Tetzave: Light Up the World!

by Rav Hillel Mertzbach, Rabbi of the Yad Binyamin Central Synagogue, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

This week's portion of Tetzave (Sh'mot 27,20-30,10) tells us of the final preparations for the dedication of the Mishkan (Tabernacle, the portable, mini-Beit Mikdash for use before the real Beit HaMikdash is built). These include the consecration of the sons of Aharon as Priests and the special sacrifices involved therein; the fashioning of the Priestly Garments; the daily Tamid altar sacrifice; and the construction of the Incense Altar.

The first two verses of Parashat Tetzave are a command to light the Tamid lamp in the Tabernacle: "You [Moshe] shall command the Israelites to [bring] you pure olive oil to keep the lamp constantly burning. Aharon and his sons shall arrange it [to burn] from evening to morning, before G-d, in the Communion Tent outside the curtain concealing the [Ark of] Testimony; a law for all generations."

Several questions present themselves, the answers to which can help us understand an important principle regarding the function of the Mishkan in particular and the People of Israel in general. 

1. Why is Moshe told to "command" Israel regarding the oil and the lamp, when until now he was simply told to "make" the various parts of the Mishkan, without a "command"?

2. Last week's Torah portion of Trumah featured the instructions to fashion the Mishkan and its utensils, and this week's portion deals mainly with the garments and other preparations. Why is this topic of preparing the Perpetual Light placed in the Torah precisely here, right in the middle? Why does it belong here?

3. In addition, this command appears elsewhere in the Torah (Vayikra 24,1-5), and immediately afterwards we read of the mitzvah to prepare the Lechem HaPanim (the Showbread). If the two are connected, why does the Torah not speak of the Showbread here as well, together with the command to light the Ner Tamid?

4. And speaking of the second command to light the lamp, in Vayikra, why does it say there that the lamps should be lit on a Menorah, candelabrum, while here in Tetzaveh no mention is made of the Menorah?

Let us provide one comprehensive explanation to answer these questions, beginning with this underlying fundamental regarding the Mishkan: After the Torah tells Moshe to build the Tabernacle's utensils (Ark, Table, Altar, etc.), but before the practical preparations for their use begin, and before the garments are made, G-d wants to inform us of the ultimate objective of the Mishkan altogether: It is nothing less than to light up the entire world!

This is why the Torah does not tell us here where exactly the light is to be placed, whether in a Menorah or not. That's not relevant yet. Before getting into all the details, G-d informs us: "Know and remember what the purpose of the Mishkan is: It is to illuminate the world."

This principle is very important to know before the Priests come to wear their special garments. G-d wants them to hear and internalize this message: "You are not receiving these unique clothes simply for their beauty. Your goal is to serve as My emissaries to light up the world." Only after the purpose has been made clear will it be appropriate to talk about how this is to be done, including the various details. But if the goal is not sufficiently clear, the Priests are liable to make various "mistakes," such as seeing their fancy garments as a means for personal honor and the like. In such a case, the b'gadim, clothing, will become bogdim, traitors. Only when the final objective is clear can one set out on the next step of the journey: "You shall make garments of holiness for Aharon your brother, for honor and beauty" (28,2). 

The Rashbam, one of the early Torah commentators (R. Shmuel ben Meir, of the 12th century), explains that the emphasis on a "command" to take oil for the Mishkan light is because "the language of 'command' always means that it is for all generations." That is, every generation must constantly know and remember what is the purpose of the Mishkan: to light up the world. 

This is certainly true for our generation as well. We must remember constantly our purpose, which is to bring light by magnifying and promoting G-d's name in the world. By continually reviewing, refining, and perfecting for ourselves what we are doing here in this world, we will be able to "dress ourselves" and set out to accomplish our various missions that stand before us, personally and nationally. Let us not fall into the trap of wearing various articles of clothing that betray and belie our very essence!

Teruma: Who's in the Center?

Condensed from an article by Rav Azriel Ariel, Rabbi of Ateret in the Binyamin Region, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

The ongoing debate in Israel over judicial-system reform has exposed the chasm between the modern liberal outlook and the traditional Jewish worldview. The core of the dispute lies in a fundamental question: Who is in the center – mortal man, or G-d?

A religious worldview places G-d at the center of life, and man's role is to actualize his identity as a “servant of G-d.” This is known as Theo centrism. The liberal worldview, on the other hand, demands the opposite: free human autonomy, or anthropocentrism, wherein the human being is at the center; he gets to choose a religious life if he feels that it enhances his quality of life and advances the values that he has chosen to commit to. According to this latter view, no absolute value stands above "man," and certainly no value exists for which human life may be compromised.

Is it possible to build any kind of bridge, even a narrow one, between these two polar opposites?

Rav A. I. Kook, the great visionary of the 20th century and first Chief Rabbi of the modern Jewish population in the Holy Land, can help us. In his article Daat Elokim, he does not accept the conception that G-d is simply our "boss" or "master," nor does He turn to man only from "above;" He is rather also present within us, here "below."  

Our belief that we were created in the image of G-d means that we meet up with the Divine attributes imbued in our soul. Our "love" for G-d is not just a longing for the exalted, but also "solidarity" with a Being that has positive attributes that are similar to those we find in ourselves. That is, we love Hashem our G-d precisely because we love ourselves, and we admire in Him the greatness of character that we find in ourselves. Our faith and trust in Him is not detached from the faith and trust we have in ourselves and the strengths with which He imbued us.

