Vayikra: Five Reasons for Torah Sacrifices

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

This week's Torah portion - Vayikra, chapters 1-5 in Leviticus - deals with several different types of sacrifices. The great sages of Israel had differing opinions about the purpose of the sacrifices. Let us examine several of their approaches to this question.

The Rambam: Correcting Idolatrous Thinking

Maimonides writes in his Guide for the Perplexed (Part 3, Chapter 46) that the sacrificial mitzvot are meant to correct idolatrous beliefs: "… The Egyptians and the Chaldeans, among whom the Israelites had lived from ancient times, worshipped cattle and sheep … and the people of India to this day do not slaughter cattle at all. G-d therefore commanded us to slaughter these three species in honor of His great Name, to publicize that the very things the [pagans] considered the ultimate [sanctity] are what are [slaughtered and] brought as offerings to the Creator, and precisely through them our sins are atoned. In this way, false beliefs - a disease of the soul - are healed, for every illness can be cured only by its opposite.”

The Ramban therefore brings two other explanations for the mitzvot of sacrificial service. The first is that when a person wishes to serve G-d, he must truly feel that he himself should have been offered up as a sacrifice, and that the burnt organs of the animals should actually have been his – in order that he realize that his sins to G-d, bodily and spiritually, deprive him of his right to life and deserve actual death.

Nachmanides (the Ramban) strongly objected to the Rambam's approach, and wrote against it vociferously in his commentary to this week's portion (Vayikra 1,9). Calling the Rambam's words on this matter "foolishness," the Ramban presented several difficulties with it:

1.      The Torah calls the sacrifices, "a fire-offering of a sweet flavor to G-d" and the like. Can it possibly be that the purpose of such a precious concept would be only to teach pagans the folly of their ways?

2.      The solution of offering up their gods in fire won't help persuade them that paganism is mistaken; they will just assume that the sacrifices are being offered in honor of their gods' zodiac signs.

3.      More than 1,000 years before the Torah was given, well before the pagans, Abel and Noah brought sacrifices to G-d. As such, the Torah's sacrifices can't simply be a response to pagan practice, because they predate it.

4.      If the Rambam is correct, why will we have to bring sacrifices in future times?

Nachmanides' Two Approaches

However, this explanation has come under criticism. For one thing, not all sacrifices in the Torah are totally burnt, meaning that they don't stand for a person "sacrificing" himself. In addition, other sacrifices are not for atonement at all, but rather for thanksgiving, etc. Thirdly, many sacrifices are on behalf of the entire nation; where does "sacrificing oneself" fit in there?

The Ramban's second explanation centers around self-nullification before the Divine will. In his words: “In truth, there is a hidden secret in the sacrifices… G-d is as if saying: 'I do not want sacrifices for their own sake, but just so that My will be done.'"

The Maharal of Prague (Tiferet Yisrael, Chapter Six) basically agrees: "The Sages teach that we must not say that G-d gave us mitzvot for the benefit of the recipient, namely the person fulfilling them; they are rather decrees from G-d, Who imposes decrees on His people [without explanation], like a king who issues a decree upon his subjects.”

Rav Sh. R. Hirsch and Rav A. I. Kook

In his work, "The Mitzvot as Symbols," the renowned 19^th-century Torah leader Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsch explained that the sacrifices, like other mitzvot, are meant to express a symbolic idea. The sin-offering expresses the symbolism of our desire to ask the Creator for forgiveness for our sins; the thanksgiving sacrifice expresses, symbolically, our desire to give thanks, etc.

Rav Kook (1865-1935, the first modern-day Chief Rabbi in the Land of Israel) strongly opposed Rav Hirsch in this matter. He wrote in his Orot HaMitzvot as follows: "Delving into the depths of knowledge, we see that the mitzvot are not symbolic, merely for the purpose of noting something of the imagination; they are rather matters that actually form and effect the universal human existence."

