Korach: Why Individualism is Divisive

by Rav Azriel Ariel, Rabbi of Ateret in the Binyamin Region and heads the "Brotherhood" Department for Jewish Social Policy at the Torah and State Center, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

This week's Torah portion (in Israel) is Korach (Bamidbar 16-18), which always leads to thoughts of social division and controversy. Let us discuss the roots of his ancient dispute and why it is poisonous to a society.

In today's sharp societal debate regarding proposed reforms to Israel's judicial system, one of the most charged issues is that of "equality." One side views equality as a supreme value that must be accorded a place of honor in Israel's unwritten Constitution that the Supreme Court is attempting to create. The other group views equality as a threat to Israel's identity as the State of the Jewish People, which by definition must actualize Jewish values.

This dispute forces us to clarify what the Torah has to say about the concept of equality, even if the word itself does not appear there.

The ancient world was hierarchical, predicated on the idea that some people were born to be kings, some to be subjects, and others to be slaves. This perception perfectly paralleled their world of idol worship, in which a supreme god ruled and tyrannized the lower gods. The Torah of Israel created a revolution: no more plurality of gods, but one single God Who created all human beings in His image. All human beings were born from one couple, and everyone shares a basic common denominator: everyone was created equal.

The Sages expressed this in Tractate Sanhedrin (37a), which states that one reason man (Adam) was created single was "for the sake of peace, so that no one may say to another, 'My father is greater than yours.'" Jewish ethics therefore demands certain basic universal duties that apply to every human being: "You shall not murder," "You shall not steal," "There shall be one law and one judgment for you" - not only for the citizen, but also "for the stranger who dwells among you."

Yes, the Torah grants great importance to "equality" before the law, to the extent that even a King is subject equally to Torah laws. Men and women are equal in terms of their essential Halakhic obligations; the lands in Eretz Yisrael were distributed equally proportionately to the Tribes, the manna portions were allocated equally; and the half-shekel obligation was equal: one half-shekel for each.

Why then do we see that today's religious public shies away, to put it mildly, from the progressive concept of "equality"?

The first problem is that equality is defined as an independent moral value. Indeed, all human beings are created in the image of God – but how does this logically lead to the conclusion that they must be equal in everything? The Torah and the teachings of the Sages do not define equality as a value, but rather as a "standard of justice." That is, the essence of the law is its universality, and if it discriminates without cause between people, it is unjust - and an unjust law is not binding (Sh. Ar., Choshen Mishpat 369,6).

This does not mean that private resources that a person acquired through his own initiative and efforts must be distributed to others so that all end up with the same amount (although he must give some to the poor). Equality, therefore, is an important measure of justice, but it is not the sole parameter. Turning equality into an independent moral value mars other aspects of justice, and as such is injustice, or worse.

The Totality of it

The second flaw in today's concept of equality is its totality. It appears to be given priority over every other value it confronts. Thus, the IDF is being gradually ordered to allow girls into every army combat unit, whilst trampling not only the values of modesty and the boundaries between the genders – but also that of "victory." Thus in a series of Supreme Court rulings, Jewish and Zionist values are being displaced to make way for civil equality.

The Torah does not take that direction. Yes, "man is beloved because he was created in G-d's image" (Avot 3,14), but "Israel is My first-born son" (4,22). Israel itself is divided into Cohanim, Levites, and Israelites; men and women have different Halakhic obligations; the lots of the Land were divided equally, but in the end, various calculations had to be made, resulting in inequality (see Bava Batra 117a). Equality is clearly important, but its value relative to others is far from absolute.

How Did This Happen?

How did equality become such a primary value in contemporary moral thinking? In the past, society was perceived as an organic body. Just as the human body is composed of organs, tissues, and cells, so human society is composed of nations, tribes, communities, and families. In an organic system, there is no equality. Each of the components has its own characteristics, its own needs, and its own roles. But it also has reciprocity, even if not symmetrical. A Jewish marriage is not based on equality, but rather on reciprocity; each partner has different duties and rights. The family thus functions as one body.

So too the nation: Different roles and privileges are allocated to Cohanim, Levites, and Israelites, as well as to Torah scholars and people of action (the tribes of Yissachar and Zevulun, respectively). The foundation upon which social morality is based in such a structure is the value of brotherhood. This explains why in most of the Torah's social commandments, "your brother," "your fellow," and "your neighbor" appear in various inflections. And thus cries out the last of the prophets: "Have we not all one father? Has not one God created us?" (Malachi 2,10).

The modern world dismantled society into isolated individuals, each fighting for his own rights and collapsing the value of brotherhood. Each person derived his sense of worth from his own achievements and status, leading of course to constant competition and friction. The absolute importance of "equality" was then introduced. But since full equality cannot be realized in any society, we must acknowledge that this new system simply does not work. Focusing on equality generates an endless discourse of envy.

However, in the organic perception presented by the Torah of Israel, we derive our sense of worth from two concepts: belonging and meaning. This leads to a deep commitment of every person toward his fellow, as well as joy in the happiness of others - and certainly in that of the community - when they succeed. The individualistic, equality approach deepens competition, while the organic approach deepens cooperation between them.

And thus taught our saintly Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda Kook: "G-d's created world is full of distinctions, and one must not ignore this or blur them. However, differentiation is not separation; division leads to wars, while distinctions lead to cooperation and harmony."

This was the critical mistake made by Korach. He understood correctly that "the entire congregation is holy" (16,3), but he abandoned the organic conception of the nation, in which "each person according to his camp" (1,52); each individual serves the community in a different role, with mutual respect and appreciation. Korach adapted the individualistic approach, and thus led the rebellion against Moshe and Aharon. And because he left the discourse of brotherhood and adopted instead that of jealousy, he was swallowed up in the earth and became an eternal symbol of divisiveness.

Beha'alotkha: Four Approaches to Being Humble

by Rav Hillel Fendel.

This week's Torah portion of Beha'alotkha (Bamidbar 8-12) recounts many aspects of Bnei Yisrael preparing to enter the Land of Israel (though their entry was ultimately delayed by 40 years). Let us focus on just one verse:

 “And the man Moshe was very humble - more than any man on the face of the earth” (12,3).