We're Not Passive
As religious Jews, we are not totally passive vis-à-vis G-d. Rather, when the Torah warns us against saying and feeling, "My successes are due to my own strength" (D'varim 8,17), this is only if we say it boastfully. Actually, we should have this sentiment, and we should recognize our strong points – but only as something that was granted us by G-d: "Remember that Hashem is He Who gave you these abilities" (verse 18). The "I" and the "Infinite" are not in constant conflict; in truth, the latter is revealed, partially, in the former.

But still, this is not the total answer to our question; that would be too easy.

One who senses within him the aspiration for goodness and holiness that exists in his soul, need not live with a feeling of conflict between his personal autonomy and G-d's word. Yes, there is surely a measure of a clash – but only as inner tension within him, between two conflicting voices in his personality. The believer does not perceive G-d's commandments as something that coerces and represses him, but rather as "instructions" [from the same Hebrew root as the word Torah] as to how to actualize himself in a balanced manner. He views it as guidance that gives the appropriate space to both the physical and the spirit, thus raising the entirety of his personality to a life of deep meaning and satisfaction.

Is this a realistic option? In principle, yes – but not always in practice. It is actually a vision for the future, as the Prophet Jeremiah foretold in G-d's name: "I will place My Torah in their midst and inscribe it upon their hearts." There will then be no need for external coercion, "for all will know Me, from their young to their elderly" (Jeremiah 31).

It's Already Starting
In several of his writings, Rav Kook states that this "future vision" is already beginning to be actualized: "In early times, the general 'mind' of mankind was less developed, and its desires were more barbaric – and therefore the Divine vision was entirely devoted to rejecting the wayward 'intellect' that was subject only to animalistic urges…" But now, he continues, the world has been becoming more refined: “The world's refinement … has greatly purified the human spirit, so that even though this purification has not yet been completed, still, much of [man's] thoughts and the natural striving of his will are, of themselves, directed toward the Divine good” (Orot HaKodesh II, p. 545).

This does not at all mean that the time has come to place the individual in the center and rely upon his identification with the word of G-d in his inner character. There are still "many parts of the spirit of knowledge and human will that have not yet been refined," and which are therefore still dangerous because of the presence of "many remnants of barbarism." This is because the illusion that we have reached the "complete rectified state [causes] every abomination and deceit to be masked by a shining wrapping."

The liberal demands recognize the change in the human spirit; but on the one hand, the time for their implementation has not yet arrived, and on the other hand, "when the pure tradition and religion come to subdue this refined element, they will not succeed." We must acknowledge the tension within us between the old ‘religious’ voice and the new ‘liberal,’ moral, and instinctively-natural voice, and manage it in a manner suited to our generation.”

The practical implementation of this understanding stands at the basis of Rav Kook's classic work, Lights of Repentance. He writes there: "The primary repentance, which immediately illuminates the darkness, is that a person returns to himself, to the source of his soul - and he then will return to G-d…"

"I Will Dwell Within Them"

This concept is found in the beginning of this week's Torah portion of Teruma (Sh'mot 25,1 - 27,19): "They shall make for Me a Sanctuary and I will dwell in their midst." On the face of it, the command appears to reflect the "old" religious conception demanding that G-d's word be placed in the center and man's personality be shunted aside. Many commentators, however, note that the verse actually renders Israel, not the Sanctuary, the ultimate goal: "I will dwell in their midst," not "in its midst."

That is, the function of the Sanctuary is much greater than simply finding a place for the Divine Presence. It is rather to bring G-d to dwell within us, in our hearts. This will then bring peace between the two bitter rivals – Judaism and liberalism – with the understanding that in the center stands "the G-d that is within each person."

Hopefully, this insight will help lower the flames a bit in the sharp clashes that we see today between different sectors of the nation. 

Shekalim: The Half-Shekel – Then and Today

by Rav Netanel Yosifun, Rosh Yeshiva, Yeshivat Orot Netanya, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

This coming Shabbat is known as Shabbat Shekalim, because we will read aloud – as we do very year before Rosh Chodesh Adar – the passage of the Shekalim (Sh'mot 30,11-16), in addition to the regular weekly portion of Mishpatim. The Shekalim passage deals with the half-shekel that every Jew was called upon to donate annually for the Temple service.

In the coming days, we will certainly be flooded with advertisements and announcements calling on all of us to fulfill the "remembrance of the half-shekel” – zekher l'machtzit hashekel – by donating to various important institutions. Undoubtedly this will provide us with opportunities to fulfill the important mitzvah of charity. Let us first, however, recall the original mitzvah and what it involved.

When the Holy Temple stood, the communal offerings, such as the daily Tamid and Musaf sacrifices, were purchased with communal funds. The half-shekalim were donated during the course of the month of Adar, and each year, from Nissan through Adar, only the shekalim of that year were used; the funds were not carried over from one year's communal offerings to the next, but were rather used for other Temple needs. As the Mishna teaches, announcements were made throughout the land to remind everyone to fulfill the mitzvah of donating their share. Today, in commemoration of those proclamations, we read the shekalim passage from the Torah.

Even from distant lands, almost wherever Jews lived, they would contribute the half-shekels to the Holy Temple. With great self-sacrifice, Jews from all over the world would send, or bring, the sacred funds. Sometimes they had to cross deserts and hostile territories, where bandits would attack their caravans in an attempt to seize the chests of money, and the pilgrims would have to fight fiercely to protect the Temple funds.

Several centuries ago, half-shekel coins of pure silver somehow spread throughout the Jewish world, and it was claimed that these were coins from the Temple period. Many Jews, with great longing for the rebuilding of the Temple, spent large sums of money to obtain such a coin. It was later discovered, however, that the coins were forgeries; their value dropped, of course, but the inner yearning for the great and holy Beit Mikdash remained unchanged.

