Holidays: Starting Anew on Purim

by Rav Yosef Naveh, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

As we continue to read in our weekly Torah readings from the Book of Leviticus – the book of the Holy Temple and the sacrificial service – it is worthwhile to delve into the significance of the sacrificial offerings.

The S'fat Emet – one of the most commonly consulted Hassidic works, written by the Gerrer Rebbe, R. Yehuda Leib Alter, in the second half of the 19th century – cites the Talmudic saying that on the Sabbath, individual sacrificial offerings are not brought (Tr. Temurah 2,11). Why is this? Because, he explains, "on the Sabbath, there is no need for the practical. For on the Sabbath, work is forbidden – and therefore, on Sabbath it is enough that one desires to sacrifice his soul to G-d, and this desire itself is the sacrifice."

That is to say, the virtue of the Sabbath is so great, and we are so close to G-d in our very desires, to the point that there is no need to actually offer up a sacrifice so as to reveal this desire. 

The sacrifices, though they may seem foreign to us, are not simply a relic of the past, from the times of the Beit HaMikdash. Neither are they just an external, physical act of placing a slaughtered animal atop the altar. Rather, their inner meaning is that we thus reveal the "hidden" place in our heart which is exclusively dedicated to G-d. As the S'fat Emet writes: 

"We are commanded to bring the sacrifice in the northern part of the Temple; north in Hebrew is tzafon, from the same root as tzafun, meaning 'hidden.' For the main aspect of the sacrifice is our desire to give our soul to G-d, and this is its hidden aspect [as stated above]. And this is something that we can relate to nowadays as well, in our potential desire to feel completely subjugated to G-d."

Within each Jewish person is hidden a deep point of longing to come close to his or her Father in Heaven. Even regarding a Jew who externally appears to be far removed from the sanctity of Israel, we believe that within him is the desire to truly devote himself to G-d and His glory, and that the time will certainly come when this deep desire will be revealed and expressed. 

We are in the month of Adar, just a few days after Purim, which has a message related to this idea of "bringing to the fore" our true desires. 

Desire to Act!

It is said in the name of the Arizal that each of the 12 months of the year corresponds to one of the 12 Tribes – and that Adar is matched with Naftali. The Torah tells us that Naftali is "a deer running free" (B'reshit 49,21) and "totally satisfied" (D'varim 33,23). The Lekach V'halibuv writes that this shows that Naftali is always in eager action – the opposite of Amalek (Haman's ancestor) who seeks to imbue Israel with despair: "He encountered you along the way [out of Egypt] when you were tired and exhausted" (D'varim 25,18). Amalek came to us in a place called Refidim, from a similar Hebrew root of rifyon, meaning weakness. Tiredness, weakness and despair bring a person to laziness. 

The Lekach V'halibuv continues: "The power of one's will is that which brings him to the attribute of quickness and promptness. Our will is our human force of motivation. Ratzon, desire, is of the same root as ratz, which means 'to run' – for one runs in accordance with his power of will, as the will is that which overcomes weakness."

Special Will on Purim

This "will" is something that we receive and renew on Purim, as the Sages derived from a verse in the Scroll of Esther: Israel received the Torah on Sinai, but not totally voluntarily, and received it a second time – this time willfully – on Purim. Thus, on Purim we are bestowed with a new heart, and we are extra motivated to do the will of our Father in Heaven.

Rabbe Nachman of Breslov writes that although today we don't have sacrifices, we still have the ideal of motivation: One who strives to pray with devotion, one who does not despair because of his failures, but rather works to pick himself up and start again – all this is a type of "sacrifice," of working on our desire to come close to G-d.

Korban – the Hebrew word for "sacrifice" – stems from the same root as kiruv, "coming close." We say in our daily blessings that G-d imbued within us everlasting life – for within every Jew lies a great passion to live a life of truth and faith. There are times that this sense is dormant, but during these days of Purim we have the ability to ignite anew the flame burning within our heart. The joy of Purim gives us the strength to awaken our desire to make a new beginning in Judaism. 

After the Scroll of Esther is read aloud in the synagogue, we recite a passage that features this sentence: "To announce that all those who hope for You will not be shamed, and all those who take shelter in You will never be humiliated." Thus, the message of the Megillah of Esther is: "There is nothing to despair about in the world!" All that's needed is to want to improve, and to desire to do good in G-d's world. We must not make light of even the simple things that we are able to do and accomplish. We must rather believe and know that everything we do, no matter how small, is very significant – as long as we always long for G-d, Rabbe Nachman says.

Tzav: Be Careful Not to Sin the Name of Religion

by Rav Moshe Leib HaCohen Halbershtat, founder and head of the Yoru Program for the Training of Rabbis and Community Leaders, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

This week's Torah portion - Tzav (Vayikra, chapters 6-8) – continues to discuss the laws of sacrificial offerings. In it, we read that G-d "commanded the Children of Israel to bring their sacrificial offerings to G-d" (7,38). 