The Rambam famously writes (Laws of Character Traits, Chapter 2) that we must always strive to take the middle path in our behavior. For instance, we must not be too frugal, nor too stingy; we must not be too sensitive, nor may we be like a stone with no feelings; etc.

However, he adds, “There are character traits in which one is not permitted to take the middle path, but must rather distance himself to the extreme – such as arrogance. It is not enough to merely be humble; one must be very lowly in spirit… and therefore it is said about Moshe Rabbeinu that he was ‘very humble.’”

Similarly, in the prayer Elokai Netzor, immediately following our quiet Shmoneh Esreh prayer thrice a day, we say: “May my soul be like dust to everyone.”

The simple understanding of these words does not provide very much information as to what exactly is required of us, in terms of how to behave with humility in practical life. Let us therefore simply highlight certain perspectives on this fundamental trait.

1. The Da’at Sofrim, Rabbi Chaim Dov Rabinowitz (d. 2001) explains in his well-accepted commentary on the Tanakh what the trait of anavah, humility, truly is, and how Moshe Rabbeinu acquired it. Perhaps we can sum up his approach by saying that we are meant to understand intellectually what Moshe experienced and felt, and wage our lives accordingly. Rabbi Rabinowitz writes:

“Humility is the feeling of smallness in relation to the greatness and eternity of G-d, in the light of which, all of man’s most important matters are totally insignificant and transient, and there is simply no point in boasting about them.”

And how did Moshe reach this level? Let us not forget that he spent 40 days, twice or three times, in the upper worlds themselves, receiving the Torah from G-d.  The Daat Sofrim therefore writes that Moshe "recognized the higher worlds more than any other person on the face of the earth, and knew the insignificance of this-worldly matters compared to the eternal worlds."

This might be meant to teach that although we may not be able to truly reach this experiential level - as the Torah appears to emphasize in saying that Moshe was more humble than any person "on the face of the earth" - still, the very intellectual understanding of this idea can guide and moderate our behavior in interpersonal matters.

2. Taking a different approach, HaRav Kook, of saintly blessed memory - the first Chief Rabbi of the 20^th-century Land of Israel - quotes in his work Midot HaR’ayah the words of Rashi to B'reshit 22,1. The Torah there tells us that G-d called to our Patriarch Abraham in order to command him to bind and sacrifice his son, and Avraham responds with one word: Hineni, 'Here I am.' Rashi writes that this word represents humbleness and readiness, and Rav Kook offers these few words of explanation: "For the humble person is also quick and eager."

That is to say, Rav Kook views humbleness as the trait of being open to forego his own needs and answer the call of others – quickly, without looking for excuses, without the instinctive thought that 'I am too busy or too important to do what I am being asked to do.' One who is always ready to take on a task is truly humble. [Rav Kook also has many other valuable insights into this trait, such as: "When anavah leads to sadness, it is not acceptable;" see Midot HaR’ayah, pages 140-142.]

3. The Talmud (Sotah 5a) states: “R. Ḥiyya bar Ashi said in the name of Rav: A Torah scholar must have one-eighth of one-eighth of pride.” This can possibly be connected in an unlikely manner to chametz on Pesach! That is, there is a question as to whether it is permitted to drink tap water on Pesach, given that it invariably comes from the Kineret, where chametz is always found – and chametz on Pesach is so greatly forbidden that even a mixture of water and the absolutely tiniest amount of chametz is also forbidden. However, one reason that it is in fact permitted is because the chametz proportion in question can never lead to an actual perceptible "taste" of chametz. Perhaps this can be stated as follows: Although chametz is forbidden even in the absolute smallest amount, it must still be an amount!

Similarly regarding arrogance: In order to function in the world and not be ignored or disregarded, a Torah scholar cannot be totally and absolutely humble, but must rather have the slightest measure of pride and forcefulness, even if only "an eighth of an eighth."

4. And yet another approach is taken by many rabbis, who explain that true humility does not mean that one should negate himself, his character, and/or his accomplishments. He must rather have a true appreciation of who he is in terms of both his good and less-good qualities, and understand where his good qualities stem from. As such, one who thinks, "G-d has given me such-and-such good qualities, with which I strive to do good, and I also have other negative qualities which I must work to improve," is truly humble.

We have thus seen four approaches regarding how to be humble: understanding and internalizing what Moshe grasped; being quick to answer a call to action; retaining a jot of forcefulness; and truly understanding one's place and qualities. But all agree that arrogance, the pursuit of honor for its own sake, and lack of consideration for others, are despicable traits. The Talmud states that one who has the trait of arrogance "is as one who has repudiated the principles of our faith," and G-d says about him, "He and I cannot live together in this world."

"The man Moshe was very humble, more than any other person on the face of the earth." Let us humbly learn from Moshe our teacher, Moshe Rabbeinu.

Bamidbar: Weighing Unity Against Idol-Worship

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

This week's Torah reading, which opens the Book of Bamidbar (Numbers), describes the desert encampment of Bnei Yisrael around the Tabernacle – four tribes in each direction, with four groups of Levites in the middle, and the Tabernacle in the absolute center (see Bamidbar 2,2). The Torah states that they had flags and otot for each tribe. The word otot often refer to "signs," and in fact Rashi explains that the flag of each tribe served to identify it, as it was colored with the color of the tribe's unique stone of the Priestly breastplate.

However, the Ben Ish Chai explains otot according to its other meaning: letters. That it, each three-tribe group had a flag, on each of which were 3-4 letters from the names of our Patriarchs – a total of 13 letters. Thirteen in gematriya (numerology) is the value of the word Echad, One – as it is spelled aleph(1) – chet (8) – dalet (4), totaling 13. Thus, the amount of letters on the flags signal and instruct Israel to always be united (not uniform…), for the importance of unity is so great that in its merit, Israel will be saved from its enemies and will not be exiled from their Holy Land, even if they sin in other ways.

