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.

Tzav: Even Law-Breakers Deserve Some Respect

by Rav Hillel Fendel.

Technical laws, when they are given by G-d's holy Torah, can teach us much about even our inter-personal relations.

This week's Torah portion of Tzav (Leviticus, Chapters 6-8), discusses many details of the Holy Temple service. For instance, the sin-offering sacrifice (ḥatat) is to be slaughtered in the northern part of the Temple's main Priestly section, north of the large Altar. The Torah does not tell us this detail in a straightforward manner; we rather have to figure it out ourselves. How so?

The Torah states, "In the place that the burnt-offering [olah] is slaughtered, there the ḥatat shall be slaughtered" (Vayikra 6,18). And where is this place, the Talmud asks (Z'vahim 48a)? It is in the north, as written, "He shall slaughter [the olah] north of the Altar." (Though the context is referring to the Priest, the owner of the sacrifice may also slaughter; see Z'vahim 31b.)

This simple but technical law regarding the location of the hatat offering teaches us a very important ethical lesson: If there would have been a specific place set aside only for sin-offerings, then the sinners who bring them would be quite embarrassed; everyone who sees them in that place would realize that they have sinned. In order to prevent this, the sinners and those who bring other sacrifices are all assigned to the same place. So explains the Jerusalem Talmud (Yevamot 8,3).

How does the Talmud know that this is the reason for slaughtering the ḥatat there? Perhaps there is something special about the "northern" part of the Altar? The answer is that though this is certainly true, it seems obvious that the Torah could have simply stated straight out, "Slaughter it in the north!" But it didn't; it rather linked the ḥatat with the place of the olah, indicating to our Sages that the place of the ḥatat is not connected specifically to the north, but rather just that it should be together with other sacrifices – in order to avoid embarrassment.

There are several other Torah laws as well that teach us that the dignity even of sinners must be maintained. For instance, it is well-known that our primary prayer, the Amidah (Shmoneh Esreh), must be recited quietly. Why is this? Because it includes the blessing S'laḥ lanu, "Forgive us for we have sinned," in which the worshiper can add his own words of repentance for specific sins. In order that others not hear his words of confession, the entire Amidah is recited silently.

Even a thief in the midst of carrying out his crime is sometimes given extra consideration! The Torah tells us (Sh'mot 21,37): "If a man steals an ox or sheep and sells it or slaughters it, he is liable to pay five [times the value] of the ox, or four times the sheep." Why the difference between an ox and a sheep? Rashi cites the famous explanation of the Talmudic sage R. Yochanan: Because the thief must carry the sheep on his shoulders, he is "compensated" for the blow to his dignity by having to pay less than one who steals an ox, which can walk on its own. Both are gravely punished, of course, but the Torah makes this "token" difference in order to teach us how careful we must be when dealing with a human being – even a sinner.

Another fascinating example:

The Torah tells us (D'varim 20) that during wartime, everyone must participate in the battles – except for certain exceptions. These include one who built a new house and did not yet dedicate it; one who betrothed a woman and did not yet marry her – and one who is afraid. R. Yosi HaGlili explains in the Talmud that this refers not necessarily to one who is physically afraid, but rather fears that his sins will cause him to lose Divine protection. And the reason all of these exceptions are grouped together is so that no one will know who is turning back from the war because of his sins and who for the other reasons. Again we see that the sinner must be accorded the same "protection from shame" that everyone else is.

It should also be noted that when, unfortunately, a death sentence must be carried out, a woman convict is treated extra modestly – for even when she is about to be executed, her dignity is still an important priority.

Let us bring a final example, unconnected to sinners, but one that emphasizes how careful we must be not to shame another – even inadvertently! If Reuven owes money to Shimon, but he does not have the money to pay him back, Shimon must be careful not to have Reuven even see him on the street! That is, when Shimon sees Reuven happening to walk in his direction, Shimon must cross over to the other side, so that Reuven not be embarrassed before him. So precious are the Torah's ways and commandments!

As we began: "In the place where the olah is slaughtered, there – and not in its own reserved section – shall the hatat be slaughtered."