Sacrifices are a Divine commandment. How, then, can we understand the words of the Prophet Yirmiyahu, who exclaimed (7,22): "For I did not speak to your fathers and I did not command them... concerning burnt-offerings or sacrifices"?  

This question is asked by the renowned Torah commentator Rabbeinu Bachye ben Asher (1255-1340, Spain). He answered that G-d definitely commanded us to bring sacrifices – and that this is because of His great compassion for us. For every person is liable to sin, and in fact no one is ever saved from it, even the righteous – as written in Ecclesiastes: "For there is no person in the world who is a tzaddik who does only good and does not sin" (7,20). And therefore, Rabbeinu Bachye continues, G-d commanded us to bring sacrifices so that we may atone for our sins and not be punished. But in truth, G-d's true desire is that we abide by His will and not sin, and then we would not have to bring sacrifices. G-d actually does not want us to bring sacrifices; He would rather that we hearken to His words in the first place! And this, Rabbeinu Bachye explains, is what the Prophet meant when he said that G-d did not command us to bring sacrifices.

This idea is backed up in other places, such as when the Prophet Shmuel told the nation, "Does G-d desire burnt-offerings and sacrifices as much as He wants you to abide by His word? [No!] Hearkening is better than sacrifices…" (Shmuel I 15,22). There are other examples as well. Rabbeinu Bachye adds that if he who brings the sacrifice does not listen to G-d, his offering is not acceptable, but is rather called "the offering of wicked ones, an abomination to G-d" (Mishlei 15,8). And the Prophet Yeshayahu says (66,23) that bringing such an offering is actually an all-out sin, in that he is killing an animal for no reason. 

Why oh Why? 

What would cause a sinner to waste his time and money by going to the Beit HaMikdash in Jerusalem to bring a sacrifice that not only has no value, but is actually a sin in and of itself? What can he be thinking?

The explanation is that such sinners do not comprehend a simple fundamental in Torah faith: The head must come before the heart, and understanding must precede emotions. In D'varim (4,39-40), we read that Moshe tells Israel: "You must know today, and turn it to your heart, that the Lord is G-d in the heavens above and on the earth beneath; there is no other." Note that "knowledge of G-d" comes before the heart's duty. The principle taught here for keeping the mitzvot is that one's faith must be based first on studying and knowing, and only afterwards can, and should, the heart and its feelings be added. When one does the opposite and bases his faith and Torah observance on his feelings, and only then begins to study, the results are liable to be distorted. Building an ideology based only one's emotions can end up being tragic.

That's what happened during the times of the Beit HaMikdash. The sinners were willing to invest time, effort, and money in bringing undesired sacrifices simply because they put their heart before their brain. They were emotionally attached to the sacrificial service, as it was something that was in style, gave them a good feeling, and even made them feel as if they were great tzaddikim. They built an entire distorted ideology that, to them, justified their evil deeds. But if they had first studied and used simple, straight logic, they would have realized that sacrifices have no positive value if the person has not sincerely abandoned his sinful ways. 

Rabbi Jacob Joseph, Chief Rabbi of New York some 130 years ago, wrote an article entitled, "Hatred for the Sake of Heaven." He explained there the importance of recognizing that a given act might actually be a sin. That is, if one deceptively convinces himself that what he is doing is not only not sinful, but actually a praiseworthy act, there is little chance that he will be able to regret or atone for it. He will not be able to accept any criticism or rebuke, and will simply continue to sink further and further into sin. Only if he does not fool himself, and recognizes at least that he is acting wrongfully for whatever reason, is there a chance that he will one day return to the Torah path.

My revered father tells that his Rebbe, Rabbi Chaim Pinchas Scheinberg, of blessed memory, once told his students in Yeshivat Torah Ohr in Jerusalem a story about Rabbi Yisrael Salanter, the great Mussar teacher. One day, in the middle of prayers in the synagogue, a man burst through the door in a frenzy so that he could "catch Kedusha," that is, recite the Kedusha prayer that can only be said with a quorum of ten. However, on his rushed way in, he stepped on someone's foot and dirtied his shoe. After the prayer, Rav Salanter called the man over and spoke to him softly but firmly: "You were rushing to do a precious mitzvah, but it is totally disqualified if by doing so, you cause damage to someone else."

Rabbi Scheinberg added that this story clearly demonstrates a fundamental principle that Rabbi Salanter would always warn his students about: "Make sure you don't have any frum negios,” meaning: Don't allow yourself to be bribed by your own religious considerations! For when a person is convinced that what he's doing is his religious obligation, it will be very hard, if not impossible, for him to ever recognize that he might actually be committing a sin. Teshuvah (repentance) can only ever be accomplished if one does not try to deceive himself.