This concept is so fundamental and critical that it is cited in many different Rabbinic writings. For instance, in Medrash B'reshit Rabba (38,6), we read:

"R. Yehuda HaNasi says, Peace is so great that even if Israel worships idols but there is peace between them, it is as if G-d says that He cannot control them because of the peace between them – as is written, "Ephraim is joined idols, let him be" (rough translation of Hoshea 4,17): G-d will not punish Ephraim/Israel even when they worship idols, because they are joined. [This Medrashic interpretation is not the verse's plain meaning, which is that when Ephraim is engaged in idol-worship, G-d will leave them to be punished by suffering the natural consequences of their sins. - HF] But when they are divided and not united, the Prophet says: "Their heart is split, they will now be faulted" (10,2). We thus see the greatness of peace and how hated is discord."

This concept is actually quite difficult to understand. Can it possibly be that disunity is worse than idol-worship?! After all, the Mishna says in Sanhedrin (8,5): "Dispersion of wicked people is good for them and for the world… Union of the wicked is bad for them and bad for the world." In short, unity among the wicked is very negative, as it helps them to sin.

Why then does the Medrash say that G-d "cannot" control or punish them when they are united, but rather shows them mercy? Isn't it true that a public, societal sin is worse than that of an individual, and is a greater desecration of His Name? So what if there is peace between them, when the peace is used to do sins?

With G-d's mercies and benevolence, I merited to find a precious gem to answer this question in the words of R. Shlomo Ephraim of Lunchitz, author of the classic Torah commentary Kli Yakar. He also asks this question, and answers as follows:

 "When there is peace among the idol-worshipers, they will certainly discuss the issues and debate whether there in fact is truth in idol-worship, or is it really a sham and a fake. When they are at peace, they discuss it carefully, listen to each other, and undoubtedly get to the bottom of the matter. They will then certainly conclude that it is truly valueless to worship anything other than G-d, the Creator of the World. For when people who are at peace with each other discuss a matter, they do so with attentiveness and willingness to learn and agree – and thus the truth is revealed.

Dispute Can be Peace
This is as our Sages stated in Pirkei Avot (5,17): "Every dispute that is for the sake of Heaven, such as that between Hillel and Shammai, will last." That is, even when they disagree, they still unite in their common goal of clarifying the truth according to their Father in Heaven – thus that even their dispute is essentially "peace" …

This is why the Medrash said that when Israel engages in idolatry but has peace among them, G-d extends His patience toward them – so that they will discuss and examine the matter, and will ultimately conclude that idolatry is false and has no value. This itself is the praise of G-d, when they come to understand of their own accord that they have inherited emptiness, as in the words of the Prophet Yeshayahu (48,9): “For My name’s sake I will defer My anger, and for My praise I will restrain it for you.”

However, when they sin and their hearts are divided from one another, they are immediately condemned – for even if they discuss and debate the matter, the truth will not emerge, since each one is interested only in refuting his fellow’s words. Even if he sees that the other is correct, he does not listen to him, because he wishes only to provoke and antagonize him.

This is why our Sages forbade having two Torah scholars who have ill will towards each other together on a court, since each one’s mind is set on contradicting the other’s words.

In this context we find a difference between the Sages of the Diaspora and those of Eretz Yisrael. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 24a), citing Zecharia 11,7, says that when the Prophet took two rods and called one "Pleasantness" and the other he called "Hitting," the first one refers to the Torah scholars of the Holy Land, who are pleasant to one another in Halakhic discussion, and the other refers to those in the Diaspora, who battle and hurt one another in such debate.

This is in accordance with the principle stated above, that our settlement in the Holy Land depends precisely on the quality of peace, for the cause of our exile to Babylonia was that the scholars there abandoned the ways of peace.

Quite clearly, a back-and-forth discussion conducted with mutual antagonism will never reveal the truth; peace and truth emerge only from respect and unity of hearts. 

Behar: Torah and Work, Hand in Hand

by Rav Naim Ben-Eliyahu ZT"L, Former Rosh Yeshivat Ben Ish Chai, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

One of this week's two Torah portions, Behar (Vayikra 25), begins with the laws of the Shemittah year: "In the seventh year, the land shall have a Sabbath-Sabbatical to G-d; do not plant your field or prune your vineyard…" Laws of Shemittah deal not only with agriculture, but also with business, inheritances, loans, and more. Let us therefore discuss the Torah outlook on the concept of work.

The Gemara (Shabbat 30b) tells us that in future times, the Land of Israel will produce cakes and fancy clothing. That is, during the times of Redemption, we will not have to plant and thresh and harvest, because our needs will come directly from the earth. We will then be free to spend most of our time studying Torah, in fulfillment of the teaching of R. Meir (Pirkei Avot 4,10): "Spend little time on our business and engage in Torah instead."

How can we fulfill this Mishna even nowadays, before the arrival of the Redemption? Let me recount a story that happened to me. I was once asked to perform a wedding during morning hours. I arrived on time, everything was ready – but the bride's father, who made his living by selling watermelons, had not yet arrived, and we could not begin. Finally he came, and his family asked him, "What happened, where were you?" He said, "I ordered 14, but sold only 12, and I had to wait to sell the other two." I asked someone, "He ordered 14 watermelons, and for two of them he was late for his daughter's wedding?!" He told me, "No, he ordered 14 truckloads of watermelons – and he had to sell the last two!"

When I spoke to the father later, I understood that he wakes up early each morning, works for two hours, and then has the rest of the day off… [I also know of] a young Torah scholar who specifically chose to learn dentistry so that he could work half a day and learn Torah the other half.

The point is that people can choose to plan their lives in such a way that they can both earn a living and engage in Torah study.

The above Mishna continues: "Be of lowly spirit before every person." People who plan their lives as above know what is important and what is not, and they are therefore not arrogant or haughty.

And the Mishna concludes: "If you distract yourself from Torah study, there will be many other distractions as well. But if you invest efforts in Torah, you will receive much reward." When I lived in the Old City of Jerusalem as a child, I remember a man who would sit alone in a coffee house, and then people would come and sit next to him to play cards and shesh-besh (backgammon). That was like the first part of the Mishna's concluding advice. On the other hand, we used to see in the Zohorei Chamah synagogue [still active today on Yaffo St. across from the Machaneh Yehuda shuk] that one man would sit and say Psalms – and then another two people would come and join him, and then a few more. If you want to learn Torah, others will join you!

