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

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.

The Year I was Introduced to "Arabic" and "Middle Eastern"

 

 “We in the West have been civilized and safe for so long that we have forgotten the concept of ‘the enemy.’” – Lee Harris

 

Lately, especially in the wake of the October 7^th horrific events, we hear many Yisraeli  commentators stressing the need to learn to speak “Arabic,” or “Middle Eastern.” It is safe to state that the reference is rarely to languages. Rather, it is a call that points to adopting the modus operandi and frame of thought of Yisrael’s enemies and the enemies of the West. This, according to them, is of utmost importance, particularly when considering the geopolitical changes that engulf our fragile region and the unstable world.

“An enemy,” according to Lee Harris, as he states in the preface to his book Civilization and Its Enemies, “is someone willing to die in order to kill you.” Though Harris eases the definition to someone who merely wants to kill you or harm you, I believe that in the Middle East, at least, especially after witnessing the October 7^th horrific acts committed by a vicious barbaric enemy, the former definition fits best. “Arabic” and “Middle Eastern” are the only “languages” Yisrael’s enemies speak, the only two they understand.

Fortunately for me, I was first introduced to these “languages” many years ago, albeit I didn’t label them as such. It was in 1977. I was then working on my graduate degree, at UC Berkeley.

As a staunch Labour Party activist, at that time, I was still mourning the victory of Menachem Begin, several months earlier. I was so upset that I refused to watch Yisraeli news, distanced myself from Yisraeli politics and concentrated on my studies.

Not that night, though. Something pulled me to the small black and white T.V. and I turned it on. I could not believe my eyes. There, on the screen, in front of me, was President Sadat of Egypt debarking a plane in Yisrael.

After rubbing my eyes in disbelief, the questions started popping up. Had I not read that Begin was, an extremist, a war monger? Hadn’t we been told that he hated Arabs? “What is going on here? I kept asking myself. I was dumbfounded.

It was then that I decided to embark on a mission to check and study the profile and demographic structure of Begin’s voters. “Surely,” I remember thinking to myself, “they must know something that I don’t.”

As I delved into the research which included much reading as well as speaking to his supporters, both in Yisrael and the U.S., I learned that most of Begin’s electorate were people who came from Muslim or Arabic speaking countries. Many were refugees from those countries. They had lived among those who call for our demise. These voters understood and spoke “Arabic” and “Middle eastern.” They were well familiar with the “Arabic” and “Middle Eastern” way of life, and what fuels those who are reared in the lap of these two “languages.”

I, on the other hand, a daughter of two Lithuanian Jews who was raised in a Western society and has never lived in any environment that comes even close to that of most of Begin’s voters. I was clueless about their culture and way of life. They taught me, in what I might describe as, a “crash course” all they knew about our enemies’ behavioural patterns. The lesson was painful. It burst the ideological bubble which had been my habitat for several years before. Their words illustrated to me that all those I felt sorry for, those that I supported in their efforts to establish a state, and, on whose behalf, I demonstrated, had one aim only, annihilate me and my fellow Jews.  Those I spoke to, all echoed the same message, “We are facing a malicious enemy who will use any means to eradicate us. The only way to deal with our enemy, according to them, is “with a mighty hand and a strong fist.” Begin, in their opinion, was the only one who understood and spoke their language.

In 1979, I officially became a Likudnik. I have never looked back.

The sooner we, Yisraelis, master these “languages,” and utilize their method of operation in the political, military and propaganda arenas, the more invincible we will become. This is of utmost importance, especially when it comes to the pursuit of Peace. In the words of  Dr. Kedar, “Peace in the Middle East is only given to an invincible state.”

Shavua tov, Am Yisrael and a great week to all.

The Art of Being Patient

 

                       “The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.” – Leo Tolstoy

 

 One of the most important lessons of this week’s Parasha, Ki Tisa concerns the virtue of patience.

The Parasha recounts the chain of events that follow the compelling and awe-inspiring episode of the giving of the Torah. Thirty-nine days after the ascent of Moshe to Mount Sinai to receive it, the Children of Yisrael, subsequent to time miscalculation, which lead them to believe that he is due to return on that day, become impatient and restless. They turn to Aharon, his brother and demand, “come make us a god who will go before us. As for this man Moses who brought us up out of Egypt, we don’t know what has happened.” (Exodus 32:1)

Naturally, they are bewildered, anxious and frightened that they will have no one to guide them to the land G-d promised Abraham. Though at Mount Sinai, the Children of Yisrael, became a nation, in this respect they still act like little children.  And, as we know, waiting, especially for children, is difficult. The Yisraelites get impatient and impetuously seek to replace G-d and Moshe.