In the last generation, several half-shekel coins were discovered in archaeological excavations in the area of the Temple Mount. More recently, a half-shekel was even found in soil that had been removed by the Muslim Waqf from the Temple Mount in its attempts to destroy any vestiges of the Holy Temple. The discovered coin was minted during the time of the great Jewish revolt against the Romans that led up the exile and destruction some 1,950 years ago.

The Torah states in the Shekalim passage that G-d told Moshe, "This they shall bring: a half-shekel of the sanctuary standard." Rashi explains that the word "this" indicates as if Hashem was pointing out to Moshe a coin of fire and saying, "This is what they shall give."

We know of another Sanctuary vessel that G-d pointed out to Moshe in this manner, and that was the Menorah. This was because the Menorah was very complex, and G-d had to make it Himself for him. But a coin is not so difficult to fashion; why did G-d have to point it out to Moshe - and in a format of fire, to boot?

The answer is that this is precisely the profundity of the mitzvah of the half-shekel. It is a mitzvah based on silver, which is the basis for all physical and material human existence – but when it is donated to the Holy Temple, it becomes a spiritual fire that ascends and raises up.

During this period of the year, when we read about the half-shekel and remember it with charitable donations, let us pray that will be privileged – this very year! – to fulfill this mitzvah not only in "memorial" form, but in actual practice: giving a half-shekel to our genuine Beit HaMikdash, in all its glory upon its speedy rebuilding, Amen!

Mishpatim: Can We Have Both Truth and Peace?

by Rav Hillel Mertzbach, Rabbi of the Yad Binyamin Central Synagogue, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

Following the Majority

In this week's Torah portion of Mishpatim (Sh'mot, chapters 21-24), we are taught many Torah laws, including many having to do with courts and civil law. Verse 23,2 reads as follows:

"Do not follow the majority to do evil; do not speak up in a trial to pervert justice; follow the majority." Perhaps because there are different ways of translating this verse, the commentary of Rashi rings very true: "The Sages of Israel have [various] derivations on this verse, but the wording of the verse does not fit in well with them…"

The basic difficulty is that the verse appears to contradict itself. First it says that one must maintain what appears to him to be the truth, even if the majority does not agree with him. That is, he must not follow the majority if he believes they are doing the wrong thing. But the verse then concludes that even in precisely such a situation, he must follow the majority!

Individuality or Collectivism?

I heard from my good friend Rabbi Sar'el Rosenblatt that the verse must be understood as referring to two different stages in a person's development. One must begin by thinking carefully about an issue, then coming to a conclusion, and then expressing his truth – even if he finds himself in the minority. If you conclude that the others are mistaken, then speak up and struggle for the truth!

However, when it comes to actually deciding on the course of action to be taken, and you have not succeeded in convincing them, then there can be no choice but to accept the majority opinion.

In the world of ideas, absolute truth has a place of honor. But in the world of deeds and practicality, we must function democratically, where the minority bends itself to what the majority determines.

Mordechai's Two Hats

The happy Purim month of Adar is about to begin (this Tuesday and Wednesday). Let us look at how Mordechai HaYehudi acted throughout the Purim story. On the one hand, the story begins with Mordechai angering the wicked Haman, by being the only one who refuses to bow down to him: "Mordechai would not bow and would not bend" (Esther 3,2). 

As detailed in the Talmud (Megillah 19a), this was exactly what raised Haman's ire against the entire Jewish populace. That is, Mordechai was the only one to act this way. All the other servants of the king, not only the Jewish ones, bowed to Haman, because they realized the danger of not doing so. But Mordechai felt that it was forbidden to do so, and the Sages recount that he argued about this with the other members of the Sanhedrin (Great Court). They said to him: "Do you not realize that by refusing to bow, you could cause us all to be killed!" He said, "I cannot do otherwise; I am a Jew!"

They said to him, "But you know that your own forefathers bowed down to Haman's forefather, when Yaakov and his sons met up with Esav [Parashat Vayishlach, B'reshit 33)." Mordechai answered, "Yaakov's youngest son Binyamin was not yet born then, such that he did not bow down – and I am descended from Binyamin… Just like he did not bow down, neither will I!"

We see here that Mordechai insisted on taking an extreme position, even at the expense of endangering all of Israel, because he reasoned that it would be a desecration of G-d's name to bow down to Haman. He fulfilled what he felt was "do not follow the majority to do evil."

On the other hand, later on, we see that Mordechai changed his tune. The final verse in Esther reads: "For Mordechai the Jew was second to King Ahashverosh, great among the Jews and accepted by most of his brethren, seeking the good of his people and speaking peace for all of their descendants."

Mordechai underwent a transformation of sorts, from an independent thinker and doer, to one who was accepted by most – not all, as the Talmud notes pointedly – and seeking peace for all.

Youth and Maturity

This can also be likened to personal human development. In our youth, we are often romantic, demanding what appears to be justice, truth and ideals. But as years pass, we generally see life more calmly and are open to accepting that there are other opinions. As adults, we no longer adopt only "Do not follow the majority for evil!" but rather understand that practically speaking, things must be accomplished according to the majority opinion. Thus, peace will be achieved.

Nor can it be any different. If we would run directly to "peace" without first clarifying what is the truth, then even peace will not be able to be achieved.

We learn from here that we must contain a duality: On the one hand, we must recognize the absolute truth, and so build our personality - and from there we must reach containment and acceptance of and by the majority, which will lead to seeking and speaking peace.