This week we celebrated Lag BaOmer, in honor of the saintly Mishnaic sage Rabbe Shimon bar Yochai. He and his son were forced to run away from the Romans, and they hid in a cave for 12 years! Miraculously, a carob tree and spring appeared there, and they survived immersed in Torah study and eating only carobs with water. When they finally emerged from the cave, they were shocked to see people busy farming and doing ordinary work instead of being engaged only in Torah. Rashbi’s intense reaction caused destruction, and a heavenly voice rebuked them: "Have you come out to destroy My world? Return to your cave!”

After another year in the cave, Rashbi's reaction was different. Though his son still reacted very sharply to "ordinary life," Rashbi repaired whatever damage his son caused – accepting that regular human life and work also have a legitimate place alongside Torah and spirituality. Rabbe Shimon told his son, "Let the world run as it does, and our Torah study will protect it."

We learn from this story that there are three levels: The simplest is that of "regular" people, those whose first priority is to plant and thresh and work. Above them is the holy level of R. Shimon's son R. Elazar, who was so steeped in Torah study that he could not understand how people could do other things. But above all is the level of Rabbe Shimon bar Yochai, who understood that despite the great importance of Torah, there is also a valued place for those who work in other productive endeavors.

People tend to view things from their own vantage point. For instance, one who studies all day literally cannot grasp how people can waste their time on nonsense. A wealthy person as well: He works hard to earn money, and then cannot fathom how someone else can't afford to make a wedding for his daughter. He gives them 30 shekels, even though he can easily afford ten times that! Why? Because he sees them from his own vantage point: "If I can earn money, why can't they?" He doesn't think of the difficulties that others might be facing – perhaps someone is sick in the family and requires expensive medicines and care, or maybe they are carrying heavy debts from the past. Too often it happens that people have trouble understanding the other's situation.

Not Rabbe Shimon bar Yochai: He was able to understand the simple greatness of those who worked.

Rav Aryeh Levin, known as the Tzaddik of Jerusalem in the previous century, was once walking in the street when a man stopped him and asked, "Can you join us for the afternoon prayers? You'll be the tenth man for our minyan." Reb Aryeh said, "I have already prayed, but I'll be happy to help you out." Then another man came along, and Reb Aryeh asked him if he would like to join, and the man agreed. However, the sexton of the synagogue protested: "Such a man should fill out our minyan!? He's just a simple street-cleaner!"

Reb Aryeh, "What?! You're willing to take a thief for a minyan, but not this man?!" The sexton said, "What do you mean? Who's a thief here?!" Reb Aryeh said, "I’m a thief, stealing people's opinions – they think I'm a tzaddik! Instead of me, you should take this man, who works hard all day to earn his daily bread in an honest manner! Don't make light of a Jew such as him, who is very worthy to fill out your minyan!"

In short, we have learned:

* The great tzaddikim recognize the worth of those who work hard.
* One must engage in work that will allow him to spend time studying Torah.
* We must try to see things from the vantage point of others, not only of ourselves.

Emor: What's in a Memorial?

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

This week's Torah portion of Emor (Vayikra 21-24) discusses mitzvot pertaining to Priests – and also to the dead. Priests, holy by nature, may not defile themselves by coming close to them. In this connection, we are enjoined to remember the dead – but there are particular ways to do so.

One of the tenets of the Jewish faith is that the soul never dies; it remains eternal long after death, and when a person passes on to the next world, his life continues in This World as well. How so? His descendants, his Torah study, and his good deeds continue to live on, whether in our practical world or in the spiritual world – and they thus guarantee that his life continues on. Our Sages even taught: "The Patriarch Yaakov did not die – for just like his descendants are alive, so too he is alive."

Still and all, only one of our great Torah scholars throughout the generations merited to have engraved on his tombstone as his appellation the words Lo Met, "did not die." This was the Kabbalist R. Yitzchak Chai Taib "Lo Met," one of the most venerated Tunisian rabbis (d. 1837). It is told that he received this unique addition to his name based on the following story.

On his tombstone was engraved “died (met) on the 16th of Iyar,” instead of the more proper word niftar (which implies that he was "released" of his eternal soul in this world). The Kabbalist then visited the stonemason in a dream, ordering him to erase the word met. The stonemason said that he could not erase the word, and instead he added the word lo above the word met, such that it read that R. Yitzchak Chai Taib "did not die."

Perhaps this unique title can be explained based on another story told about R. Chai Taib, which can shed some light on the entire subject of memorialization of the deceased. It is told of a certain very wealthy and miserly Jew, far from mitzvot and Torah observance, who lived in the famous Jewish community of Djerba in southern Tunisia. When he died, he was buried with little fanfare, and barely anyone came to console his family. The leaders of the community also did not come to the house of mourners, because they had nothing good to say about him.

One of R. Chai Taib's students did go to the mourners, and then returned to tell his Yeshiva friends of the sorry situation. The students were not moved, however, saying that such is the lot of a wicked man. But when R. Chai Taib heard of the matter, he announced that he would go to the mourners' home that very evening.

News that R. Chai Taib would speak there spread quickly throughout Djerba, and many people came to hear his words. He quoted the teachings of the Sages, that man's days in this world are few, that his wealth and pleasures and enjoyments are transient and ultimately worthless, and other stark messages of this ilk.

Suddenly, from among those who came to hear the Rabbi's words was heard heavy sighing and sobbing. R. Chai Taib then said: "My brothers, at this moment when we hear heartfelt feelings of repentance in our midst, because of the deceased - know that he has merited a place in Gan Eden (Paradise). This is because the reward of one who has brought merit to [others] is great, and with his death, the deceased has brought merit to you in your reflections of repentance."

In addition to this important message that R. Chai Taib taught by making efforts to raise up the soul of even the most distant Jew, we hear also a precise formula by which it is appropriate to eternalize and remember one who has passed away. We frequently see notes in the Yeshiva to the effect that "today's study will be on behalf of the uplifting of the soul of so-and-so." But – how can this work? Is the deceased still asked to perform mitzvot even after his death? After all, we know that "the deceased cannot praise G-d" (Tehillim 115,17)!

True, once one reaches the Upper World, it is too late for him to add mitzvot and merits – but those who are still in This World can do so in his name. That is, if Jews study Torah or perform good deeds because of what he taught them or for his merit, then it is because of him that spirituality is added to the world, and with this, his soul can be uplifted.