Patience, according to the Torah, is one of the thirteen attributes of Yisrael’s infinite G-d who, thus, can afford to have infinite patience. Can we, however, expect the same of recently freed slaves who are dumbfounded, lost and are unable to take control over their lives?

This is not the first time, it turns out, that the Yisraelites display hastiness and impulsiveness.

The Midrash also addresses the heedless behaviour of our People. According to it, when G-d offered the Torah to other nations first, each of them inquired about its content. When there was no accord between it and their laws, they rejected it. Surprisingly enough, the People of Yisrael immediately responded to G-d's offer by saying, “we shall do, and we shall listen.” There was no use of judgment nor prudence in their acknowledgement, as was the case with the other nations.

As a result of this, the Talmud grants Am Yisrael the title “Ama Pziza” – a hasty Nation (Aramaic).

The Parasha goes on to explain that when Moshe comes down, he is aware of the adulation of the calf. However, only after he approaches the camp and witnesses the celebrations, does he smash the tablets. Was he perhaps hoping that though most of them worship the calf, there is still a small minority, a handful of people who are worthy of receiving the tablets?

Unfortunately, as we see, Am Yisrael’s impatience leads to a sin with calamitous results for generations to come.

Soon after this sordid affair, the Torah tells us that the People are mourning and feel remorse over the matter of the golden calf.  Here, as merely moments earlier, we witness traces of instability which on the one hand allows Am Yisrael to rise to the highest spiritual levels yet at the same time bring it to the brinks of the abyss, Both the results of acting impetuously and without reason or much thought.

Several thousands of years have passed since this catastrophic incident in the history of our Jewish People. We have, since then, matured, advanced, and contributed vastly to the world around us.

But have we become more patient as a Nation?

Not according to rabbi Berel Weil. In an essay entitles “Patience,” he states, “Since we are bidden to emulate the ways of our Creator, it would follow that patience and the ability to wait out a situation of problem should be Jewish virtues of our national character. Alas, they are not. The hasty part of our nature is dominant in all events in the Jewish world. We make snap decisions off-the-cuff agreements and commitments, and often speak when our good sense and brains are not fully in gear. Jewish history,” he concludes, “past and present is witness to the high price that we pay for such hastiness.”

May we learn the lessons of history, take the time to master the art of being patient and tolerant, teach ourselves to weigh our choices wisely and carefully in order to improve ourselves, our Jewish People and the world as a whole.

Shavua tov fellow Jews and a great week to all.

 

A Little Known Part of the Shoah

 

The following is an English translation of a Face Book post of Mr. Haim Taib. It was written a few hours before he, along with his family, partook in the “March of the Living” in Auschwitz' last week.

 

“In a few hours, I will have the privilege to participate in the “March of the Living” in Auschwitz and light, for the first time, a memorial torch in commemoration of the glorious Tunisian Jewish community which was conquered by the Nazis and suffered anti-semitic persecution, forced labour and hunger.

As a third generation to Tunisian Shoah survivors, I will lead he march, while carrying in my heart my grandfather, Haim Taib, after whom I am named, who was sent along with thousands of Jewish men, to forced labour camps and came back skin and bones, beaten and bruised.

Tunisia was conquered by the Nazis in November 1942.

The German launched a policy aimed at destroying Jewish life. Community institutions were closed, many Jews were fired from work, children were kicked out of schools, heavy fines were applied, private properties were confiscated and about 5000 men were forcefully enlisted to construction camps and fortifications.

My father, who was merely five years old at that time, would recall painfully how the German soldiers, dressed in ironed, grey uniforms, burst into the house, crushed personal items with their boots and confiscated his father’s radio and his mother’s sewing machine.

My grandfather, Haim and Zion, my grandmother’s brother, were taken to forced labour camps.

The following months filled the family with fear and concern. The German soldiers frequented Jewish homes in search of healthy and able men.  Sirens were wailing, shells were fired, and explosions heard daily. Roaming the streets ceased, windows were covered with dark fabrics and blackness befell the city, in an effort to defend against bombing of the allies which were directed at the anti-aircraft posts which the Germans deliberately scattered in civil neighbourhoods.

Four months later, Haim and Zion suddenly appeared at home. They were thin and bruised, their clothes torn, their faces unshaven and their hair messy and lice ridden. My grandmother, Koka, burst into tears of joy. She gave them food and boiled water so that they could shower and clean themselves. My grandfather recounted that he was sent to a deserted field, not far away. There the Germans ordered him to construct a forced labour camp. They were able to escape since in the last weeks, the German security loosened and under the blanket of one of the Allies bombings, he and his friends were able to escape from the camp.