Holidays: The Exile: What it Takes for Israel to Re-accept the Torah

by Rav Sha'ul Yisraeli, of saintly blessed memory, member of Israeli Chief            Rabbinate, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

The Talmud states: "The Jewish nation accepted the Torah for a second time in the days of King Achashverosh, as is written: "The Jews fulfilled and accepted" (Esther 9,27) – they fulfilled what they accepted before."

The first time the Jews accepted the Torah was at Mt. Sinai, accompanied by thunder and lightning and resounding shofar blasts. And even so, it was actually against their will; the Sages derive from the Torah's words "They stood at the bottom of the mountain" (Sh'mot 19,17) that G-d threatened them with the mountain itself if they did not accept the Torah.

Quite remarkable. Even after all the wonders of the Exodus and the splitting of the Red Sea, with pillars of cloud and fire walking before them, with water pouring out of a rock and bread falling from the sky, miracles every day and every hour – all this seemed not to be enough. Because when the test came and Bnei Yisrael stood at Mt. Sinai, they were not totally ready, and the mountain had to be turned atop them so that they would accept it.

Compare this to what occurred precisely 960 years later. The Jews were living in a far-off, foreign land, subservient to Achashverosh, given to the whims of every little villain who happened to rise to power, under the thumb of a drunken king awash in debauchery and physical pleasures – and suddenly, just a royal signet seal away from total destruction. 

And yet there, under these impossible conditions, in which G-d purposely concealed His presence, and where even the miracles He wrought were enwrapped and hidden in a complex but wondrous plot that only a sensitive eye could see through and locate the Divine hand pulling the strings behind the screen of natural law – precisely there and then, they "fulfilled and accepted" willingly the Torah that they accepted long before somewhat less happily.

Wonder of wonders, is this not? 

To review: After 400 years of enslavement in Egypt, they leave as a free people. Their eyes are peeled towards the Promised Land, towards independence, towards self-determination. No longer slaves of Pharaoh, they will now decide their own fate. The Torah describes them at this point as leaving in triumph (Sh'mot 14,8), well-armed (13,18), and with great confidence. 

They were free, like all other nations, with a flag of their own, with judges, with a kingdom and royal ceremonies. What was still lacking was a Constitution – but there was still time for that. Their hearts were not yet ready to formulate one; they felt they could wait until the circumstances would be ripe, and when they would know their precise situation and its needs. They didn't know yet what type of society they would form, how to regulate relations between citizens, and how to interact with their as-yet unknown neighboring countries. After all, they wouldn't want to act differently and stand out…

Yes, there were miracles – but "who needs miracles now? Let's just live natural lives. Torah from the Heavens? Sounds unnecessary; let's just suffice with a Torah that we ourselves will fashion, not from the Heavens, but from the earth!"

Yet, soon things changed. Not that they had had no relationship with G-d, but it wasn't sufficiently stable and strong. Exile came, and the rivers of Babylon. At first, this seemed catastrophic. "How can we sing the Lord's song on foreign land?" (Psalms 137,4) But little by little, they began to adapt to the new reality – and it didn't seem so terrible. "Exile? On the contrary, the people around us are very pleasant, they grant us equal rights, and even "Mordechai sits by the king's gate" (Esther 2,21). No one treats us differently, we're invited to the king's feast just like everyone else… True, the festivities commemorate the completion of 70 years of the destruction of Jerusalem, with the Holy Temple's utensils on display for all to mock – but what of it? Shushan is a great place to live!"

Then came the wake-up call. In a most enigmatic manner, a long-unknown, pompous villain rises to power, and actually gets the liberal king to agree to his seemingly absurd plan to commit genocide against an entire people. "The king removed his signet ring" (Esther 3,10), signing the royal decree of destruction without hesitation. 

What happened to all the universal humanistic values? To where disappeared to the principle of equal rights for everyone? Was there no longer any appreciation of a hard-working people that was able to integrate successfully and contribute in every area to the entire kingdom? "It is not worth the king's while to retain them" (3,8), the villain explained simply.

And the Jews in Shushan (9,18, and see also 4,16) look around with disbelief. What happened to all their friends? From every corner, people point at them in disdain, harass them, silence them, attack them. "Get out of here, we don't need you, you have no place in this world."

This, then, is the wake-up call. Once again, the Jews realize that they are different from everyone else – and that if they want to survive and thrive, they had better grasp again on to their spiritual fortress, that which was granted them even before they were an independent nation on their own land. They understand that they had better renew the ancient, eternal covenant that their forefathers Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov forged with the G-d of life, the King of the universe. 

Suddenly they understand that it is the Torah of G-d that grants them true life. And they say the same words – "We will [follow the Torah] and we will listen" (Sh'mot 24,7) – that they said long ago at Sinai without understanding their true significance. This time, however, they fully comprehend the words' depth and significance. 

On Purim, "they fulfilled and accepted," fulfilling that which they had accepted once before.