An Eye for an Eye

This message is taught elsewhere in Parashat Mishpatim as well. The Torah states that if one maliciously causes another to lose his eye, for instance, he must be punished by losing his own eye: "An eye for an eye" (21,24). The Oral Law, however, determines that this is meant only to show the severity of the incident, but that in reality, the offender must simply pay money in compensation. That is to say, the absolute truth is that causing one to lose an eye must ideally cost the perpetrator an eye, but in the practical world, this cannot be the case.

In conclusion, we are not at liberty to give up on the truth, nor may we cede peace. It is incumbent upon us to begin with the truth, and from their make our way to peace. As in the words of the Prophet Zechariah (8,19): "The truth and the peace – you must love." truth will lead to peace.

Yitro: Honor Your Parents – and Yourselves!

by Rav Moshe Leib HaCohen Halbershtadt, Founder and Director of YORU Jewish Leadership, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

This week's Torah portion Yitro (Sh'mot, chapter 18-20) features the actual Giving of the Torah to Israel on Mt. Sinai and the text of the Ten Commandments. Let us discuss the fifth commandments, "Honor your father and your mother," and the reward we are promised for its fulfillment, "so that you will live long on the land that Hashem your G-d gives you" (Sh'mot 20,11).

The Ten Commandments are the fundamental guidelines of all the mitzvot of the Torah, and actually include within them all 613 mitzvot of the Torah. Rashi states this in his commentary to Sh'mot 24,12, and Rabbeinu Saadia Gaon explains how each and every mitzvah is derived from G-d's words to us at Sinai.

Why was this commandment of honoring our parents chosen to be the only one of the ten whose reward is specified? The rewards for the other nine are, by design, not outlined here!

Another question is why is "long life" the reward for this mitzvah? Again we turn to Rav Saadia, who lived over 1,000 years ago, and who explained as follows: It is because sometimes, we find that parents live for a long time, and actually become a burden of sorts on their children who seek to honor them. Therefore, G-d set "long life" as the reward for this mitzvah, meaning that we must honor our parents as we live together with them – and if perhaps you feel distress over their lives, you must understand that it is actually your own life about which you are troubled. (This is one explanation among many.)

But let us return to the main question: What is it about the mitzvah of honoring parents that its reward is spelled out in the Ten Commandments, unlike the other nine?

What We Learn from First-Fruits

Let us turn to the mitzvah of Bikurim: bringing the First Fruits of one's field to the priests in the Holy Temple. The Torah says that you must bring them to the "priest who will be in those days" (D'varim 26,3): Rashi explains that this tells us that no priest is ineligible to receive the Bikurim. Rather, you must give them to whichever priest you find serving in the Temple.

In my article "Bringing Bikurim Without Calculations," I cited various commentators' opinions regarding why one might not want to bring the Bikurim to a given Cohen. I added that upon deeper reflection, we find that there are in fact various calculations that one could have regarding which Cohen to give to or not: This one is not scholarly or righteous enough, this one he never talks to, while the other one is a friend of his… But the bottom line is that the holy Torah understands our hearts, and knows that a person is willing to give to Hashem whatever He commands – but not necessarily if it goes to another person. In such a case, he has all sorts of calculations…

This is why the Torah says, "The first of the fruits of your land, bring to Hashem your G-d" (Sh'mot 23,19), and tell him, "I have said today to Hashem your G-d…" (D'varim 26,3) – Bikurim must be brought as if they were going straight to Hashem; rise up above all your petty calculations!

Rav Yehonatan Aybeschutz, in his Yaarot Dvash, states clearly that if a person comes to ask about his slaughtered chicken or cow, and the rabbi tells him it is not kosher and must be thrown out – the man will do so with no hesitation. But if he has a monetary dispute with another man and is found liable to pay him, he will be quite upset – especially at the judge! And the reason is because he has no problem giving to G-d Who gave us the Torah, but when it comes to paying a man, that is much harder because of the jealousy involved.

And this brings us back to the mitzvah of honoring our parents, where possible resentment at giving to others can apply most significantly. Our Sages describe the great difficulty of observing this mitzvah properly with the words of R. Yochanan – both of whose parents died before he ever got to know them. He actually said, "Fortunate is the man who did not see his parents" – because, Rashi says, it is impossible to honor them properly enough.

Making Sense

The Arukh HaShulchan writes that honoring one’s parents is categorized among the "rational commandments," and in fact has spread to the nations of the world. Even those who deny the Torah are careful with this mitzvah, because it makes sense. Yet we, the people of Israel, must observe it not because of its logic – but because G-d commanded us to do so! This, he writes, is a fundamental concept in all the mitzvot of the Torah.

And yet, though it is an understandable and compelling mitzvah to anyone with a modicum of understanding, it comes at a great cost. We must nullify our own needs in order to properly give to our parents what they need, especially as they grow older and infirm – and it is therefore frequently natural to seek excuses why not to perform it as best we can.

This is why the Torah tells us that we must do it, "in order that your days be lengthened." This mitzvah is the only one of the Ten Commandments in which one must give something to another – and not just once, but throughout his life: As the Gemara tells us, "One must honor him in his [the parent's] lifetime and also after his death" (Kiddushin 31b). Again, the Torah understands how we think, and therefore emphasized that when one gives to his parents, he is actually giving himself as well: "… in order that your days be lengthened on the land." This removes the instinctive difficulties involved in giving others, as explained above, and it becomes much easier to properly fulfill this mitzvah.