In Conclusion

We have cited five reasons for the mitzvot of Temple sacrifices, each of which has a layer of truth. We have seen that the reason could be to separate us from idolaters, or to have us feel as if we ourselves are being sacrificed; it could be that it is a Divine decree, or something that helps us symbolically to express a truth; or it could be that they are for the purpose of a spiritual rectification in our souls.

What all these approaches share is that sacrifices, korbanot, are based on hitkarvut (the same k.r.v. root), meaning to "come close." The word kravaim, too, which refers to the inner organs of the sacrifice that are offered on the altar, also shares this root. Furthermore, one must feel that he is in a krav, a battle, to give his life in order to come close to G-d, and to ensure that his deeds emanate from his "insides," from his innermost being and true self.

We pray that we may merit to come close to G-d with all our hearts, and that He bring us close to Him with great love.

HaChodesh: A Special Month and its First Day

by Rav Hillel Fendel.

This Shabbat we will read not only the last two portions of the Book of Sh'mot – Vayak'hel and Pekudei – but also an additional passage in honor of the special month of Nissan, which begins next week. In fact, the name of this passage is HaChodesh, meaning "The Month."

Why and wherefore do we read HaChodesh? And is it connected with the curious fact that the Torah, which is not a history book, focus sharply in on the first day (Rosh Chodesh) of Nissan in two consecutive years?

The Book of Sh'mot begins, tells a long story of Israelites and their Exodus from Egypt, ending with the construction and completion of the Tabernacle (Mishkan), Israel's portable Holy Temple. Both of these two events center around Rosh Chodesh Nissan.

Chapter 12 in Sh'mot tells us that, shortly before the Plague of the Firstborns, G-d commanded Moshe and Aharon to tell Israel how to commemorate the coming days. On the first day of Nissan in the year 2448, the Israelites were instructed, first of all, how to relate to Rosh Chodesh Nissan: "This [new moon] shall be the head of the month for you, the first month of the year for you" (Sh'mot 12,1). The second of these two commands tells us to ensure that Nissan retains a prominent place in the Jewish calendar.

As Rav Eliyahu Ki-Tov writes in Sefer HaTodaah (Book of our Heritage), the verse states "the first month for you" – lakhem, in Hebrew -  spelled with the same letters as the word melekh, meaning "king."

The first command in this verse, however, is more specific. It instructs us regarding the laws of determining Rosh Chodesh, and also to set a permanent annual calendar. This command might seem trivial, but in fact it is a central tenet in Judaism in more than one way. For one thing, without knowing what day of the week or month it is, we would not be able to observe many of the Torah's commandment, such as the Sabbath and holidays.

No Jews in the Land of Israel? Impossible!
In addition, Maimonides (in his Book of Mitzvot, positive mitzvah #153) writes that the mitzvah of determining the months and festivals is fulfilled exclusively by the Great Court in the Land of Israel, or by virtue of its calculations. The Rambam continues: "Let us assume, for example, that there would be no Jews in the Land – Heaven forbid that G-d would do this, because He promised that he would never totally erase the signs or vestiges of the Jewish nation… - we would not be able to calculate the calendar…"

This tells us two very basic principles of Judaism. One is that the so-critical calculations regarding the beginning of the months and year are not made by individuals, but only on a national basis, by the Court in Jerusalem. Until the Court is reinstated, the calendar that we use is based directly on its original calculations.

The second point is that the lack of Jews in the Holy Land is something that can simply never happen, because it would mean, Heaven forbid, the end of the Jewish Nation – which is impossible as long as the sun, moon and stars exist (see Yirmiyahu 31,34-35); without a Jewish presence in the Land, there is no Judaism!

Back to the first Rosh Chodesh Nissan: G-d further commanded us on that day how to start preparing for the first Passover celebration, including when to take a Paschal lamb, and not to eat leaven but only matzot for the week of the holiday.

The Ten Firsts

Exactly a year later, on the second Rosh Chodesh Nissan, the Torah tells us exactly what happened on that very special day – and it was quite a list! The first thing that happened, as we read in this week's Torah reading in Sh'mot 40,2 and 17), is that the Mishkan was finally erected – after a few months of construction and a few more months of waiting for the month of Nissan to start!

