago on the Holy Day of Simchat Torah, which is better known by its Gregorian calendar date as, October 7^th, 2023. Despite the fresh memories of this bloodbath, many, including adults my age, refuse to see footage of the carnage or listen to the testimonies of its survivors.

This discrepancy between the necessity to remember and the wish to forget, between the “dry land” and the “sea,” as we have witnessed, engaged Amichai. In another poem, he offers yet another metaphor. This one is in the form of a “dam.”  This “dam,” implies Amichai, stands for the present tense, the stage in which we are. Just like a dam which controls the flow of water, Amichai’s “dam” allows us to release or block the flow of memory between the “dry land” and the “sea.”

It is at this point that the quote by Einstein, above, is brought into play. If the control over this “dam” is subject to our emotional and political agenda or is “coloured by today’s events,” in Einstein’s words, it might reshape the past not in accordance with historical facts, but by the demands of the present. Should we redraw our past? Should our “coloured” present determine which parts of our past be remembered or perhaps suppressed? What should be the fate of painful, yet essential and identity defining chapters in our history?

Memory is not merely what we choose to remember. Rather, it is the courage not to forget. Remembering forward requires of us, as Jews, to preserve the past, the good and the bad, without granting us the permission to rewrite it.

Kedoshim - The Equality of Holiness

 

“Speak to the Whole Yisraelite Community. Say: ‘Be holy, for I am holy; I, the Lord your G-d,’” Leviticus 19:1-2

 

These verses which open Kedoshim, this week’s Torah portion, convey an unequivocal directive which states that all members of Am Yisrael belong to the level of holiness. Every member of the community can equally reach it, if only they wish.

“What we witness here asserts Rabbi Sacks, ZT”L, is the radical democratization of holiness. Priesthood, in the ancient world, was not exclusive to Am Yisrael, as the Torah shares with us on several occasions. Whereas in other societies, it was reserved to the elite, in this parashah, according to Sacks, “for the first time, we find a code of holiness directed to the People as a whole.” Religion is no longer hierarchical as was prevalent in the idolatrous ancient world.

The designation of Am Yisrael as a “holy nation” was mentioned by G-d already in Exodus 19:5-6. There He says, “And now, if you will indeed obey my voice and keep my covenant, then you will be a special possession among the peoples, even among all earth.”  In Kedoshim, however, that proclamation has become an order. Each member of the community is formally sanctioned and commanded to “be holy,” to fulfill the vocation that G-d destined for them in Exodus.

What follows this directive is a long list of laws and rituals which include some of those chronicled in the Ten Commandments. These, naturally, are aimed at guiding and helping every Yisraelite live a life of holiness.

Our sages differ on the course of reaching “holiness.”  While Ramba”m and Rash”i believe that it can be achieved only by performing the mitzvot (commandments), Ramba”n asserts that it can be obtained by abstaining from an opulent way of life. According to Ohr Ha’Chaim, the only way to attain it is through enduring harsh experiences. Whatever the means all three sources (and many others) suggest, they are all based on the same premise of “holiness” that is expected of Am Yisrael.

Rebbi Berel Wein offers a different perspective at viewing this parashah. According to him,  “Kedoshim is not exclusively meant to represent holiness in the common usage of the word.” Those who are well versed in the Hebrew language would know that the root K,D,SH could also suggest dedication or devotion, in this case, to G-d and to the covenant that was entered between Him and Am Yisrael at Mount Sinai.

As our sages point out, some of the mitzvot which constitute that covenant are what Rabbi Sacks terms as “chok, ‘a statute,’ often understood as a law that has no reason, or at least none that we can understand.”  Adhering to and performing such commandments is a confirmation of our devotion and ongoing faith in G-d. “This is a cardinal principle in the relationship between G-d and us,” explains Rabbi Mendi Kaminker. “We must perform Mitzvot out of devotion and obedience to G-d even if we do not grasp them because this is His will.” He further elaborates that when it comes to mitzvot which we do understand, we should not observe merely because we know their underlying reason, but rather aspire to reach the G-dly, the holy component which is above our rationale.

 

Rabbi Berel Wein further suggests that in G-d’s relations with Am Yisrael, His dedication and devotion is reciprocal. “The Lord, Himself,” proposes Wein, “so to speak, describes His own Being as being not only holy but also being dedicated - dedicated to fulfill His Will,” to educate the world and teach His values system and code of ethics, “through the People of Yisrael, their behavior, events and destiny.”

Chaz”l, also comment on these verses. Their interpretation stems from the words, “for I am holy: I, the Lord, your G-d.” Since the purpose of performing the mitzvot, they believe, is to purge and sanctify us, we, in turn, sanctify G-d. What Chaza”l are teaching us is that, apparently, G-d’s holiness depends on that of Am Yisrael (Torat Ha’Kohanim Kedoshim, 1).

Whichever way we understand these verses, they all lead, in my view, to the conclusion and the lesson that is derived from Rabbi Sacks’s lucid essay on the parashah. His commentary brings to light the revolutionary notion that holiness is not reserved to a selected few, as was the custom in the ancient world. Each member of Am Yisrael, not only has the potential to be holy but, also, has the duty to strive to achieve holiness. As representatives of the one and only G-d, their holiness will directly affect the presence of His level of holiness in the world.