This explains why the Torah wrote the reward for this mitzvah here in the Ten Commandments – because it is actually not just a reward for its fulfillment, but rather an intrinsic part of the very reason why we are commanded to perform it with the expectation that we will do it correctly. This is not a "mitzvah with its reward alongside it," in the words of the Gemara - but rather a "mitzvah with its reward inside it!"

Honor your parents, for this means lengthening your days!

Beshalach: Tu B'Shvat and the Complaints Against the Manna

by Rav Netanel Yosifun, Rosh Yeshiva, Yeshivat Orot Netanya, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

The story is told of an emissary from our Holy Land who went to a Jewish community abroad, hoping to persuade them to make Aliyah. He began by reprimanding them for remaining in the Exile, but he soon saw that he was getting nowhere with them.

So he changed his tune and said, “Let me ask just one thing of you: Make sure that when you sanctify the Sabbath with Kiddush every week, use only wine from Israel, and emphasize to your children that this is wine from our Holy Land.”

The Jews accepted his request, and the emissary returned to Israel. Years passed, and the members of that community gradually made Aliyah to the Land. They told that emissary: “You should know that it was the wine from the Land that ignited our hearts with love for our Land, to the point that we all came to live here!”

Which of course raises the question: What was it about the wine that caused such a profound transformation in those Jews, to the point that they arose and immigrated to Israel?

We can explain this on two levels. Most simply, the very fact that they spoke about the Land and experienced it over a long period led them to develop a connection to it.

But it can also be explained on a deeper, more intrinsic level: By actually drinking the wine of the Land of Israel, the Land was infused into their blood and soul, and they could no longer live without it – and so they arose and made Aliyah. In truth, this is a manifestation of a fundamental point in the way we serve G-d in Eretz Yisrael. The Land's sanctity works on us, raising us up even when we don't sense it openly. As Rabbe Nachman of Breslov taught (Likutei Moharan 129):

Our Rabbis taught that whoever dwells in the Land, is without sin… for it is a land that "consumes its inhabitants" (Bamidbar 13,32), meaning that one who dwells there is 'consumed' by it and his essence becomes the Land's holy essence.

Tu B'Shvat Fruits

This also touches on the great virtues of eating the fruits of the Land of Israel, as we will do this Monday, on Tu B'Shvat, the 15th day of the month of Shvat – known as the New Year for Trees, a special date for commemorating the holiness of the Land's fruits. They are on a higher level even than that of the Manna in the desert, as the Radvash HaTzuf (19th-century) wrote in his Shaar HeHat'zer:

"When the Land of Israel was in a status of complete holiness, with the Holy Temple standing tall, the sanctity of the fruits of the Land, and their taste, were greater even than those of the Manna… And it is well-known that eating the Manna purifies a person, for the Israelites in the desert were forced to eat the Manna in order to purify their bodies so that they could receive the holy Torah. The Manna also had other wondrous virtues, as is known. This can teach us of the great holiness we attain when eating the fruits of Eretz Yisrael."

On the other hand, regarding one who eats non-kosher foods the Torah states, “You shall become defiled (v'nitmeitem) by them,” and the Sages expounded in a play on words: “You shall become dulled (v'nitamtem) by them.” This tells us that forbidden foods dull a person’s heart; food truly becomes part of a person’s body, and therefore unwittingly influences him spiritually.

And if this is true for forbidden foods, then holy foods such as the fruits of Eretz Yisrael sanctify - and also physically raise up - a person’s body, even if he does not consciously understand all the deep ideas "hidden" within the foods.

This can help us resolve an interesting question regarding the story of the manna in the desert. In this week's Torah portion of B'shalach [from Sh'mot 13,17 through the end of Chapter 17], we read of the gift of the manna the nourished the Israelites through their 40 years crossing the wilderness. In general, they appreciated the manna – except for two places, when they complained bitterly.

The first time was related in Parashat Behaalot'cha (Bamidbar 11), when the people claimed that the food did not provide enough variety. They didn't complain that the manna was bad, but only that they wanted meat and vegetables as well. The second incident was in Chukat (Bamidbar 21), when they said that the manna itself was no good.

What in fact happened those two times that made Israel suddenly complain? Forty years of manna, and only twice did they have problems with it – why?

Based on what we explained above, the answer becomes clear: The Land of Israel. In the second incident, the Israelites had reached the border of the Holy Land, warring with the Canaanite King of Arad in the Negev and capturing its cities. But then G-d commanded them to turn towards the land of Edom and to enter Eretz Yisrael from a different place. Right then - verse 21,4 - the people began to lose it. They complained about the manna – precisely because they had been briefly in the Land, were automatically raised up spiritually by its holiness, and were, accordingly, no longer suited to eat the lower-level manna.

A similar thing happened in the first case: The nation complained about the manna, albeit to a lesser extent – right after they began preparing for their trip into the Land. Moshe had just declared, "We are going to the place that G-d said He will give us!" They were truly about to leave, but there were a few delays. Since they were "so close" to entering the Land, something about it raised them up to a level of its holiness – causing them to resent the manna, which as stated, could not serve the same role as the holy fruits of the Land.

Of course, even with all these explanations regarding the subconscious influences of the Land's fruits, it is clear that one who consciously understands these matters and openly experiences them, is on an even higher level. As such, the highest level is to actually live in the Land, eat of its holy produce, and study in depth the virtues of Eretz Yisrael and its fruits.

May we merit on this Tu B'Shvat, and throughout the year, to "eat of its fruits, to be sated with its goodness, and to recite blessing upon it in holiness and purity" (as we say in the after-blessing for the fruits of the Land)!