Zachor: Don't Forget to Remember to Forget!

by Rav Aviad Gadot, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

Purim appears to be an opportune time to fulfill the Torah commandment to remember Amalek and his evil and to wipe out all traces thereof. But – it would seem that the best way to wipe something out is not to talk about it. Why then does the Torah want us to talk about Amalek, and demand that we read about him at least once a year, and actively fulfill the mitzvah of forgetting and deleting him? How can there be two commands, both to remember what he did and to wipe out all traces of his memory? Maimonides, in his classic work The Book of Mitzvot, in which he explains in brief each of the 613 commandments, divides this mitzvah into two:

• The first part is the commandment to wage war against Amalek. This is a practical imperative, one that is incumbent upon us as a sovereign people in its land, applicable just like the mitzvot of installing a king and building the Holy Temple.
• The second part is one of understanding and remembering. We are instructed to always remember that which Amalek did to us on our way out of Egypt, and to "fight" the forgetfulness of it that stems naturally from the human condition and the passing of years and circumstances.

That is, we are enjoined to remember that the Amalekites were the first to battle us after we left Egypt. We must do so by citing the verses that recount what they did, and by arousing ourselves to battle them and to hate them and their deeds, ensuring that these feelings not abate with the passage of time. The Rambam also quotes the Medrash Sifri, which states: "Remember that which Amalek did to you – by speaking of it; and do not forget – in your heart."
There is therefore no paradox regarding these two commandments. One is to wipe out Amalek's memory by actively warring against him, and the other is to retain in our consciousness the memory of our military clash against him, for use in our other wars against our enemies – G-d's enemies – so that we will know how and why to fight them, in accordance with the Torah's desire and approach. We have no practical involvement today with the mitzvah of war with Amalek, as we did in the days of the Prophet Shmuel and King Sha'ul. The Mishna tells us that we can no longer identify the ancient nations, as King Sennacherib of Assyria transferred and resettled them to the point where their roots could no longer be traced. Still, the entire miracle of Purim that all of Israel commemorates every year is based on our war against Amalek (Megillah 7a) and the remembrance thereof by Mordechai and Esther – who lived after Sennacherib! However, they were still close enough in time to remember that Haman's hatred of Israel was based in his own Amalekite roots. On the other hand, the mitzvah of remembering and awareness of Amalek is independent of time and place, and applies – with Biblical authority – in every situation, every year on the Shabbat before Purim, known as Shabbat Zakhor [the Sabbath of Remember!]. The later Halakhic authorities discuss whether this commandment can be fulfilled on the day of Purim itself when we read from the Torah the passage of the war with Amalek: "Amalek came and warred with Israel in Refidim…" (Sh'mot 17,8-16). There is recounted the war that Yehoshua bin Nun led against Amalek, in which Moshe lifted his hands in prayer all night. The war ended with Israel's victory. The author of the Arukh HaShulchan rules that we cannot fulfill with this reading the mitzvah of remembering Amalek. Rather, we must read the passage in Parashat Ki Tetze (D'varim 25,17-19), which begins with the word Zakhor and refers specifically to Amalek's sneak-attack upon Israel as they left Egypt. This is a very curious ruling. Though this is in fact the way in which the mitzvah is universally fulfilled, why can't we remember Amalek with the reading of Yehoshua's war with Amalek as well? This is especially difficult considering that this passage includes the words, "G-d will be at war with Amalek for all generations!" However, this ruling can be satisfactorily explained according to the Rambam's words above. The mitzvah to remember is not merely to recall Amalek as a historic phenomenon and by bringing an example of a war with Amalek. Rather, each Jew is obligated to live with the awareness that the concept of Amalek exists and that evil must be eradicated. Yes, it's just a memory, but it is a practical mitzvah – one that validates the wars forced upon us in all generations, as we saw during the times of Mordechai and Esther. As the Talmud derives from the verse in Esther 9: "These days are [to be] remembered and made" – involving both practical action and memory.

Holidays: The Joy of Purim

by Rabbi Zalman Baruch Melamed, Founding Dean (Rosh Yeshiva) of Yeshivat Bet El, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

Our Sages taught (Taanit 29a): "Just as we are to reduce joy when the month of Av begins, similarly when Adar begins, we increase our joy." Regarding Av, there are laws about how to reduce happiness: No weddings, no celebrations, no haircuts – but regarding Adar, we don't find rabbinic laws regarding how to increase joy. The Sages did not give us any practical guidance as to how to do this.

In the month of Av, every rabbi is asked about whether happy music can be played in camps, whether one can go on hikes, what new articles we are permitted to buy, etc. But when Adar begins, there are no questions regarding how to increase joy, what things are forbidden because they cause us sorrow, and the like.

So let us try to delve into the words of the Sages and see how we should fulfill "When Adar enters, we increase joy."

Joy of Mitzvah

The Talmud tells us that contradictions were found in the Scroll of Kohelet (Eccelesiates). For instance, one verse says, "I have praised happiness," while another verse states, "What is the point of joy?" Which is correct? Is joy valuable, or is it pointless? This is a fundamental question: Are we to look at life with positivity, seeing its light, being upbeat – or should we be critical, assume that we were brought into a world full of difficulties and problems, and remain in a state of constant tension so as not to succumb?