In addition, the Gemara tells us that no fewer than ten "firsts" happened that day. Given that the sanctification period for the sons of Aharon as priests had just ended, it was the first-ever day that the Cohanim, and not the first-borns, served as Priests; it was the first day that the regular daily Temple service was held; it was the first time that the Priestly Blessing was recited; and more.

Why, Then?
When we speak of the special HaChodesh reading, then, we have to figure out why the first one was chosen, referring to the Rosh Chodesh just before the Exodus – and not the second one, which was a festive day having to do with the Grand Opening of the Mishkan!

According to Rashi, the answer is clear: He says (Tr. Megillah 29a) that the HaChodesh passage is connected to the upcoming holiday of Passover, in that many laws of the holiday are included there. It is therefore logical to read from the Rosh Chodesh passage that deals with Passover.

However, the Jerusalem Talmud (JT) has a different take. Based on a question it asks, we can see that the JT feels that the main thing about HaChodesh is that the Mishkan was erected on that day. Let us explain.

The JT asks why it is that during this period when four special passages are read over the course of a few weeks, the passage of the Red Heifer comes before HaChodesh? It ought to be the opposite, the JT states, because the Red Heifer was prepared for purifying the Israelites on the second day of Nissan – which comes after the construction of the Mishkan on the first day! This tells us that HaChodesh is meant to commemorate the Mishkan – so why, then, is the passage that we read taken from Sh'mot 12 and not from Sh'mot 40 or Vayikra 9, which tell the story of the first days of the Mishkan?

Firstly, let us answer the JT's question: The passage of the Red Heifer precedes that of The Month because it "involves the purification of all of Israel" – reason enough to give it precedence.

Let us now try to answer the question on the JT: It could be that the Sages did not want to choose to read about that second Rosh Chodesh, when the Mishkan was dedicated, because of the terrible tragedy that occurred in the midst of the festivities: the deaths of two of Aharon's sons, Nadav and Avihu, for having offered up a "strange fire." [See Vayikra 10 to learn about this tragic episode.]

Other Possibilities
It could also be that the passage in Sh'mot 12 was chosen because of the critical importance of the mitzvah of having a set calendar, as we explained above. Or it could be because of its relevance to the time of year – Passover; it is as an essential reminder that the month of Nissan is approaching and we must prepare to ascend to Jerusalem in purity.

In any event, even though we read the Passover section for HaChodesh, it is good to have in mind as well that this upcoming day of Rosh Chodesh Nissan marks the anniversary of the Mishkan's presence in Israel – and therefore the beginning of G-d's "dwelling in our midst" (Sh'mot 25,8).

Ki Tisa: Superficial Spirtuality

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 of Ki Tisa (Sh'mot 30,11-34,35) tells the momentous story of the sin of the Golden Calf. It happened while Moshe Rabbeinu was on Mt. Sinai learning the Torah that G-d was about to give Israel – and so Moshe didn't know about it until G-d told him: "Your nation has strayed quickly from the path that I commanded them; they have made for themselves a cast-metal calf" (Sh'mot 32,7-8). Moshe immediately prayed for the nation, and G-d "refrained from [punishing] the nation as He had said" (verse 14). However, when Moshe saw for himself how the nation was sinning so egregiously, he "became angered and threw down the Tablets [of the Covenant] and broke them" (verse 19).

How can we explain Israel's sin? The nation had merited to see with its own eyes amazing miracles and Divine leadership, including the Ten Plagues and especial providence at all times, as written, "G-d went before them by day in a pillar of cloud to guide them… and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light...” (13,21).

They also experienced, of course, the splitting of the Red Sea, a miracle so great that the Sages taught that those who experienced it were on a level even higher than prophecy: "From where do we know that even a maidservant at the sea saw what the prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel did not see? As is written, “By the hand of the prophets I made Myself known in visions” (Hoshea 12,11), and “The heavens were opened and I saw visions of G-d.” (Yechezkel 1,1)" – whereas the Israelites saw Him even more directly than via a vision, singing afterwards in the Song of the Sea, “This is my G-d” (15,2).