Vayikra: Five Reasons for Torah Sacrifices

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

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

The Rambam: Correcting Idolatrous Thinking

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nachmanides' Two Approaches

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Conclusion

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

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

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

Behar: National Glory: Our Land, Our Torah

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

This week's Torah portion of Behar (Vayikra 25,1-26,2) begins with the mitzvah of Shmittah, in which we are commanded to let the Holy Land lie fallow once every seven years. Curiously, the opening verses mention two extra points whose relevance is not immediately clear: Mt. Sinai and the promise of the Land of Israel.

Specifically, Parashat Behar begins as follows, "G-d spoke to Moshe at Mt. Sinai, to say [to Israel]: When you come to the Land that I give you, the land shall rest…" Why could the Torah not simply say, "G-d told Moshe to tell Israel, let the Land rest…"?

Rashi here asks, "What does the topic of Shmitta have to do with Mt. Sinai? Weren't all the mitzvot given on Sinai?" And he answers that just as both the general rules and the minute details regarding Shmitta were given on Mt. Sinai, so too both the general rules and minute details of all the other mitzvot were given at Sinai as well.

The Holy Ohr HaChaim (Rav Chaim ibn Attar, 18^th-century Morocco) asks: "Why did the mitzvah of Shmittah, or all mitzvot, deserve to be the mitzvah by which this critical lesson is learned?"

He answers:

"Perhaps it is because the Torah mentions here the gift of the Land [as quoted above], and therefore it specified "Mt. Sinai," to say that this gift of the Land was completed precisely because of Sinai – i.e., that which we received there, namely, the Torah – in that because of the Torah G-d gave us the Land."

This is an amazing insight by the Ohr HaChaim! He is saying that in order to fulfill the Torah and the mitzvot, the Land is imperative! In addition, the connection between the Nation of Israel and the Land of Israel stems specifically from G-d's command in the Torah.

To understand this, let us explore why it is that this Land-Nation connection must be nourished specifically from the Torah? Clearly there are many non-observant Jews who are attached to the Land and love it very much. What role does the Torah play, precisely?

I would like to try to propose two explanations for the Land-Torah bonds.

The first is that the commandments of the Torah without Eretz Yisrael are totally lacking. As the Medrash Sifrei tells us (D'varim 43), the fulfillment of the Torah's commands outside the Land are only a "remembrance" of their ideal fulfillment in the Land. In the words of the Medrash: "Even when and if I exile you from the Land, continue to fulfill them correctly, so that when you return [to the Land], they will not be new to you… Just as the Prophet Jeremiah said [and based on Rabbinic derivations]: 'Set up milestones for yourself (31,20)…'"

The second explanation is based on the popular idiom, "The Land of Israel without Torah is a like a body without a soul." When the Nation of Israel is in its Land without a connection to the Torah, G-d's word, it can decline to many grave mistakes. Eretz Yisrael can become a source of negativity, or even just a piece of real estate that be given away at some leader's whim. Only when the Torah is the basis for our ties with the Land, and when we internalize and adhere to G-d's word from Sinai, can we truly merit to inherit the Land. 

Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaCohen Kook, first Chief Rabbi of modern-day Eretz Yisrael, expressed it well in his work Orot, in the beginning of the chapter on the Land of Israel:

"Eretz Israel is not something external; it is not an external national acquisition, or a means to the goal of all-around unity, or a means to the strengthening of its physical or even spiritual existence. Rather, the Land of Israel is an intrinsic element of the nation, attached to it with bond of life, entwined at its very core with our national existence."

Let us raise a prayer that we will successfully pay heed to G-d's word that we heard at Sinai, and through this, be worthy of inheriting our holy Land.

Emor: Spirituality is Reality!

by the late Chief Rabbi of Israel Avraham Shapira ZT"L, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

In the weekly Torah reading of Parashat Emor (Vayikra 21-24), just after a brief review of laws of the various festivals, the Torah notes that special oil from hand-crushed olives is required in order to keep the lamp in the Tabernacle burning constantly. The Torah also tells us that the Menorah (candelabrum) is placed "outside the Curtain of Testimony in the Communion Tent" (24,3).

The Talmud asks (Shabbat 22b): "Could it possibly be that he[1] needs light? After all, the Children of Israel walked in the desert for 40 years by G-d's light! Rather, this light is a testimony to all people of the world that the Divine Presence dwells amidst Israel."