Similarly, if the descendants of the deceased perform good deeds, or if enterprises that he built continue to add goodness to the world, it means that he is actually continuing to act in this world – and thus his soul continues to be raised up.

This means, incidentally, that there is no need to note declaratively that the good deeds are for the sake of uplifting the soul of the deceased, since they are "automatically" in his credit. However, by noting that the good deeds and Torah are specifically for his sake, this can motivate others to more spiritual awakening and devotion to G-d – which itself will then be added to the deceased's "account."

But when people are studying Torah in the Yeshiva in any event, and then someone comes and posts a note saying that it's for the soul of the deceased, this is ineffective, as the deceased had nothing to do with this Torah study. Rather, one who wishes to benefit the soul of a dear one, must do something concrete that advances closeness to G-d in the world.

For instance, if he motivates others to do an additional good deed, or to study more seriously, or contributes money so that others can do these mitzvot -- and all for the soul of the deceased – the deceased has a share and part in these good deeds, and his soul is uplifted. The soul cannot be raised up merely by hitching a ride with others.

In Parashat Emor, with which we began, we learn that the Cohanim (Priests) are linked up with "life," and are prohibited from coming in contact with death or corpses who are not direct relatives. The High Priest is further enjoined not to touch or come close even to his deceased parents; "he shall not leave the Holy."

Why is this? Is it really proper that the High Priest should thus "turn his back" on his parents who loved and raised him, and not take part in their funerals?

The answer is that it is precisely in this manner that the High Priest, the man of "inner spirit," continues the path of his parents – by living a life of spirit. He shows that it is his performance of good deeds in this world that raises up his parents' souls, and not various external ceremonies. He thus shows, in addition, that one's life continues in this world not only in his physical lifetime, but also spiritually and eternally, via physical acts of his students and descendants.

Yes, it is true that "the deceased cannot praise G-d." But one who dies "lo met," does not actually die, and his strengths continue to live on and on, and he most certainly "praises G-d," more and more, forever.

Acharei Mot-Kedoshim: The Strange Case of the Back-and-Forth Format: Rebuke with Love

by Rav Hillel Fendel.

This week's Torah reading comprises two portions – Acharei Mot and Kedoshim (Vayikra 16-20). Between them they have 79 Torah commandments, including (especially in Kedoshim) many having to do with dealing honestly in monetary matters. Perhaps most famously, however, is the commandment to "love your neighbor as yourself" (Vayikra 19,18) – and related mitzvot, such as not to embarrass people, not to take revenge, and perhaps surprisingly, to admonish those who are sinning and help return them to the Torah path. How is admonishment related to love?

The relevant verse is: "Do not hate your brother in your heart; you shall certainly admonish him, and do not bear sin because of him" (19,17). This appears to say that if one has sinned against you or offended you, do not keep your angry feelings to yourself; rather, the Rambam writes (Laws of Character Traits, Hilkhot De'ot, 6,6), you are "commanded to make the matter known and ask him: 'Why did you do this to me?'" That is, you must not let your resentment fester, but rather show him that you were offended or wronged, for the goal of making peace with him.

However, there is another way in which this mitzvah of admonishment, called "tokhecha," can be fulfilled. The Rambam (in the very next paragraph, Law 7), abandons the case of one who was wronged by another and discusses this new case: "If one sees that his fellow Jew has sinned [in general] or is following an improper path, you must [seek to] correct his behavior and tell him that he is harming himself by his evil deeds… [You should] rebuke him privately, patiently and gently, and tell him that [you are] only saying this for his own benefit, to allow him to merit the life of the World to Come..."

There are, of course, many details as to how this commandment must be fulfilled, so that it does not lead to hatred and resentment. In fact, the Rambam continues in the next paragraph (Law 8) to details some of these laws.

Fascinatingly, however, in the next law, Law 9, the Rambam returns to the original case, and says: "If one was wronged by a colleague and prefers not to admonish him or even mention the matter… but rather forgives him in his heart and bears no hatred, this is pious behavior – for the Torah is concerned only that there be no feelings of hatred."

That is to say, he no longer has an obligation to admonish! Instead, because he was able to totally forgive him, this not only takes the place of rebuke, but is actually considered a very high level of behavior.

Back and Forth

If we follow carefully the above rulings by the Rambam, we can almost not avoid asking the following question: Why does he discuss the case of one who was wronged by his colleague in Laws 6 and 9, and the laws of one who has sinned in general in Laws 7 and 8? Would it not have been more logical to place Law 9 right after 6, and thus complete the first topic, and only then to teach Laws 7 and 8?

This question does not appear to be addressed by any of the major commentaries on the Rambam. This makes it possibly even more puzzling: Why did the Rambam, the great organizer of the laws of all the Torah's mitzvot and the Talmud's rulings, choose to break up the laws of the tochekha in this manner?

Perhaps we can offer the following explanation:

The Rambam was not coming to teach us the laws of hokhei'ach tokhiach, rebuke and admonishment – but rather the "special character traits that must accompany the administering of such admonishment." That is, this mitzvah is not just a mechanical one, but rather one whose fulfillment requires special attention to how it is to be carried out.

This becomes somewhat evident when we us review some of the details that the Rambam included in the laws of this mitzvah: "If [one who has wronged you] asks you to forgive him, you must forgive…" That is, the Rambam steps back from the mitzvah of rebuking to tell you that the goal of the obligation is to be able to forgive him!

The Rambam then continues [regarding one who sinned in general]: "You must tell him that you are admonishing him only for his own good, and that he is only harming himself by his sins… You must speak to him calmly and nicely, and say that you wish only to help him attain the World to Come…" What beautiful sentiments accompany this seemingly harsh mitzvah!

The Rambam then elaborates at length that when rebuking him for sins between-man-and-man [as opposed to sins between-man-and-G-d], you must "not shame him, and certainly not in public." Don't get carried away in your fervor to rebuke and cause him shame, which the Sages teach is akin to spilling his blood! And by the by, we can infer from the Rambam's last words that you must be careful not to shame him even when talking to him privately...

And finally, the Rambam concludes by returning to where he started - the scenario of one who wronged another - and explains that the ideal is actually not to rebuke at all, if possible, but rather to attain the level of midat hassidut, true piety, and forgive him in your heart altogether! This of course only applies when one has sinned towards you, and not in general – and this is why the Rambam returns to this case at the end, in order to conclude with this highest level. 