Bo: Free Will and Human Nature

by Rav Moshe Leib HaCohen Halbershtadt, Founder and Director of YORU Jewish Leadership, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

This week's Torah portion (Bo, Sh'mot 10,1-13,16) is the story of the last three of the Ten Plagues – raising at the same time a fascinating question of Divinely-given, human Free Will. The first verse is this: "G-d said to Moshe, Go to Pharoah, for I have hardened his heart and the hearts of his servants, in order that I place these signs of Mine in him."

The Medrash asks: "Does this verse not enable the heretics to claim that Pharaoh, in refusing to free the Israelites, did not actually sin, for he had no choice in the matter?" R. Shimon ben Lakish answered as follows:

"G-d warns a person once, twice, and a third time – and if he does not reverse course and do teshuvah, G-d then locks his heart from being able to repent, in order to punish him for that which he sinned. This is what happened with Pharaoh: For the first five plagues, G-d sent him Moshe and Aharon to warn him, but he did not listen to them. G-d then said to him: 'Because you have hardened your heart, I will add impurity to your impurity and harden your heart Myself.'"

Does this truly answer the question? Can it be that Pharaoh, a living and breathing person, has had his Free Will taken away? We know that the Torah commands us to "Choose life" (D'varim 30,19), meaning that we have the ability and obligation to choose our deeds freely. This "Free Choice" is in fact the very advantage that humans have over animals. As the Abarbanel explained:

"When King Shlomo wrote, "man has no preeminence over beast" (Eccl. 3,19), he meant this in terms of their bodies; but there is certainly a difference between their intellects and thoughts. Therefore a person must be strong and distance himself from animalistic behaviors, and cling rather to his intellect – and thus he will acquire lasting [reward] for his soul; if he does not do this, he will end up being like an animal, in keeping with the fact that both man and beast were created on one day… Man's perfection is dependent upon his own choices…"

It occurred to me that the explanation regarding Pharaoh is that regarding the first five plagues, he received warnings, followed by plagues that had one objective: to have him yield to G-d's demand to free the Jewish People. But once he did not do that, his fate was sealed – and he thus reached the end of his line as a human being with Free Choice. (See Medrash Sh'mot Rabba 13,3.) It was as if he was dead – but G-d left him physically alive for the final plagues simply so that the world would learn of G-d's greatness and power.

These last plagues, in fact, symbolize a gradual death punishment, step after step. The plague of Locusts took from the Egyptians all the food that the locusts consumed – and without food, of course, a living being cannot live, such that this was the beginning of the road to death. Then came Darkness, in which they lost their sight – another station along their way to dying. This was followed by death itself: the Plague of the Smiting of the Firstborns – capped off by the deaths of Pharaoh's armies in the Red Sea.

The Power of Habit

But in truth, this entire matter can be explained simply in accordance with human nature, with which G-d runs His world. The Torah is telling us here an important fundamental, and that is "the power of habit."

When a person becomes accustomed to doing negative things over a period of time, there comes that moment when "G-d hardens his heart," at which time, even if he wants to stop acting that way, it has become almost impossible to do so. Pharaoh had become accustomed to subjugating the Israelites and working them cruelly to the bone, and he had also gotten used to withstanding G-d's punishments and refusing His demands to release Israel. But then came the inevitable moment when "I have hardened his heart": Pharaoh can no longer free himself of these bad habits.

The famous 20^th-century Maggid of Jerusalem, the late saintly R. Shalom Schvadron, compared this to one who has allowed himself to become addicted to smoking: After many years, he finds it impossible to quit the habit, even though intellectually he understands its great dangers. The Maggid even told a story of a long-time thief who was caught and imprisoned, and when they brought him his food through the window of his cell, he would jump and snatch it from the window – because he was so used to stealing that even that which he received legitimately he could not take normally without "stealing" it.

As such, it is not that Pharaoh's Free Will was taken from him, but rather that he himself brought himself to a situation of a "hardened heart" where he is unable to control his own actions.

Rav Eliyahu Dessler, in his Michtav Me'Eliyahu (translated into English as "Strive for Truth"), explains similarly: A person sins only because of a "spirit of foolishness" that comes over him. Even when he then regrets this, but still cannot withstand the temptation to sin again, this same spirit settles into, and methodically takes over, his mind.

Rav Dessler said he knew a man who suffered from diabetes (before the discovery of insulin), but who could not stop eating chocolate, although he regretted it. When he saw that he did not die from it, he continued eating it, regretting it less and less – until one day he died. If he had stopped right away, he would have been OK, but because he allowed the "spirit of foolishness" to take over regularly, he was lost; there was no longer room for teshuvah.

This actually works for positive actions as well. The Talmud says (Bava Batra 17a) that our Patriarchs Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov were the three men over whom the Evil Inclination had no control. How can this be? With nothing pushing them to sin, did they no longer have Free Choice to choose between good and bad?

The answer is as above: the power of habit. Doing positive deeds became a habit, something intrinsically part of them. Their Free Will was manifest in that they consciously chose to do good, time after time, such that each good deed influenced their next choice, to the point that each juncture no longer provided the need to choose; they simply did good.

The Mishna in Pirkei Avot (5,20) states that we must be "bold like a leopard… and strong like a lion, to do G-d's will." Why does it not simply say that we must be bold and strong, etc., without the comparison to animals? R. Yehuda Tzadkah explained that the Mishna is telling us that we must work to ingrain these attributes within us so that they be as instinctive to us as they are to animals…

May it be G-d's will that we make the right choices, rectify our character and traits, and acquire good habits, to the point that they become part of our very nature.

