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. 

Mishpatim: Can We Have Both Truth and Peace?

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

Following the Majority

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

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

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

Individuality or Collectivism?

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

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

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

Mordechai's Two Hats

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

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

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

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

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

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

Youth and Maturity

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

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

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

An Eye for an Eye

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

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

Yitro: Honor Your Parents – and Yourselves!

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

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

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

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

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

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

What We Learn from First-Fruits

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

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

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

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

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

Making Sense

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

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

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

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

Honor your parents, for this means lengthening your days!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tu B'Shvat Fruits

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bo: Free Will and Human Nature

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Power of Habit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vaera: The Blood Libel and the Ten Plagues

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shmot: Anyone Here Who's a Man?

by Rav Hillel Fendel.

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

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

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

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

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

Shabbat Shalom.

Pikudei: The Significance of Completing the Mishkan

by Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaLevy Kilav, Yeshivat Merkaz HaRav, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

The Medrash Tanchuma to this week's Torah portion of Pekudei (the end of Sh'mot) likens the Tabernacle (Mishkan) to the seven days of creation. It cites verses showing that the various elements of the Mishkan correspond to that which was created on each day. For instance, man was created on the sixth day, parallel to the High Priest anointed to serve in the Mishkan before G-d.

The deeper understanding of this comparison can be formulated as follows.

The world was created in a gradual manner, day by day, until it finally reached the creation of man – the ultimate purpose of creation – and the creation of the Sabbath, which signaled the completion of the material works. And the Tabernacle is the next step: the continuation of the creation of this world. Not only does the Mishkan sustain the world and give it the power of its existence; it itself is also another stage in the purpose of creation, embodied in the High Priest offering sacrifices in the Tabernacle to the Creator.

Permanent Mikdash and Temporary Mishkan

And for this King David says in Psalms (26,8) the words that form the basis of this Medrash: "O Lord, I love the habitation of Your house, and the dwelling place [Mishkan, in Hebrew] of Your glory." This verse has two parts, in which the first refers to the Beit HaMikdash in Jerusalem – a fully-built structure – and the second refers to the Mishkan, which is more temporary, roofed with animal skins, yeriot. The Mishkan started off in the desert, serving the nation for its 40-year journey, and was then relocated to Shilo. This is why the verse states "dwelling place" regarding it, because the place of the Mishkan is sacred only when it actually houses it – as opposed to Jerusalem, which is holy even when the Temple is not there.

However, it is precisely the yeriot that stand for the heavens [in the comparison cited in the above Medrash], and they are very connected with the creation of heaven and earth. How so? Because the Tabernacle was the spiritual completion of creation, in being the place where the Divine Presence dwelled within the camp of Israel. Thus, via the Tabernacle, the world became not only a physical place, but a place for the service of G-d.

…

Sabbath Overrides Mishkan Construction

We mentioned that the Sabbath signals the completion of physical creation, and this is linked to the Mishkan and Mikdash as well. For we know that when Moshe Rabbeinu descended from Mt. Sinai after receiving the Torah, he gathered all of Israel together (Sh'mot 35,1) to hear the Divine command to build the Mishkan – which he preceded with the mitzvah of keeping the Sabbath! The lesson was that building the Mishkan does not override the Sabbath – and in fact, every activity that was done in the process of building the Mishkan is precisely the work that is forbidden on the Sabbath. 

In any event, we see that there is a deep connection between the Sabbath and the dwelling of the Divine Presence in Israel via the Mishkan. As David writes in Psalm 92: "A song for the Sabbath day, it is good to thank G-d and to sing praise to Your name, O exalted One… For You have gladdened me with Your deeds; at Your handiwork I sing with joy." The Medrash Tanchuma at the end of Parashat Pekudei explains that these "deeds" and "handiwork" refer, respectively, to the Mishkan and to the Holy Temple. The Medrash also relates other verses there to the Mishkan, as explained below. 