In sum: The strange format by which the Rambam explains the mitzvah of rebuke is so that he can teach us, at the same time, the important character traits and sensitivity that must accompany its performance. 

Acharei Mot-Kedoshim: Shabbat Strengthens Family Bonds

based on a Dvar Torah by Rav Meir Kahana, Av Beit Din in the rabbinical court of Ashkelon and Chairman of the Rabbinical Judges Union.

There is a strong connection within the Jewish people regarding family values and faith, and this is expressed through the observance and remembrance of Shabbat.

Parashat Kedoshim, which describes the holiness and unique status of the Jewish people, opens with the commandment: “A person shall revere his mother and father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths; I am the Lord.” These two commandments are presented together, even though there can be tension between them. If a parent tells a child to violate Shabbat, the child must not listen. Although honoring parents is a very important commandment, Shabbat takes precedence, since the parent is also obligated to honor God.

At the same time, on a simple level, these commandments are not just in tension—they are connected. A parent is responsible for ensuring that their child observes Shabbat, showing that Shabbat is a central part of faith.

Shabbat represents belief in the creation of the world. By observing it, a person affirms that God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. In this way, keeping Shabbat expresses belief in the ongoing renewal of creation.

Similarly, the sabbatical year of the land and the cancellation of debts reflect the idea that God created the world and gave us the ability to function within it, both agriculturally and economically. This creates a link between honoring parents, through whom we come into the world, and observing Shabbat, which expresses belief in God as the Creator. These commandments are therefore deeply connected.

The opening commandments of Parashat Kedoshim also parallel the Ten Commandments. Both honoring parents and keeping Shabbat are fundamental elements of faith in God.

Shabbat is a defining sign of the Jewish people because it expresses the belief that the world has purpose. During the six days of the week, people work, and on the seventh day they stop and reflect on the purpose of life and creation.

The family is the primary environment in which a child’s faith is formed. It is the basic unit that builds the wider community and the Jewish people as a whole. The importance of family in Judaism is closely tied to the message that the Jewish people convey to the world: that God is one. This belief is expressed both in Shabbat observance and in family life.

After two and a half years of war, family life has been deeply affected, with many parents serving long periods in reserve duty. As a result, there has been a strong effort to reinforce family connections—grandparents helping out and parents dedicating as much time as possible to their children when they return home.

Shabbat observance has also been challenging in this context, especially in complex situations such as military service. Even so, all of these elements are part of one broader system: expressing faith in God. The Jewish family that observes Shabbat reflects the broader mission of the Jewish people in the world.

Tazria–Metzurah: Why Demolish the Houses?

based on a Dvar Torah by Rav David Davidkavitz, rabbi of the community of Yitzhar, Rosh Yeshiva “Ro’eh Yisrael”, and director of the Kashrut Department of the Samaria Religious Council.

Parashat Tazria–Metzurah serves as a preparation for the month of Iyar and all its special days. There is a unique mitzvah in the Torah that is not only a commandment but also a kind of gift: the demolition of houses in the Land of your inheritance that are afflicted with tzara’at — “And I will place a plague of tzara’at upon a house in the land of your inheritance” (Leviticus 14:34). This mitzvah exists nowhere else in the world; it is unique to the Land of Israel.

Our Sages explain that this is actually a gift: when one finds in the Land of Israel a house that belonged to a non-Jew that is afflicted with tzara’at, it is considered a blessing, because treasures are sometimes hidden within its walls — valuables that the Canaanites concealed. Through demolishing the house, these treasures are revealed — Rashi on Leviticus 14:34 (based on Vayikra Rabbah 17:6) — and therefore it is a great gift, “when you come into the land of your inheritance.”

One might say that in recent times, much discussion has revolved around the demolition of enemy houses that served as infrastructure for terror. There is a profound dimension to this, as explained by the Zohar (Tazria–Metzora): the primary purpose is not the physical treasure hidden in the walls, but rather the destruction of houses of idolatry that existed in the Land of Israel. The Creator placed treasures within them in order to bring about their destruction, but the ultimate goal is the removal of evil from the land.

The Land of Israel is not suited for houses of idolatry, nor for homes associated with bloodshed — places where weapons are hidden, even in children’s rooms, bedrooms, and institutions of education and healthcare. The essence of the Land is to increase goodness in the world — it is a “land of life” (based on Deuteronomy 30:20). Therefore, there is no place within it for homes built upon corrupt values.

As we approach the month of Iyar and read Parashat Tazria–Metzora, we come to understand the importance of purity — the purity of the home, the purity of clothing, and how a Jew appears both externally and internally. What kind of light does he radiate? Originally, a person was clothed in “garments of light” (Bereishit Rabbah 20:12), which over time became “garments of skin” (Genesis 3:21). Yet the inner light of a Jew still exists — “A person’s wisdom illuminates his face” (Ecclesiastes 8:1). One’s appearance and entire being should reflect the Name of God.

Therefore, “You are children to the Lord your God” (Deuteronomy 14:1) — but this must be expressed with grace, so that “all the peoples of the earth shall see that the Name of the Lord is called upon you, and they shall fear you” (Deuteronomy 28:10).

Tazria-Metzurah: The True, Shining Face of Humbleness

by Rav Naim Ben-Eliyahu ZT"L, Former Rosh Yeshivat Ben Ish Chai, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

One of this week's two Torah portions, Tazria (Vayikra 12-13), begins with the sacrificial offering that a birthing mother must offer, but then continues with the laws of various bodily impurities.

The Torah tells us here that the purity or impurity of a leprosy-like lesion is determined exclusively by a Priest, based on his on-site examination. This is because of the Priest's high spiritual level; he is able to see a superficial phenomenon and understand its depth, for he is like a Divine angel – as is written, "For the lips of a Priest will guard knowledge, and teaching should be sought from his mouth - for he is a messenger [angel] of the Lord of Hosts" (Malachi 2,7).

In Torah law it is clear that the color of a skin that is touched with leprosy is evidence of an inner and deep problem, and only a Priest graced with deep vision can uncover and diagnose the issue and its solution.