On Friday, May 7^th, 1943, my father woke up to the sounds of joy. “The war is over!” shouted my grandfather and everyone ran out of the house still wearing their pajamas. The streets were buzzing with people, music, and dancing. Seven months of siege, bombing and suffering had come to an end.

Only two years later, when the family members were exposed to the horror movies which the Nazis had filmed in Auschwitz, were thy exposed to the horrible truth regarding the unfathomable size and cruelty of the Nazi plan for the Jews of Tunisia, Algiers, Libya, Morocco, and Egypt

Almost eighty years have passed since that dark era in history, and here we are, living in a Jewish and Democratic state that promises all of its citizens and pledges that the horrors of the Shoah will never be repeated.

Today, I shall march in the “March of the Living” and will light a memorial torch to commemorate the Jewish communities of Tunisia and North Africa who had they not been freed when they were, would have suffered the same fate as European Jewry.

I invite all of you to join me, here on my Face Book page to the live stream of the “March of the Living” and the ceremony of torch lighting starting at 14:00 on this link: https://fb.me/e/10M9dcDWd

My parents, Eliyahu and Janet Taib, of blessed memory, who were children at that time, tell of their memories from the Nazi conquest of Tunisia. Please watch the video

Here is the link to the Face Book post:

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=pfbid02m3zwpw8gv9C7o9FLWTGWGiXz4WANXiU2mMdcf8b5XjQQYivpH12LvwYGVNLAiYQQl&id=100062202317825&mibextid=Nif5oz

Fleeing from Babylon

 

Two days ago, Yisrael marked the seventy fifth anniversary of the U.N. vote to divide Eretz Yisrael into Arab and Jewish states. That event prompted a wave of exodus of Jews from Arab countries to the modern-day State of Yisrael. Even prior to that historical event, many Jews had been forced to leave their homes in Arab countries because of violent attacks against their community. They became refugees, albeit, forgotten refugees. It is time to remind our fellow Jews and the world of that part of our history, lest we forget. This is the story of one person and her family.                                    

Rachel Hazan was born in Bahgdad, the capital of modern-day Iraq. Though her father’s family had originated in Iran, on her mother’s side the family had been there for as far as they can remember, possibly since the Babylonian exile following the destruction of the first Temple in Yerushalayim.

The Jews of Iraq had a momentous two-thousand-year-old history. They lived as an independent, homogeneous community which was not only a staunch guardian of Jewish tradition but added immensely to it.

During the 20’s and 30’s of the last century, this community influenced almost every aspect of the Iraqi society, primarily in the economic arena. It founded commercial bases in many of the middle eastern and far eastern ports as well as in Europe and north America.  Under the hegemony of King Faisal the first, Jews had conducted an orderly life and lived peacefully alongside their Arab neighbours. They regularly contributed to the social, literary, and scientific life of the Iraqi culture.

This was the world which Rachel was born into on an early day in the summer of 1925. She was the third child in a family of nine children.

As a young woman who was reared and raised in a conservative environment, Rachel was never sent to school. Her father who was a skilled carpenter, earned a good living and provided the family with all their needs. Other than sending her learning and mastering the skill of sewing, Rachel was destined to stay home and help her mother raise her younger brothers and sisters

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. The peace and tranquility which were the lot of the Iraqi Jews, ceased with the outbreak of WWII. As a result of the ascension of Nazism in Europe, coupled with the assassination of King Faisal, in 1937 and the pact between the Mufti, Hajj Amin al Husseini and Hitler, antisemitism reared its ugly head again. It also cascaded into Iraq and the surrounding countries in the Arab world.  

The Jews of Iraq were subjected to many harsh edicts that were imposed upon them. They were constantly harassed and threatened by their Arab neighbours. The attacks on them culminated in 1941 in what came to be known as the Farhud (Arabic term which means “pogrom” or “violent dispossession”). It erupted on June 1^st and lasted for two days. During that time, mobs assaulted Jews, Jewish businesses, and homes. According to the official report of the commission investigating the incident, “128 Jews were killed, 210 were injured, and over 1500 businesses were damaged.”

Fortunately, the Hazan family was spared any attacks of violence. Their neighbours with whom they were in very good relationships, protected and defended them.

Unfortunately for many other Iraqi Jews, most of their Arab neighbours were not as kind. They either, actively, partook in the attacks or simply stood idly and watched from afar.

The Farhud, as history illustrates, raised Jewish national awareness, and increased the number of Iraqi Jews who joined the Zionist organizations which operated as an underground movement and, eventually, prompted many Jews to emigrate to Yisrael. That desire did not escape the Hazan Family.