What is the source for this point? It is the continuation of the above-cited verse, which states that the lamps shall burn "from evening to morning before G-d always." And even though the word "Testimony" here generally refers to the Holy Ark and the Tablets of the Law, still, since it is mentioned here in the context of the Menorah, the Gemara derives that the Menorah, too, is "testimony."

This must be understood: How does the Menorah teach and attest to the world that the Divine Presence dwells within the People of Israel? After all, the Menorah is inside the Tabernacle or Beit Mikdash, and no one sees it except for the priest who prepares the wicks and oil in the lamps!

The answer is the fundamental principle that "spirituality is reality," even if it is not seen. True, no one sees the priest lighting the Menorah – but the very fact of the lighting effects light throughout the world; it brings the people of the world to know that the Divine Presence is within Israel, even if not seen.

We find a similar idea in the Chapters of the Fathers (Avot 6,2):

"R. Yehoshua ben Levy says: Every day a Heavenly voice goes forth from Mt. Horev [Sinai] and proclaims: 'Woe to mankind for its disregard for the Torah.'"

That is, even though we do not hear that Heavenly voice, we should know, as the saintly Baal Shem Tov explains, that every little thought of repentance that a person might suddenly have – its source is in this Heavenly voice. Various spiritual pipelines of attentiveness and awakening stem from this voice. Our ears do not hear them, most certainly – but our hearts hear them, for they are reality.

Spirituality is reality, and whoever does not believe this, his sin is very grave, to the extent that he has no share in the World to Come. The renowned 19^th-century R. Yisrael Lifshitz explained this point in his classic commentary to the Mishna, Tiferet Yisrael, on the Mishna in Avot. The Mishna states:

"He who desecrates kodshim (sacred Holy Temple items or food)… or shames his fellow man in public… even though he is learned in Torah and does good deeds, has no share in the World to Come."

On this, R. Lifshitz wrote: "He who desecrates kodshim believes, wrongly and foolishly, that there is no holiness in the world and that everything is completely mundane and meaningless… and therefore, he has no share in the World to Come." That is, he denies the mortal ability to sanctify the physical, to elevate to the altar as something holy a lamb that just moments ago was grazing in the field. He therefore has no share in the World to Come.

This is the principle that we learn from the lamps that were kindled in the Holy Temple, and this is also the fundamental that we learn from the Chanukah lights. The Syrian Greeks did not believe in the human ability to sanctify the material, whereas when we light the Chanukah candles, we recite, "These lights that we kindle are sacred." We believe that simply with the power of our speech, we can turn oil, taken from a supply that was used for non-holy purposes, into something different, something spiritual – for "spirituality is reality."

By virtue of this spiritual reality, the Menorah serves as testimony to the people of the world that the Divine Presence rests in Israel. This is not testimony in the sense of the "two witnesses' required for judicial cases, but rather the establishment of the reality within the hearts of men. It is a spiritual reality, which some are privileged to receive and absorb.

From the work "Rav Avraham Shapiro's Classes on Ketuvot and Kiddushin," edited by Rabbi Binyamin Rakover

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[1] This could be referring either to G-d, or to Aharon the High Priest, or the Children of Israel, according to different commentaries. (HF)

Vayikra: The Sacrificial Service: Coming Close

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

The word for sacrifices is korbanot, from the Hebrew root k.r.v., meaning "to come close"

This week's Torah reading begins the Book of Vayikra, Leviticus, which is practically all about sacrifices and the sacrificial service. The second verse posits that when a person brings a sacrifice, it is mikem, "from you." Let us seek to understand this.

Last week, we concluded the Book of Sh'mot, Exodus, in which we learned of the construction of the Mishkan, Tabernacle; the utensils inside, such as the Ark and the Menorah; and the priestly garments worn by Aharon the High Priest and his sons, who were the other priests. The Mishkan was to be the place in which Israel would come close to G-d on the highest level possible on earth, as is written, "They shall make Me a tabernacle and I will dwell in their midst" (Sh'mot 25,8).

The Torah now begins Vayikra by pouring content into the physical house, namely, the sacrificial service. The principle purpose of the sacrifices is to bring the Children of Israel closer to their Father in Heaven; the Hebrew word for sacrifices is korbanot, from the root meaning "to come close." As Nachmanides explains: "Every korban refers to coming close and unity."