The Talmud ultimately resolves the contradiction by saying that Kohelet praises "happiness of mitzvah," whereas joy that is not of mitzvah - "what does it accomplish?" 

That is to say, elation disconnected from Torah, stemming from transient pleasures and momentary excitements, is not sustainable. It disappears quickly and causes frustrations; it is not the true success and progress of genuine happiness. It is rather the "joy" about which Kohelet asked, "What's the point of it?" But the happiness of good deeds is a deep and profound bliss, something permanence that uplifts and makes us better and more complete. That is the true joy that Kohelet had praise for.

HaRav Kook, of saintly blessed memory, wrote (in Ein Ayah to Shabbat 2,98) of two ways to deal with the natural human inclinations toward physical pleasures. Some try to "declare war" on these tendencies and seek to repress them, while others take the opposite approach: Since these inclinations cannot be changed, we must live with them and even give in to them. Both of these approaches are mistaken. Tendencies of this nature must not be repressed, nor surrendered to; they must be uplifted and directed to a profound and true objective. One who is healthy of soul is naturally happy, but if he does not direct it in the right direction, the happiness remains shallow and superficial. The inclinations can be uplifted and directed towards meaningful joy – joy of deeds that give depth to one's life. 

The Joy of Faith

The Maharal of Prague links happiness to the level of one's faith in G-d. The Sages say (Tr. Shabbat 119b) that "one who answers Amen with all his might, the doors of Paradise are opened before him, as is written (Yeshayahu 26,2): "'Open the gates and the righteous nation will come, keeping faithfulness [emunim, from the same root as amen].'" Saying Amen expresses faith, and one who does so with full devotion is a strong believer - deserving of entry to the glory of heaven, where joy and security reside, far from all sadness. Faith gives strength and stability; the believer leans on and trusts in G-d.

And the Maharal writes that Moshe Rabbeinu had an unsuccessful encounter with this issue. When he went to extricate water from the boulder as commanded by G-d, he spoke to Bnei Yisrael in an angry tone, and also hit the rock with anger, instead of speaking to it. If he would have strengthened himself with faith, the Maharal writes, his inner happiness would have been renewed, and he would not have acted out of anger – "for faith brings to song and happiness." 

These words of the Maharal tell us that deep and strong faith puts a person into an inner world of trust in G-d and of happiness, a type of Gan Eden (Paradise). Nothing can unsettle him and nothing rattles him or drives him to anger. 

And so, we have learned that the way to "increase joy" in the month of Adar, or any other time, is by engaging in the joy of doing mitzvot – and the source of it all is by deepening our faith. 

Nowadays

The memory of the miracles that happened to us during the times of Mordechai and Esther, shortly before the return of the Jews from the Babylonian Exile, arouses us to look around at the miracles of our own time. Just like then, the miracles of today are hidden; they are miracles within natural law. 

Everything that happened on Purim appeared to be just a series of coincidences and random natural acts: Esther "happened" to be chosen as queen, Mordechai "happened" to overhear a plot to assassinate the king, and Haman just "happened" to come to the king's palace just when the king was wondering how to honor Mordechai. None of the miracles were open and obvious; rather, the events were orchestrated by G-d in such a way that the terrible tragedy that seemed about to engulf Israel turned into salvation. 

Today as well, ever since the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, we have encountered countless natural miracles. The most blatant was the Six Day War, after which even the most hardened atheists acknowledged that G-d's hand was present in our great victory. The many "coincidences" that occurred one after the other just before and during the war showed us that there was a Guiding Hand. 

Similarly in Gush Katif [before the Disengagement/Expulsion of 2005]: So many rockets were fired from Gaza, causing relatively very few casualties. We remember also the opening of the gates of Soviet Russia for massive Aliyah to Israel. 

One of the grandsons of the Baal Shem Tov, Reb Baruch of Mezhibuzh, understood the Mishna in Tr. Megillah in this vein. The Mishna states, "One who reads the Megillah retroactively [out of order], does not fulfill his obligation" – and Reb Baruch explained: "If someone understands the Purim story as just something that happened once long ago, and does not understand that it is actually relevant and true for every generation and its enemies of the Jewish People, is missing the point that the Megillah must be understood from the vantage point of nowadays as well, with the same message about Divine miracles and our obligation to strengthen our faith.

Pikudei: How to Manage Public Funds

by Rav Moshe Leib HaCohen Halbershtat, founder and head of the Yoru Program for the Training of Rabbis and Community Leaders, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

This week's Torah portion is Pekudei, beginning in Sh'mot 38,21 and ending with the last verse in Sh'mot, in Chapter 40. Its first verse states: 

"These are the accounts of … the Tabernacle of Testimony, as they were accounted [by] Moshe, for the service of the Levites, at the hand of Itamar son of Aharon."