The first step towards making that move was initiated by her uncle Ya’acov. A short time after the Farhud, he decided to move his family to Yerushalayim in search of starting a new and better life there.

Noteworthy to mention here is that in those days, one passport was issued to all members of one family regardless of the number of siblings.

Taking advantage of such a rule, Ya’acov returned to Iraq and suggested that Ezra, Rachel’s oldest brother join him, as his son, and accompany him to Yerushalayim. A year and a half later, the Hazan family began to sell their assets, home, business, and many personal items. Part of that money was sent through one of their trustworthy Arab employees to Yisrael who, in turn, bought a plot of land for them in the Hatikvah neighbourhood of Tel Aviv. Her mother went to Basra, where her brother resided to apply for passports for the family. Naturally, they were prohibited from mentioning Yisrael as their destination.

Once their passports were in place, the plan of their route of escape to the promised land continued to be woven and started to take shape.

Since, as we all know too well, the British limited the number of Jews that were allowed to emigrate to Yisrael, Rachel and her family had an arduous and challenging project ahead of them. That is where the Jewish Agency which operated in Iraq in a clandestine manner entered the picture.

 To avoid any suspicion, the Agency advised Rachel’s father to move to Turkey first. From Turkey, the family traveled to Syria under the pretext of seeking medical treatment for Rachel and her sister Victoria. Since they had taken too much luggage along with them, the Agency relieved them of some and promised to deliver it to Yisrael where it eventually waited for them.

The family spent one week in Syria. From there, it crossed the border to Lebanon. In order to reach the Yisraeli Lebanese border, the family had to travel four hours by car and then on for six hours, not an easy mission for a family with eight children some of whom were still very young, including one baby.

Luckily, they were guided by a Jewish Iraqi police officer who was employed by the British but also worked for the Jewish Agency. The officer also happened to be the son of one of the Hazans’ close friends in Baghdad. It was his task to ensure that they cross the border from Lebanon to Yisrael and safely reach Kfar Gila’di which was situated near the border with only an asphalt road separating between the two places.

At that spot, however, there was also positioned a British Military base. Hence, one had to be overly cautious not to be noticed.

Much to their dismay, that was a rainy night which was interspersed with the occasional showers of heavy hail.

Just as they were all ready to cross the road to freedom, a British soldier came out of his tent, turned on his projector and inspected the area, as always, looking, mainly, for Jewish illegal immigrants who were trying to make their way to a home that had been given to them by a decree of the family of nations. Fortunately, they were able to hide in a pit alongside the road, in an angle that the British soldier’s projector missed.

Drenched, shivering hungry and covered with mud, they finally reached Kfar Gila’di where they were provided with a room, hot water, and a nutritious warm meal. The police officer who had escorted them could not stay with them. As an officer in the service of his royal highness, King George the VI, he had to pretend and act in a “business as usual” manner yet made sure that all their needs were satisfied.

After a few days, he arranged for them to be transported to the central bus stop in Haifa where they finally reunited with their uncle Ya’acov, his son Yoseph and their oldest brother Ezra whom they had not seen in a few years. The three had all moved to Tel Aviv a short while earlier.

Unfortunately, however, it was not yet time to breath a sigh of relief. It was almost Shabbat, when they eventually reached Haifa, and no buses were available to transfer them to Tel Aviv, their final destination. After a persistent persuasion process which lasted close to ten hours, a bus was finally furnished for the large family as well as for some other Jewish immigrants who had just arrived at the shores of their future Homeland.

For a whole year, following their arrival, the Hazan family lived in a tent which the father set up on the property that they had purchased earlier. Later, a hut, constructed of wood and stone, replaced the tent which was later succeeded by a comfortable house which stands there until this very day and where Rachel still resides.

Rachel is surrounded and wrapped by the love of her four children, thirteen grandchildren and twelve great grandchildren. We wish her many more years of abundant health, nachat and sheer bliss.

 

Note: By 1951, ten years after the Farhud, 92 percent of the Iraqi Jewish community had emigrated to the State of Yisrael.

Do Clothes Maketh a Man? In the Case of the High Priest, Yes

 

Garments are the frame that man creates, both towards himself – that which he wishes to be - and towards others and what they think about him. It also serves his role, assists, and allows him in performing his job

The finery of the Temple Priests, especially that of the Kohen Gadol High Priest (which is the focus of this article) is one of the main themes of this week’s Parashah, “Tetzaveh” (You Shall Command). These are described in exhaustive details as are their fabrics, ornaments, their function, and the accompanying protocol to wearing them.