In the beginning of the second chapter of Vayikra, we read of the mincha offering: "A soul who offers up a korban mincha to G-d – the offering shall be of milled flour." This is the only offering that refers to a person as a "soul." Rashi says: "Who is accustomed to donate a mincha? A poor person; G-d says, 'I consider him as if he offered up his soul.'"

Who is more highly regarded: a poor person who tries hard and gives a small sum  - the most he has - to charity, or a wealthy person who gives a large sum, even though he could easily afford much more? The answer clearly is that in our world of deception, the wealthy man is more admired, because the bottom line is that he gave more.

However, in the world of truth, the Sages tell us that "G-d desires the heart," He wants to know what is in our heart, and the reward He gives is commensurate with our effort, toil, and hardship. The poor man who essentially gives his soul has done a greater act than the rich person, and thus coming much closer to G-d with what he did. He offered his soul, which is a higher level than offering one's money or even one's body; he thus "came close to G-d" with kirvat nefesh on the highest possible level.

There are roughly three levels in human relationships: There is a superficial acquaintance that causes people to like each other; there are acts of giving that bring about love; and there is the highest degree of love, soul love, that is the result of a series of little acts of giving, or of major acts that are actually sacrifices. Our forefather Yaakov gave over to his son Yosef everything he learned from Shem and Ever (see Rashi to B'reshit 37,3); he gave him his all – and this led to, in the words of Yehuda, "his [Yaakov's] soul is bound up with his [Yosef's] soul" (B'reshit 44,30).

In another example, we know that King Sha'ul's son Yehonatan gave up any possibility of succeeding his father as the monarch, and even risked his life – all for the sake of his love for David. Their love was certainly a soul love, as we read: "… Yehonatan's soul was bound up with David's soul, and Yehonatan loved him as his own soul... and Yehonatan made a covenant with David, loving him as his own soul" (Samuel I 18,1-3).

The Sefer HaChinukh beautifully explains one of the rationales for the sacrifices:

"G-d commanded us to always sacrifice from that which the heart of man covets, such as meat and wine and bread, so that the heart will be more aroused to it. A poor person is similarly obligated to bring [not from animals, but] from the small amount of flour that his eyes and heart are constantly set upon.

"And there is yet another aspect of arousal of the heart with animal sacrifices, in that human and animal bodies are nearly the same; they are differentiated only in that a feeling heart and mind was given to humans and not animals.

"And when the human body "takes leave" of his mind when he sins, he must know that he has entered the realm of animals, as he has abandoned the only thing that differentiates him from them. He must therefore take a body of flesh like him and bring it to the place chosen for the raising of the intellect and burn it there, so that it is completely incinerated, in order to form a strong picture in his heart that a body without intellect is lost and null… And by fixing this image in his soul, he will be very careful not to sin…"

The purpose of the sacrifices is that we should give up some things that he greatly love, to remind us not to sink into the mire of materialism, but rather to come close to G-d – which is the ultimate goal of man in this world.

Prayer Instead of Sacrifices
The Medrash Tanchuma teaches: "Look how G-d forgives the sins of Israel. Whoever has a bull should offer up a bull, whoever has a ram should bring a ram… a lamb… a dove… even just milled flour… And whoever doesn't even have flour, should bring words [of prayer], as is written, 'Take with you words and return to G-d' (Hoshea 14,3)."

Our prayer service was instituted to correspond to the sacrifices, because when the Holy Temple was destroyed, we had no way to come close to G-d other than via the words of our prayers, as is written, "We will pay bulls with our lips" (ibid.).

And as with sacrifices, we can choose the level on which we wish to pray and come close to G-d: like "a man who sacrifices from you an offering to G-d," or on the higher level of "a soul who brings a mincha offering to G-d," as if he is giving his soul.

Given that prayer takes the place of sacrifices, it is appropriate and worthy that we pray in the way we would offer sacrifices: with great devotion, without foreign thoughts, in a permanent place, and even, if possible, with special clothing for prayer; see Shulchan Arukh Orach Chaim 98,4.

The more we implement these laws of the Shulchan Arukh, the more we will merit to reach a higher level of closeness to our Father in Heaven – "as if we had sacrificed our souls."