The Patriarch Yitzchak and our Teacher Moshe 

The Medrash also teaches that the date chosen to commemorate the construction of the Mishkan was Rosh Chodesh Nissan, the date on which Yitzchak Avinu was born. In addition, no one was able to actually erect the Mishkan; it kept falling down – because G-d wanted to credit Moshe with the actual construction, as is written: "Moshe put up the Mishkan" (Sh'mot 40,18).

The Sages explain that actually, even Moshe was unable to put up the Mishkan – and G-d finally told him to act as if he was building it, but that He Himself would actually cause it to be built by itself. For as we have explained, the Mishkan is a continuation of Creation, connecting the world to its Creator, and serving as the source of life. And just like Creation is only of G-d, so too is the construction of the Mishkan. The more "physical" parts of the Mishkan – its various utensils – were dealt with by the Israelites and not Moshe; but the exalted Mishkan itself, which is "closer" to G-d, was the domain of Moshe, for it enabled the Divine to dwell within Israel. Only Moshe, whom the Torah terms "the man of G-d," and who received the Torah on high and brought it down to earth, can actually be involved in the Mishkan and its final construction.

Why was the Mishkan built specifically on the birthdate of Yitzchak? Because he was to G-d an "unblemished sacrifice" – the term used by the Medrash to explain why G-d told him to never leave the Land of Israel. His birthday, therefore, is the most appropriate for the establishment of G-d's presence in the world. Yitzchak was the first to offer himself up to G-d, at the famous Binding of Yitzchak, and therefore he is the source for Israel's ability to totally cleave to G-d – the very strength of the Mikdash.

The Wicked Ones Don't Get It

Psalm 92 continues with the idea that "a fool cannot understand [that] when the wicked blossom… it is to destroy them for eternity." The Medrash explains that when the Israelites failed at first in building the Mishkan, the wicked of the generation mocked and scorned Moshe - but they did not understand G-d's ways; they did not know that when wickedness abounds, there can be no perfect dwelling of the Divine Presence on earth. Only when "Your enemies shall perish" and "a righteous man flourishes like a palm tree… planted in the House of G-d, flourishing in the courtyards of our G-d…"

And just like the Mishkan in the desert, so too with the Beit HaMikdash in the future. Just as the Mishkan had to wait until Yitzchak's birthdate, and for G-d to build it Himself, so too in the future when evil is broken, the House of G-d will be established by G-d Himself – and will then last forever, never to be destroyed. Its sanctity will be unique, and will itself guarantee the permanence of the final Beit Mikdash.

The Sabbath and the Holy Temple

Both the Sabbath and the holy Temple service have elements of the World to Come, each one on its own level. This is why Moshe spoke of the Sabbath even before the Mishkan, in order to say that the actions of one should not nullify the sanctity of the other. And the Sages added that the "partner" of the Sabbath is Torah study. They cited the verse, "For from Zion shall go forth Torah, and G-d's word from Jerusalem" (Isaiah 2,3); the deepest expression of Jerusalem and the Temple is G-d's word, the Torah that comes forth from Jerusalem. These three – Shabbat, Mikdash, and Torah – are the "triple strand" that will never unravel.

Vayakhel: Getting into the Other Guy's Head

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

Three weeks ago, when we read Parashat Terumah, we learned G-d's detailed instructions as to how to build the Tabernacle. This week, in Parashat VaYak'hel (Sh'mot 35,1-38,20), we read how these instructions were carried out, under the leadership of master builder Betzalel. What were Betzalel's qualifications for this important job? Moshe introduced him to the Children of Israel as follows:

"G-d has selected Betzalel ben Uri ben Hur, of the tribe of Judah, and has filled him with the spirit of G-d, with wisdom, understanding, and knowledge, and [a talent for all types of] craftsmanship, able to think thoughts [or: devise plans], to work with gold, silver, and bronze..." (35,30-31)

What is meant by the phrase, "to think thoughts?"