The Medrash explains that the words in Proverbs (28,20) "man of faiths, many blessings" refer to Moshe – "for he was the treasurer of the Mishkan, and everything there was blessed via him."

The Mishna (Sh'kalim 5,2) teaches: "No fewer than two people are placed in charge of public monetary affairs." How then was Moshe allowed to be a lone treasurer? The Sages say: "Even though Moshe was a righteous man, about whom G-d said, 'throughout My house he is trusted' – he still called others to do the calculations with him, as is written, 'at the hand of Itamar son of Aharon.'"

Our Sages also taught that one who donates to the Temple must not enter the public coffers in a way that could arouse suspicion. For if he suddenly becomes rich, he will be suspected of having enriched himself at the Temple's expense. "And why are we so careful? Because one must fulfill his obligations vis-à-vis the public just as he fulfills the obligations placed on him by G-d, as is written: "Be clean regarding G-d and regarding Israel" (Bamidbar 32), and also, "Find favor and good grace in the eyes of G-d and man" (Proverbs 3).

We know that funds for the Tabernacle were raised from the public. At one point, enough money had been collected, and Moshe ordered that all donations be stopped. The Medrash teaches that Moshe asked G-d: "What should we do with the extra funds that were collected?" G-d answered: "Make another Tabernacle, just for the Tablets of Testimony." 

Moshe did so, and then brought the calculations to the public, saying, "This is what we spent on the Mishkan, and this is what we spent on the Mishkan of Testimony."

However, despite all the above, there are sources that teach us that in some cases, one is trusted and permitted to be a sole trustee in charge of public monies – and the Mishna provides some examples of people who were very widely trusted and were therefore named sole trustees.

But certainly Moshe Rabbeinu was no less honest and widely-trusted than those mentioned in the Mishna as being reliable on their own! Not only that, but he was appointed to his position as Treasurer of the Tabernacle by G-d Himself, because of his great trustworthiness. Why, then, did Moshe make sure to manage all the financial affairs only together with others? And furthermore, why did he have to be so meticulous about explaining how much was spent on each of the Tabernacles?

The answer is: He didn't have to. But he chose to do so, because he well understood human nature. He realized that people are wont to reproach and spread suspicions about even the most trusted of men. A person should therefore do everything he can to prevent this; he should behave with complete transparency, so as to prevent any possibility of false suspicions. Moshe wished to teach Israel, for all future generations, how to behave properly when dealing with public needs, and with public funds.

The Talmud (B'rachot 18b) tells a story of Avuha D'Shmuel, the father of the Amoraitic Sage Shmuel. The father was a very honest and trusted man, who was even entrusted with the money of orphans until they were old enough to receive it. Avuha D'Shmuel did not get to tell Shmuel where he had placed a certain orphan's money, and when he died, Shmuel did not know where to find it. He therefore could not give it back to the orphan, and people began to denigrate him: "Son of he who ate orphans' money," people called him. 

Shmuel decided he had to solve this mystery, and so he went to look for his father in the cemetery. The Medrash recounts that he found there those who had died, sitting outside their graves. Shmuel said, "I am looking for my father, named Abba." 

"There are lots of people here with that name," they told him.

Shmuel said: "I am looking for my father Abba bar Abba."

They again answered, "there are many with that name."

Finally, Shmuel said: "I am looking for Abba bar Abba, Avuha D'Shmuel [father of Shmuel]."

They told him: "He has already ascended to the Heavenly Yeshiva…" 

… Time passed, and Shmuel's father came out, crying and laughing. Shmuel asked, "Why are you crying?" 

His father answered, "Because in a short time, you will join us here." 

Shmuel asked: "And why are you laughing?" 

Shmuel's father answered: "Because I see that you are a very important person here in the Upper World…"

Shmuel asked his father: "Where did you put the orphan's money?"

"I put them beneath the millstone grinder seat. You'll find there some monies: The bottom and top ones are ours, and the rest belongs to the orphans." 

Shmuel said, "Why did you do it that way?"

His father answered:  "Because if robbers come to steal the money, they'll first take my money on top, and the orphans' money will be safe. And if the ground in which the money is buried will ruin the money, only the money on the bottom – ours – will be lost, and the orphans' money will be saved."

This story tells us clearly that even so trusted and dedicated a man as Avuha D'Shmuel, who was trusted by all, and took extra efforts to safeguard the money of others even at the expense of his own – still, when one single question arose, people immediately began blaming him and calling him names. And this is precisely what Moshe Rabbeinu tried to avoid. He knew that even if he was within his rights to administer the money himself, it simply wasn't a good idea. In order to prevent false suspicions, it is best that not only one person be in charge of public funds. Rather, a committee, even if with only two members, working with full transparency in preparing full financial reports is simply the best route to go.

May it be G-d's will that we all merit to walk in the path of Moshe Rabbeinu, "man of faiths, many blessings."