We might well ask: This entire matter of lesions and leprosy appears to be rather sordid; why does the Torah give so much attention and space to this matter? And how is it that the Priests must leave their holy priestly duties in the Holy Temple to deal with it?

King Shlomo describes the beauty of the "beloved" with these words: "His head is as the finest gold; his locks are curled, as black as a raven [Heb.: orev] (5,11)." And the Medrash explains that even these matters - discharges, afflictions, and the laws of menstruation and childbirth, which are considered “dark” and unpleasant, are like an orev before the Holy One, blessed be He – from the same root as arev, meaning pleasantness and sweetness. These matters are actually pleasing and sweet before G-d, as written: “Then shall the offering of Yehuda and Yerushalayim be pleasing [arvah, from the same root] to the Lord…” (Malachi 3,4).

But why, actually, are these matters so pleasing to G-d?

This can be explained with a parable:

There was once a king’s son who was born with extremely delicate and fair skin. Everyone marveled at his complexion and his skin's pure radiance. One day the child fell ill with chickenpox. All of his skin began to take on a strange color, the sores opened, and blood and pus oozed out. The king immediately summoned a doctor, who applied various kinds of ointments, iodine-based treatments and the like to the skin. Seeing his son in this condition, the king was very happy – because he knew that his beloved son was in the process of healing via the doctor's treatments.

A few days after the prince recovered, the king called him and, with great love and affection, began to teach him the laws of skin afflictions: how they come about and how they are healed, so that his cherished son would know how to guard himself against them.

Precisely in this manner does Hashem teach us the laws that are explained here in Parashat Tazria. "What do they stem from, spiritually? How are they healed? And how can we protect ourselves from them?" And this is why they are pleasant and sweet before Him.

The Torah describes the appearance of the leprous growths as being "deep under the skin" and "not deeper than the skin" (13,3-4), about which even Rashi says that he does not quite understand what it means. The holy Ohr HaChaim, however – R. Chaim ben Atar (early 18^th century, Morocco) – explained it very profoundly, as follows: 

A person's skin reflects his spiritual state, for he was created in G-d's image. If one does good deeds, speaks good things, and is steeped in Torah and mitzvot, his face shines and his skin is radiant. And if he is a sinner, his skin will reflect this as well. And if then repents, G-d Himself will forgive him, erase his sin from his body, and cleanse and polish his skin.

The Ben Ish Chai (R. Yosef Chaim of Baghdad, d. 1909) was asked how it could be that Moshe Rabbeinu did not know that his face shone after he spoke with G-d (Sh'mot 34,29), whereas R. Shimon bar Yochai – who was certainly not greater than Moshe – said about himself that he saw that his countenance shone?

The Ben Ish Chai's answer is very deep – a concept that “no ear has heard and no eye has seen.” He first cites the Talmud (Gittin 36b) which states: “Those who are insulted but do not insult in return, who hear their disgrace but do not respond… Scripture says about them, ‘But those who love Him are like the rising of the sun in its might.’ (Judges 5,31)."

This alludes to Moshe Rabbeinu, the Talmud states, who was humble and did not take offense at or respond to insults. However, this high level is actually not the highest – for it means that he felt insulted, and understood that his honor was impugned, but simply worked on himself not to respond.

An even higher level is one who does not even know that he was insulted! He is so far from feeling arrogance or self-importance that he does not feel there is anything about him that is "good enough" to be insulted. This was the true level of Moshe Rabbeinu, explains the Ben Ish Chai: that he did not even know that his face radiated and shone, felt nothing different, and could not understand why he was being looked at strangely.

This helps us understand what the Holy Ohr HaChaim explained here: One's skin is a testimony to the depth of his character. If he is insulted yet does not even notice it, his character is so profound and deep that it is recognizable on his skin – as with Moshe, to whom we can apply this verse: "A man's wisdom will light up his face" (Kohelet 8,1). 

Shmini: Arrogance and Bachelorhood

by Rav Moshe Tzuriel ZT"L, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

The Torah tells us (Vayikra 10,1-2) that Aharon's sons Nadav and Avihu "offered before G-d a strange fire that He did not command them."  Though this seems straightforward, still and all, our Sages found several other reasons for their deaths. For instance, Medrash Rabba (20,1) states, "Many women were waiting to get married, but Nadav and Avihu, in their arrogance, said, 'Our father's brother [Moshe] is a king, our mother's brother [Nachshon ben Aminadav] is the prince of the Tribe of Judah, our father is the High Priest, and we ourselves are deputy priests. What woman could possibly be suitable for us?'"

They were tainted, as often happens with those who come from distinguished lineage, with the sin of haughtiness, and thus did not even consider the offers of marriage suggested to them.

The Talmud is even more up-front about their "attitude" problem: "Nadav and Avihu were walking behind Moshe and Aharon, and one said to the other, 'When will these two old men die already, and you and I will lead the generation?' G-d then said to them, 'We will soon see who buries whom.'" (Tr. Sanhedrin 52a)

This terrible trait of arrogance was a part of them ever since the day the Torah was given at Sinai, as the above Medrash continues: "Already at Mt. Sinai their death sentence was handed down, for it is written (Sh'mot 24,11) that they "saw G-d and ate and drank"  - with no sense of humility, as if they were dining with a friend of theirs." They were not at all like Moshe Rabbeinu, about whom it is written at the Burning Bush, "Moshe hid his face for he was afraid to look upon G-d" (Sh'mot 3,6).

The Gemara (Eruvin 63a) also tells us that they died because they issued a Halakhic ruling in front of Moshe without consulting with him. That is, when they decided to offer the fire in the Holy Tabernacle, they did not ask Moshe beforehand, as they should have. This, too, shows their trait of arrogance.

But it was even worse than that – for they did not even consult with one another! The Torah tells us that each of them "took his own pan and placed in it fire," emphasizing that each one acted on his own. They had no humility even one towards the other, and certainly did not cooperate with each other. This was very unlike how Moshe and Aharon behaved, as we read in Rashi to Sh'mot 12,3: "They showed honor one to another, and each one asked the other, 'Teach me' – and [when they spoke to Israel], the words would emanate from between both of them, as if they were both speaking."