The Gemara (Tr. Brachot 55a) tells us that Betzalel was given his name after he heard one thing and sough to do something else:

      When G-d said to Moshe, "Go say to Bezalel, 'Make a tabernacle, an ark, and vessels'” (31,7–11), Moshe reversed the order and told Betzalel, 'Make an ark and vessels, and a tabernacle” [see chapters 25-26].

     Betzalel said: "Moshe, our teacher, generally a person builds a house and only afterward places the vessels in the house – yet you say to me: Make an ark and vessels, and a tabernacle. If I do so, where will I put the vessels that I make? Could it be that G-d told you to make a tabernacle [first and then] an ark and vessels?”

     Moshe said [admiringly] to Betzalel: "Could it be that you were in G-d’s shadow [b'tzel E-l] when He spoke to me and that's how you knew precisely what He said?"

Betzalel's reasoning was logical and correct. And this raises an important question: If G-d told Moshe a particular order, why did he tell Betzalel a different one?

R. Baruch HaLevi Epstein, the early 20^th-century author of the "Torah Temimah," answers that G-d actually commanded Moshe twice – once according to this order, and once according to the other. Not knowing what to do, Moshe reasoned that since the purpose of the Mishkan was to house G-d's Divine Presence, and since the chief focus of the Divine Presence was over the Holy Ark, it is logical that the Holy Ark be built first. But Betzalel said that it would not be respectful to have the Ark wait outside while the Mishkan was being built.

In sum, Moshe thought that it would be more respectful to first build that which is the ultimate objective, namely, the Tabernacle. But Betzalel felt the opposite. [As we know, the respect that we show to various holy items has no effect on them, but only on us who observe the "respect" that is being accorded them.] He thought that if people see the holy items waiting outside, that itself would be a lack of respect.

Betzalel thought in terms of how people would view the situation. He took the practical approach: What would be the result of building the Ark first?

Perhaps this, then, is what the Torah means in saying that Betzalel was a man who "thought thoughts." He saw ahead and envisioned what people would think, what emotions they would feel, and how this might change the entire situation.

When Israel was commanded to prepare a Tabernacle for the Divine Presence, it was specifically Betzalel who was Divinely chosen to build it – because the ability to bring the Presence upon Israel includes not only knowing what to do, but what his acts will cause people to think and feel. Betzalel was a man with a heart that felt the hearts of the people around him.

Here are some examples to illustrate this trait.

It is told that a man came to ask his rabbi the following question: "Can I fulfill the mitzvah of the Four Cups on Passover night with milk instead of wine?" The rabbi pulled out a large sum of money and gave it to him, saying, "Go and buy yourself food for the Seder." His wife later asked, "Why did you give so much?" The rabbi answered, "His question made me realize that he wasn't planning to eat meat during the entire meal [for then he wouldn't be able to drink milk], which means that he doesn't have money even for meat and other holiday expenses…"

It is also told of one of the heads of the Mirrer Yeshiva that a man stopped him on the street to ask for directions. The rabbi walked with the man all the way to his destination. One of the students later asked him why he didn't just suffice with telling him how to get there. The rabbi said, "I saw that he had a speech impediment and that he hesitated before asking me. I didn't want him to have to ask someone else along his way, so I walked with him to where he wanted to go."

How to Overcome Strife?

A man once told me that he was very insulted that a neighbor of his had not invited him to his son's wedding. I said to him, "Let's try to think of it from his point of view. He has a large family, and he had to invite all of them, plus others in various circles, etc., etc." The man gradually calmed down and realized how hard it would have been for him to invite him.

In various arguments and disputes, if we stand back, we can easily identify the root cause: Each side thinks only of his own standpoint.

This week's Torah portion teaches us to be wise, like Betzalel. We must "think thoughts" regarding what's in the other guy's head. Doing this can help avoid many disputes. The next time we are inclined to get upset at or offended by someone – even by another driver on the road – let's stop for a second and try to think what the other guy is thinking. That's the key to truly bringing the Divine Presence to dwell in our midst.