The Real Purpose of the Shekalim Coins

Adapted from an article by the late saintly Rav Moshe Tzuriel, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

Every year, beginning in the month of Adar, our ancestors were commanded to bring half-shekels to finance the public sacrifices in our Holy Temple; at least 16 were brought each week, and many more on festival days. Nowadays, without our Holy Temple, we commemorate this important Torah mitzvah in two ways: We read aloud from the Torah the passage of "Sh'kalim" (Sh'mot 30,11-16) on the Shabbat of or before Rosh Chodesh Adar, which this year is this coming Sabbath. In addition, on Purim we give a sum of money to charity. 

However, it is not sufficient to simply perform mitzvot; one must also give thought to their content and purpose. Let us contemplate the matter: What was the purpose of bringing the sh'kalim coins? 

Firstly, the dry facts: There are different ways of performing the important custom of giving half-shekels. Generally, Ashkenazim take three half-coins of the main local currency, while many Sephardim follow the ruling of Maimonides to give the equivalent of nine grams of silver (just over $7 or 25 NIS). Some give starting from Bar or Bat Mitzvah age, others start from age 20, and some parents give the amount for each of their small children, including those still in the womb. Many give this charity to needy Torah scholars or yeshivot. 

However, the original intention of the mitzvah is not always remembered: The money was designated for the Temple's communal fund for the purpose of purchasing sheep, bulls and rams for the public sacrifices. 

Early generations of our ancestors were deeply imbued with recognition of the supreme importance of the construction of our Beit Mikdash and the offering of sacrifices there. The Talmud (Bava Metzia 114b) tells us that after the Exile, many generations did not study the tractates having to do with agricultural laws and ritual impurity, which basically applied only to the distant Land of Israel. They did, however, study the laws of sacrifices – because such study is considered equivalent to actually bringing the offerings (Menachot 110a), and was therefore considered most practical indeed. 

The saintly rabbi Ben Ish Chai (19th century, Iraq) made a fascinating point in this regard. He cited a Halakhic Medrash (the Sifri) that states that given that mitzvot are ideally meant to be performed in the Land of Israel, their performance outside the Land is a form of practice and training (though still quite obligatory). As such, given that one who learns the laws of Temple sacrifices is considered to be performing these laws, his study is actually on a higher level than the performance of other mitzvot, which are just a form of preparation for the real thing. 

Similarly, the Medrash Tanchuma teaches: "G-d said: Even though the Temple will be destroyed and sacrifices will not be brought, still, do not forget their laws; make sure to read and study the relevant Torah and Mishna passages – and if you do so, I will consider it as if you are engaged in offering the sacrifices."

And when G-d commanded the Prophet Yechezkel (43,10) to teach Israel the layout and measurements of the Holy Temple, the Medrash tell us that Yechezkel protested and asked what relevance this held, given that the nation was in Exile. G-d responded, "Just because My children are in Exile, should the construction of My House be delayed? If they engage in the study of it, their reward will be that I will view them as if they are building the Temple." Studying the details of its construction is equivalent to building it, and study of the laws of sacrifices is like actually bringing them.

The Chafetz Chaim wrote: "If we would suddenly be informed that the Beit HaMikdash had been built, clearly, no one would hesitate to spend many rubles in order to travel to our Holy Land and bring a sacrifice before G-d. So now that G-d has promised us that our study alone of these laws is equivalent to the actual act of offering the sacrifices, without the need to spend money or actually travel to the Land, all the more so should we jump at this opportunity!" 

He also wrote that essentially, each one of us can serve as a High Priest, even nowadays, simply by learning the laws of the Temple service that he performs!

In addition, we know that one of the questions a person is asked when he appears before the Heavenly Tribunal is, "Did you anticipate the Redemption?" It is therefore very proper, the Chafetz Chaim writes, for the people of the Holy Land to study the laws of the sacrifices, each one according to his ability – and this will be a great preparation for the Redemption, and then G-d, too, will hurry to redeem us.

Our anticipation of the construction of the Beit HaMikdash, and the desire to offer sacrifices, is linked to a large part of all the Torah mitzvot. Many portions of the Torah deal with these matters, and some 142 mitzvot have to do with the Temple and the sacrifices – well over one-fifth of the Torah's 613 commandments. Therefore, when we read the portion of Sh'kalim this week, we must evoke our understanding of, and longing for, the chance to fulfill these mitzvot. 

The Torah promises us (Sh'mot 34,24) that when we all go up to Jerusalem three times a year for the Festivals, our homes and lands will remain safe from the "covetous eyes" of the Gentiles. This is the special blessing of the Festivals. We might ask: Do we not know that there were times when during the times of the Holy Temple, our enemies invaded and conquered? (See Yoel 4,2: "My land they divided.") 