 “Make sacred garments for your brother Aharon to give him dignity and honour,” G-d tells Moshe (Shemot 28:2). There are four pieces of clothing that are peculiar to the High Priest, described in Shemot 28:4-5.

The directive from G-d to Moshe is to make “a breastplate {containing twelve precious stones inscribed with the names of the twelve tribes of Yisrael}, an ephod {an apron like garment}, a robe, and a Tzitz {a headdress with a golden plate worn on the forehead bearing the inscription “Holy to G-d”}. They are to make these sacred garments….Have them use gold, and blue, purple and scarlet yarn and fine linen.” (Shemot 28:4-5). (It is important to note that these are to be worn all days of the year, except for Yom Kippur when the High Priest wears only white).

According to Ramba”n (13^th century, Spain), “these garments resemble those of royalty in form. At the time of the Torah, the monarchy would have worn such clothing. The tunic signifies leadership just as Yoseph was presented by his father with a ‘tunic of many stripes’…thus Aharon was to be clothed as a king of ancient times…….the miter is still worn by royalty and nobility to this day….the breastplate and ephod are regal attire and the headband is still a crown. The material used to make these garments, namely gold, sky-blue, purple and crimson, are precious and rare.”

Despite the similarities between the garb of the High Priest and those of a king, they differ in substance. Unlike kings, the attire of the High Priest constitutes “Bigdei Kodesh” (holy vestments).

Their sacred nature is signified in a few ways.

The first is rooted in their inclusion in the instructions for building the Mishkan (Tabernacle) and its furnishings. This suggests that these garments are not the personal property of the High Priest but rather a part of the Mishkan’s sacred components, as described in Shemot 39:1-31.

Additionally, the fabrics used to manufacture the garments of the High Priest are made and styled in the same fashion of those used in the most sacrosanct sections of the Mishkan. They are to be worn only when the High Priest enters the interior part of the sanctuary, twice daily, morning and evening.

The unique essence of the Priestly garb is further stressed by Rabbi Inyani Bar Sasson (3^rd century). According to him, each of the Priestly robes is intended to atone for a particular sin committed by members of Am Yisrael akin to the function of the sacrifices (Babylonian Talmud, Zevachim 68). He claims that it is not by coincidence that the Parashah addressing sacrifices is adjacent to the one focusing on Priesthood. Rabbi Bar Sasson lists offences, light as well as serious, for which different Priestly clothing items grant clemency.

The detailed directive describing the opulent garments of the High Priest, and their role have engaged Jewish sages over the years. Of particular interest was the command to “Make pomegranates of blue, purple and scarlet yarn around the hem of the robe, with gold bells between them….Aharon must wear it when he ministers. The sound of the bells will be heard when he enters the Holy Place before the Lord and when he comes out, so that he will not die” (28:33-35).

Rabbenu Bahya (Spain, c. 1050-1120) suggests that the bells serve two purposes. The first is akin to knocking on the door of the Entrance Hall of the inner Sanctuary to announce the arrival of the High Priest. According to him, since the Divine Kingdom is similar to an earthly one, anyone who abruptly enters the king’s hall is sentenced to death. To support his claim, Rabbenu Bahya, cites the Book of Esther 4:11, “All the king’s officials and the people of the royal provinces know that for any man or woman who approaches the king in the inner court without being summoned, the king has but one law: that they be put to death.”

Image of a golden bell ornament believed to be worn by a High Priest or another important leader from Second Temple period discovered in Yerushalayim in 2011

The second objective of the bells, proposes Bahya, is to alert G-d’s angels. Even though G-d and His celestial servants know all, it is important to alert them lest they harm the High Priest for interrupting the Divine repose.

The Rashba”n argues that the bells are there as a public notice for people announcing the approach of the High Priest. It serves as a warning in order to comply with the commandment which forbids the presence of anyone in the Hall when the High Priest is about to perform his holy duties.

Hezekiah ben Manoach (13^th century) suggests that the bells are there to remind Am Yisrael of prayer times and divert their attention towards that duty. He also believes that the bells help distinguish between the High Priest and the lay ones.

Clothes have cultural and social significance. The main message in this week’s Parashah presents us with another kind, a holy one, decreed by G-d Himself.

Judging by the opening verses of the Parashah, one cannot help but surmise that the main intent of the Priestly garb is to bestow “dignity and honour” upon those wearing it. This tendency goes hand in hand with the commandments concerning the construction of the  Mishkan and its unique vessels. They are aimed at spurring the awareness that the G-d of Yisrael is the G-d of the whole universe. It is, therefore, only appropriate that His servants, should, likewise, appear majestic, be dressed in “splendid and fine clothes…to be held in great reverence by all” (Ramba”m).