Vaera: The Blood Libel and the Ten Plagues

by Rav Netanel Yosifun, Rosh Yeshiva, Yeshivat Orot Netanya, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

The Beilis Blood Libel resulted in a famous murder trial in Kiev in 1913, in which Menachem Mendel Beilis was charged with killing a 12-year-old Christian boy for his blood for Jewish ritual purposes. It was the last great blood libel in history, and took place when the world already considered itself modern and enlightened. Fortunately, Beilis was ultimately acquitted, but the anti-Semitism that brought it about, and that it brought about, must continue to be studied, perhaps especially today. 

During the trial, a separate mini-blood libel took place – related to this week's Torah portion – though it was quickly derailed. 

First, let us note that the Torah portion is Va'era (Sh'mot 6,2-9,35). It recounts, inter alia, the first seven of the Ten Plagues with which G-d struck the Egyptian oppressors of the Jews. 

The prosecutor in the Beilis trial, it is told, arose during the proceedings and announced dramatically: "I have proof, from the very Torah of the Jews, that they mix Christian blood in their matzas (Heaven forbid)! Regarding the Ten Plagues, the Jews' Passover Haggadah states clearly: 'R. Yehuda would give them signs in the form of their initial letters arranged in three groups and pronounced d'tzach adash b'achav. [The letters are:] Daled-Tzadi-Khaf, Ayin-Daled-Shin, Bet-Aleph-Chet-Vet.'"

That is to say, R. Yehuda – Rabbi Judah the Prince, redactor of the Mishna – arranged the initial letters of the plagues into three groups, as an educational tool by which to memorize them, or to impart a deeper lesson, as we will see below. But the evil prosecutor in the trial sought to portray it as an evil Jewish plot, and "explained" it as follows: 

"D'tzach is actually an acronym for the Hebrew words Dam tzrichim kulchem, meaning 'You all need blood;' Adash is an acronym for al dvar sheharagtem, meaning, 'because you have killed;' and B'achav stands for ben el chai biyrushalayim, 'the son of the living god in Jerusalem.'"

The audience was greatly impressed by these words, and things did not look good for Beilis, or for the Jews in general. But then arose Rabbi Yaakov Mazeh, Chief Rabbi of Moscow, and asked to respond. He then astounded those present with his rebuttal:

"On the contrary," he said. "R. Yehuda's acronyms actually show that the blood libel is totally false. D'tzach stands for Divrei tzorer kazav, meaning 'Lying words of a persecutor;' Adash is alilat dam sheker, 'a false blood libel,' and B'achav refers to the one that you said it referred to – but slightly differently: ben ishah chashudah b'znut, 'the son of a woman suspected of adultery.'"

This is a nice story, but of course R. Yehuda actually meant to teach us something somewhat more profound. Many rabbinic explanations for the presentation of these initial letters have been given over the years. Among them is the following, based on a straightforward understanding of the division of the plagues into three groups:

The first group of three plagues, known here as d'tzach, is of those that struck the lowest places on earth: Water flowing on the earth was turned to blood, and the frogs and lice that plagued the Egyptians are life-forms that live very close to the ground.

The second group, adash, includes plagues involving animals that stand tall on the ground: arov (wild animals), dever (an epidemic that wiped out the Egyptian livestock), and sh'chin (boils that attacked both man and beast).

And the final group was b'achav – four plagues that struck in the air, or on a higher level than the others: Barad, hailstones, come from the sky, while arbeh, locusts, fly in the air, and choshekh, darkness, is clearly in the air. The final plague, that of the death of the bekhorot, the Egyptian first-borns, is the taking of their souls – something spiritual even higher than the air, "a part of G-d above."

Thus, the division of the initial letters shows that the plagues were not random, but were quite Divinely ordered. G-d delivered these plagues - designed to teach the world the power of G-d and His involvement in the world - from the lowest levels to the highest, in all expanses of life. 

This is actually the whole point of the Exodus from Egypt. As G-d told Moshe in this weekly portion regarding the purpose of the plagues: “Egypt shall know that I am the Lord, when I stretch out my hand against Egypt” (7,5). Egypt must know. We traditionally have wisdom, understanding, and knowledge (the concepts that comprise Chabad), yet here the emphasis is specifically on knowledge. What does this tell us?

In addition, when Moshe came to Pharaoh for the first time and told him to free the Israelites, Pharaoh responded (5,2): “Who is the Lord that I should obey His voice? I do not know the Lord…”  He is not denying G-d's existence, but is rather saying that he doesn't know Him. Again, the emphasis is on knowledge. What is going on?

The Hebrew word for "knowledge" is da'at, which connotes "union," as in, "Adam knew his wife Chava" (B'reshit 4,1). Wise men have the facts, but they don't always connect them – not to each other, nor to themselves – in order to derive the correct conclusions. Only one with true da'at is genuinely connected to what he knows, and understands how it connects to himself.

Pharaoh understood that there is a G-d Who created the world – but he has not yet seen how He functions in the world and runs it. He therefore said, "I do not know the Lord – He has not revealed Himself here, He doesn't run things, He seems to have left the world to its own devices." Pharaoh is not connected in any way to G-d. In fact, the famous translation of Onkelos explains these words of Pharoah as meaning exactly that: "G-d has not been revealed to me;" He is hiding.

And then come along the plagues, which touch upon every aspect of life, from the ground to the heights of the atmosphere, and even higher – and everyone sees clearly that G-d not only created the world, but also runs it and wants something from it. G-d is revealed, and people begin to "know" Him and understand that He is connected to the world. They realize that He can give instructions regarding how we must act, and we must adhere to His commands. 