The answer is that this blessing did not apply when we acted wickedly: "This House on which My name is called has become a den of robbers in your eyes?" (Yirmiyahu 7,11)  G-d responded to this by saying (Yeshayahu 1,12), "When you come before Me [to the Temple], who asked you to do this, to trample My courtyards?"  

And perhaps this can be a partial explanation for our contemporary problems with our Arab neighbors, who seek to steal our Land – for we do not have the benefit of the Holy Temple and its blessings. We are unable to ascend to the Temple, but only to its retaining Western Wall, and this, too, reminds us of our lowly state without our glorious Holy Temple. Please, G-d, "renew our days as of old"  (Eichah 5,21). 

Vayakhel: Oh how much do I love Your Torah

by Rav Moshe Leib HaCohen Halbershtat, founder and head of the Yoru Program for the Training of Rabbis and Community Leaders, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

This week's Torah portion is Vayakhel (Sh'mot 35,1-38,20), which we read together in some years with Parashat Pekudei. The two of them review the construction of the Mishkan (Tabernacle) and its various furnishings, such as the Menorah, Ark, and more, as well as the fashioning of the Priestly garments. We read in these portions of all the acts of construction that were actually carried out, whereas in the portions of Terumah and Tetzaveh, the Torah tells us of each activity that G-d commanded Moshe to do. Aside from this difference, the two accounts are nearly exactly the same, except for occasional small changes from which important details are deduced (see the commentary of the Abarbanel to Vayak'hel and Pekudei).

Why, then, is the story repeated twice? The Torah is generally spare with its words; why did it devote nearly two entire portions to a repetition of all the details we already knew?

The Medrash Tanchuma to Sh'mot 30,8 teaches: 

Moshe Rabbeinu said to G-d: "My Master, of the seventy nations of the world, You command me regarding Israel exclusively: 'When you count the people of Bnei Yisrael [the Children of Israel]… Speak to Bnei Yisrael, saying… Command Bnei Yisrael… And now give this command to Bnei Yisrael...' Everything You command me has to do with Israel!" 

G-d answered: "It is because they are the most beloved to Me among all the nations; they are My treasure, I love them and I have chosen them, as written: "It is you that Hashem your G-d has chosen to be His treasured nation" (D'varim 14,2).

The Medrash continues to cite the following verse as a proof of how much G-d loves Israel: 

"I have given the Levites as a gift to Aharon the Priest and his sons from among Bnei Yisrael, to perform the service of Bnei Yisrael in the Tent of Meeting and to atone for Bnei Yisrael, so that there be no plague among Bnei Yisrael when Bnei Yisrael come near the Sanctuary" (Bamidbar 8,19) – the Children of Israel are mentioned five times (!) in one verse. R. Shimon bar Yochai says it is just like a father who sends his young son to a teacher and does not cease to inquire after him: 'Did he eat well today? Did he drink well today? What time did he get there? What time did he leave?' So too, G-d loves to mention Israel every hour."

From this Medrash we learn the important principle that when one loves another, he continually mentions him and talks about him. Hashem loves Israel, and therefore mentions them five times in one verse. Rabbeinu Bachye (13th-14th centuries, Spain), in his classic commentary on the Torah, says that this is why the Torah repeats the story of the Tabernacle and its accessories no fewer than five times – twice in its details, and thrice in general – just as this verse in Bamidbar mentions Israel five times; both emphasize the affection that G-d has for them.

I believe that we can add another point here, and that is that the reason that the Tabernacle is so beloved to Hashem is precisely because of His great love for Israel! For the Mishkan is the place in which Israel can come close to G-d on the highest level possible on earth. As is written: "They shall build Me a Tabernacle and I will dwell in their midst" (Sh'mot 35,8). 

This explanation is also found in the Ramban's commentary on Vayak'hel (36,8): 

"And in general, everything here is [to show] His love and high regard, to say that G-d loves the work of the Mishkan, mentioning it in His Torah many times, to increase the reward of those who engage in it…"

And these are the words of the great ethical work Orchot Tzaddikim, Chapter 25: 

"Beware very much, my son, of speaking ill and gossip of others, for whoever finds fault – is himself at fault; the fault that is a part of him rests constantly in his heart, because he speaks of it – for every person is judged and recognized by his [speech]. How so? If you see a man who regularly praises women and speaks about them, know that he is a [potential] womanizer; and if he customarily praises good food and wine, it means that he is a glutton; and the same is true for everything else. And the proof is from this verse: "Oh how much do I love Your Torah; it is my conversation all day long" (Psalms 119,97), which tells us that because I love the Torah, that is why I speak of it; everything that a person loves in his heart, he speaks of always." 

One of the trials that many Torah students encounter is their desire to always learn new things, accompanied by a lack of will to review again what they have already studied. The solution for this is to imbue their thoughts and desires with the goal and importance of attaining true love of G-d and of the Torah, and when the students truly feel this, they will review their studies with great joy – because whatever a person loves in his heart, he will always speak of, as we saw in the above verse from King David's Psalms.