The Sages also added this "fault" to the list: They were punished because they had no children. What is the source for this? Bamidbar 3,4 recounts this sin and then adds: "They had no children."  This addition seems to be irrelevant, and therefore the Sages derived that it was precisely the reason for their punishment! For the Talmud teaches (Pesachim 113b) that among those who are distanced from G-d are those who were not married and those who have no offspring [for lack of effort]. This indicates that one who tarries in marrying is also at fault and distanced from G-d – for all this stems from arrogance.

When we see that the Sages state various reasons for a particular phenomenon, we do not assume that we simply do not know the real reason; rather, each opinion is showing us another aspects of the same explanation. In the case of Nadav and Avihu, we are happy to note that they were not guilty of many different sins, but only of various aspects of the sin of arrogance. Because they were privileged in various manners, Nadav and Avihu displayed arrogance in different ways.

We can say that this itself was the "strange fire" that they offered before G-d – for it is incumbent upon one who approaches the highest levels of holiness to feel humility.

Showing Humility

A few verses later, we read that Moshe instructed Aharon's remaining sons, Elazar and Itamar, to offer up the Rosh Chodesh sacrifice. However, because they were in mourning for their brothers, they burnt it on the Altar and did not eat from it. Moshe thought they had carelessly disqualified it, and when he tried to clarify this matter, Aharon explained that they were in mourning and therefore could not eat from it. Why did Elazar and Itamar not respond to Moshe? Because of their humility: They wished to show deference to their father Aharon, and also to not directly negate Moshe's words. Moshe then humbly admitted that he had forgotten this law.

Let us relate our message to the unmarried young men of today [2007]. Sadly, Interior Ministry statistics of 2003 show that among males aged 20-29, more than three-quarters are single, and among women – 60% are unmarried. [ed. note: More recent data show lower, but still worrisome, numbers.] It is well-known that the situation is better among the religiously observant community than in the general population. But even among the religious, there are still very many single men and women, even in the 27–30 age range. Why is this so?

Part of this is easily explainable, since by the time one finishes both military service and completes professional training, a young man is already approaching the age of 24–26. But this certainly does not explain away why many of those who delay are influenced by the aforementioned arrogance. There is no question that too many are overly selective, constantly waiting for what appears to be a better match - “more attractive,” or “more religious,” or someone with better financial means.

These unfortunate young men do not realize that as time passes, the “better” offers become less common, because they get taken by others...

It could be that the hesitation of these young men stems either from a sense of inferiority that they fear will be discovered by their dates. It could also be the opposite: They sincerely think that they deserve better. But they fail to recognize that just as the women suggested to them have flaws and imperfections, so too do these very men themselves have the same (both in terms of physical appearance and character traits) – and these only increase over time, rendering themselves at least as undesirable as they perceive the women to be!

In addition, the necessary flexibility required for a person to be patient and accommodating with their “partner” gradually decreases over time. As people grow older, their demands increase, which makes it harder to conclude a match.

Just as physical beauty is found primarily at a relatively young age, so too the ability to accept opposing views is more common among the young, who are more pliant and accepting. Similarly, the more one becomes established in society or in business, the less open s/he is to cooperating with someone who is different from them. This creates a kind of trap for all those waiting to hear a "better" offer.

Young men of our time must learn from the sin of Nadav and Avihu: not to fall into the trap of arrogance!

Shmini: The Eighth Day and the Illusion of Certainty

based on a Dvar Torah by Rav Yisrael Meir Lau, former Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of Israel.

This week we read Parashat Shmini, which opens with the words, “And it was on the eighth day.”

The obvious question is: the eighth day of what?

It is the eighth day of the inauguration of the Mishkan, the sacred Tabernacle. On Rosh Chodesh Nisan, nearly one full year after Bnei Yisrael left Egypt, the Mishkan was finally dedicated, fulfilling the Divine command:

“And they shall make for Me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell among them” (Shemot 25:8).

This was one of the most exalted and joyous moments in the wilderness. Moshe Rabbeinu consecrated Aharon and his sons before the elders of Israel, formally appointing them to their holy task as servants in the House of Hashem.

And yet, at the very height of this majestic celebration, tragedy struck.

Aharon’s two eldest sons, Nadav and Avihu, died suddenly after bringing what the Torah calls “an alien fire before Hashem” (Vayikra 10:1). Rather than waiting for the heavenly fire that would descend as a public revelation of God’s Presence, they acted on their own initiative. In doing so, they diminished what should have been a supreme sanctification of Hashem’s Name.

Their deaths, in full view of the nation, remain among the most sobering moments in the Torah.

Chazal offer several explanations for their sin. Some suggest they were punished because they never married. Others say they entered the sacred service lacking the proper priestly garments.

But perhaps the most piercing explanation appears in Sanhedrin 52a.

The Gemara describes Moshe and Aharon walking together, with Nadav and Avihu following behind. Nadav turns to Avihu and says:

“When will these two elders die, so that you and I may lead the generation?”

It is a startling and deeply unsettling statement. Yet it reflects a timeless human temptation: the impatience of youth, the desire for influence, and the quiet assumption that the future is ours simply because we are next in line.

The Gemara continues that the Holy One, Blessed be He, responded:

“We shall see who buries whom.”

How powerful—and how humbling.

Human beings so often build their futures on assumptions that feel certain. We imagine timelines, inheritances, promotions, leadership roles, and carefully laid plans. But life rarely unfolds according to our expectations.

As the folk proverb teaches:

“I have seen many camels come to market carrying the hides of younger camels.”

Age alone guarantees nothing. Youth does not ensure tomorrow, and seniority does not necessarily signal the end.

As Shlomo HaMelech teaches:

“Many are the thoughts in a person’s heart, but the counsel of Hashem—it is that which endures” (Mishlei 19:21).

The lesson of Nadav and Avihu is not merely about punishment. It is about humility before Divine timing. Leadership, destiny, and even life itself are never ours by right. They are gifts entrusted by Hashem in His perfect wisdom.

Sometimes the young rush toward greatness only to discover that history moves at Heaven’s pace, not theirs. And sometimes those assumed to be fading remain standing far longer than anyone imagined.

May we learn from Parashat Shmini to walk with humility, patience, and trust in Hashem’s plan.