The Sages explained this via a parable likening the situation to a human king who entered a province. He arrived with great fanfare - trumpets sounding around him, mighty warriors standing at his right and left, troops marching before and behind him. And yet everyone had to ask, “Which one is the king?” – because he was a human being like everyone else and was not distinguishable. But when the Holy One, blessed be He, revealed Himself at the Red Sea, no one needed to ask, “Which one is the king?” Rather, as soon as they saw Him, they recognized Him and sang out, “This is my G-d, and I will glorify Him" (Sh'mot 15,2). [Based on Mekhilta, B'shalach, section 1]

Returning to our question: How could it be that the Israelites were surrounded by miracles and ascending ever upwards to be worthy of the greatest occasion in human history – the Stand at Mt. Sinai – and then, at the last minute they fall into the grave sin of idol worship!

The answer is found in the fact that there was one tribe that actually did not sin and did not allow themselves to follow the masses. The Tribe of Levi stood steadfast in their loyalty to G-d: "Moshe… called, 'Who is for G-d?' And all the Levites gathered to him" (32,26). In recognition, G-d "differentiated the Tribe of Levi, to carry the Ark of the Covenant, to stand before G-d, to serve Him, and to bless in His Name up to this very day" (D'varim 10,8).

What gave the Levites the strength to remain loyal to G-d, in the face of the nation's deterioration? What was their secret?

The Rambam (Laws of Avodah Zarah 1) teaches how Avraham Avinu taught the world of the existence of the One G-d, and how Levi in particular stood out in this faith:

"Avraham began to proclaim to all that there is one G-d in the entire world and that it is correct to serve Him… He planted in their hearts this great fundamental principle, wrote texts about it, and taught it to his son Yitzchak, who also taught others and turned their hearts to G-d. [His son Yaakov also taught] others and turned their hearts to G-d, as well as all his children. He selected his son Levi as the leader [and] the head of the academy to teach them the way of G-d and observe the mitzvot of Avraham. Yaakov commanded his sons that the leadership should not depart from the descendants of Levi, so that the teachings would not be forgotten. This concept gave strength among the descendants of Yaakov and those who gathered around them, until there became a nation in the world that knew G-d. When the Jews remained in Egypt, however, they learned from the Egyptians’ deeds and began worshiping the stars as they did – but the tribe of Levi did not; they clung to the mitzvot and never served false gods."

Even King Pharaoh recognized that Levi and his descendants were the Jews' spiritual leaders and teachers, and therefore he did not enslave them: "We see this from the fact that Moshe and Aharon were able to come and go as they pleased… And it is customary for every nation to have teachers…" (Ramban's commentary to Sh'mot 5,4).

The faith and spirituality of the Levites were deeply implanted within them, as they were very connected with their forefathers' tradition, and dedicated themselves to learn G-d's path. They experienced G-d's miracles as did the other Israelites – but it was not these that gave them faith; rather, they had a very strong basis even beforehand. Therefore, even when the nation strayed off the path towards the "modern" idol-worshipping culture of the Egyptians, the Levites did not go with the flow but rather remained true to their principles.

The other tribes, however, were not yet strong enough in their faith to withstand the false ideologies of Egypt. When they saw G-d's great miracles, they were quite impressed, and even abandoned idol-worship for a time and "believed in G-d and in His servant Moshe" (14,31). But their faith was not firmly grounded in their fathers' traditions or in deep study of the way of G-d. Their spirituality was based primarily on the extraordinary miracles and wonders.

Therefore, when doubts began to arise regarding Moshe's return, and, as the Medrash teaches, the Satan showed them a kind of image of Moshe being carried in the heavens (Rashi, 32,1), they were influenced and became totally open to the new ideology of the “Golden Calf.”

Our holy Torah is teaching us here a critical lesson: In order for faith in Hashem to withstand passing ideologies and ism's, the younger generation must be grounded in Torah learning, firmly based on genuine tradition and love of the study of Torah.

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!