May we merit to always know G-d, along with the rest of the world!

Shmot: Anyone Here Who's a Man?

by Rav Hillel Fendel.

This week's Torah portion of Sh'mot, which begins the second Book of the Pentateuch, tells the story of Bnei Yisrael's first years in Egypt, and their first decades under Egyptian bondage. The story largely revolves around Moshe Rabbeinu, who grows up in the luxury of Pharoah's palace, but still feels very strongly the pain of his suffering brethren.  

At one point, Moshe goes out and sees an Egyptian beating a Jew. The Torah tells us his response: "Moshe looked this way and that way, saw that there was no man, and smote the Egyptian and buried him in the sand." Rashi does not explain according to the simple meaning – that Moshe did not wish to be caught in this act. Rather, he says that Moshe looked "this way and that way," meaning at all the harm that this particular Egyptian had done to the Israelite, which went beyond just simple physical harm. 

However, the Netziv – the author of the Ha'amek Davar, Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, Rosh Yeshiva of the famous Volozhin Yeshiva – gives a different, straightforward explanation. He says that Moshe looked around in all directions, specifically to see if anyone was there who would respond to this injustice! But, "he saw that there was no man!" He saw no one who was willing to get up and act with simple humanity and right the wrong that was being done! And so, he took action himself. 

This was in accordance with the Mishna taught many centuries later by Hillel the Elder: "Where there are no men [people], strive to be a man!" (Pirkei Avot 2,5)

In short, the first lesson that Moshe our Teacher teaches us is not to wait for others to take action, but to take responsibility ourselves – and especially when our brothers' fate is at stake!

Shabbat Shalom.

Vayechi: The Message from Pharaoh's Egypt: Look Behind the Scenes

by Rav Hillel Fendel.

We conclude the first Book of the Torah this Shabbat with Parshat Vayechi. Unlike every other portion in the Torah, Vayechi is "closed off," meaning it begins neither on a new line in the Torah, nor even after a break of nine spaces. Why is this? Why is there no break between last week's portion of Vayigash and Vayechi?

Rashi gives two answers. One is that Vayechi begins with Yaakov on his deathbed, seeking not only to bless his sons but also to reveal to them the End of the exile – but it was “closed off” (concealed) from him and he was unable to do so.

The second explanation is also based on the fact that Yaakov's death was near, and once he died, "the eyes and the heart of Israel [Yaakov's descendants] were 'closed' because of the misery of the Egyptian slavery" that began, in a way, with Yaakov's death.

What can be the connection between the suffering of the slavery and Israel's closed, darkened eyes? Rav Chaim Druckman often explained that the meaning is that the children of Yaakov became blinded to the very fact that their Exile, along with its suffering, had begun.

This ties directly into the last verse of the previous Torah portion, which succinctly sums up the Israelites' new situation in Egypt as follows: "Israel dwelt in the land of Egypt, in the land of Goshen, and they acquired a stronghold there, and they were prolific and multiplied greatly." Let us explain the connection between this verse and Israel's oblivion to their new, developing situation.

The classic commentary Kli Yakar (by R. Shlomo Ephraim Luntschitz, rabbi of Prague for 15 years until his death in 1619) explains that this entire verse "is condemnatory of Israel." He says that they never should have put themselves in the position of settling so comfortably in a foreign land: "G-d had decreed upon them that they would be foreigners in [Egypt], yet they sought to be permanent residents there, in a land not theirs. They were so strongly entrenched in Egypt that they did not want to leave, and many wanted to stay even when they were already enslaved."

It is now clear: Because of their attachment to their seemingly good lives in Egypt, they forgot about returning to the Land promised to their forefathers – and did not even notice the suffering that was about to fall upon them.

The parallel to today, and to recent decades, is striking. The Ohr Same'ach, for instance – Rav Meir Simcha of Dvinsk, who died in 1926 – bemoaned in his Torah commentary that there were many Jews in his time who had grown accustomed to their lives and comforts, both spiritual and material, in the Diaspora, forgot their origins, and felt that "Berlin is Jerusalem." This, he wrote, would last for a while – until their lives would be shattered and they would again be exiled. He thus "foresaw" the Shoah that began only some years later, while others of his time did not even realize what was already beginning to happen to them – just as the sons of Yaakov did not realize what was happening to them.

In a similar manner some explain the Fast of the Tenth of Tevet that we commemorated this week. As is known, most of our prophetically-prescribed days of fasting mark one aspect or another of the destruction of the Holy Temple and the Jewish national presence in the Holy Land. The Tenth of Tevet is different: It marks not the destruction, but the beginning of the Babylonian siege on the Holy City, some seven months before the actual razing of the Temple. When the siege started outside the city walls, most Jews did not feel a thing! They went on with their lives as usual – and this raises the question: Why should a day of fasting be instituted for such a non-event?

The answer is as we have said: As we see in the lack of separation between Vayigash and Vay'chi, between the blinding of Israel's eyes and their failure to see and feel the onset of the suffering of Egyptian bondage – the beginning of all tribulations and Exiles is our blindness to what is developing, and our difficulty in realizing our own role in bringing them on.

Let us not repeat the same errors made by our ancestors more than a few times in our history. It should be easier now than ever to grasp that the Diaspora is no longer our home. Not only does the Holy Land and the State of Israel need the entire Jewish nation to return, the returning Jews need the Land and the State!

Never again may we make the mistakes of Bnei Yisrael in Egypt, of the Jews under the Bablonian siege, of our recent ancestors in Europe less than a century ago – and of some Jews living today, in 2026, throughout the comfortable countries of the West.