Tisha B'Av: Mourning the Past – and Working for the Future: What R. Azuali Learned from the Women

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

The renowned Rav Chaim Yosef David Azulai, known as the Chida, once came upon a Jewish town during his travels, and saw the women cleaning and painting their homes on Tisha B'Av afternoon. The Chida believed this was forbidden on Tisha B'Av, as it represented joy and distraction from the mourning for the Holy Temple and Jerusalem, and sharply advised the local rabbis to ban it immediately.

When he returned home from the synagogue, the Chida saw some women whispering and pointing at him. He asked what they were saying, and was told that they were saying about him, "That holy rabbi from Jerusalem said that the Mashiach will not come this year!"

The Chida could not understand how they had reached that conclusion, and one woman finally explained, "Every year, we prepare our homes on Tisha B'Av for the Mashiach, but this year you forbade us to prepare for his arrival."

Upon hearing this, the Chida immediately changed his ruling: "The houses must be painted and cleaned this Tisha B'Av – not only one room, but the entire house! And the best paint must be used! And in this merit, perhaps the Mashiach will come this very day!"

In addition to the importance of Jewish customs, this story also teaches us the value of proactive anticipation of the coming Redemption. Let us elaborate.

When the Second Temple was destroyed, the Sages of the generation, under the leadership of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, enacted a series of regulations by which the Jewish People would always remember this national catastrophe. Their source was a verse in Jeremiah's prophecies that reads, "Zion… no one seeks her out." From the fact that the prophet is lamenting this sorry state, the Rabbis of the Talmud learn that Jerusalem must be "sought out" and remembered.

When we read this passage today, we might ask: "Who said the intention is merely to remember? Perhaps we are bidden to do something pro-active for Jerusalem, such as working to redeem it?" That is, remembering is generally about the past, while "seeking out" implies doing something for the future. Is the primary issue one of mourning the past? What about acting and building for the future?"

In fact, a look at the Talmudic list of regulations enacted "in memory of the Temple" shows that they do not only commemorate the tragedy that occurred, but also look forward to its rectification. Consider this case, for example: The new year's wheat is Biblically forbidden to be eaten until the Omer offering is waved on the second day of Passover; but if the Temple is not standing, then there is no Omer offering, and the wheat may be eaten as soon as dawn breaks. However, after the destruction, the Sages ruled that even then, the new wheat may not be eaten at all that day – and why? So that when the Temple is soon rebuilt, and the Omer offering is renewed, no one will mistakenly say, "Just like we ate the new wheat last year from the morning, so too this year!"

That is, this regulation was enacted not to mourn what was, but in order to prepare us for the construction of the future Beit HaMikdash!

Certainly throughout our long Exile, our nation lacked the practical ability to work for the physical "seeking out" and construction of Zion – and this is why we "sought it out" chiefly by remembering the past. The primary annual date for doing so is Tisha B'Av, the terrible and calamitous day when our glorious Holy Temples were burnt. On this day, even one who generally engages in building the Land and the country, sits sadly on the floor, occupying himself in his bent-over state with that which our nation is lacking.

On the other hand, as the bells of our Redemption began to ring stronger in recent decades, our people's capacity to work actively for the redemption slowly began to increase. This led to a "seeking out" that was less concerned with memories of the past, and more in actions for the future, both spiritually and practically.

Still, even now, when we are engaged proactively most of the year towards the Redemption, it would seem that on Tisha B'Av we must emphasize our grief over that which we are lacking. Proof of this is that Jewish Law forbids Torah study on this day, except for that which has to do with the destruction and the laws of mourning for it. One might have thought that at least studying the Laws of the future Temple would be permitted, so as to inspire us towards that goal. But we see that the Sages approved only that which would keep us steeped in the sense of mourning, and that this must be the atmosphere on Tisha B'Av, even nowadays.

There is a deep logic to this matter. For it is precisely the great lack of our Holy Sanctuary for more than 1,950 years that brings Israel to uplift its visions and dreams of a great, exalted rectification – which will give meaning to the crisis we are undergoing. A "quick fix" is often a bad idea, as is misses the full impact of the rectification.

It is therefore important that we perpetuate the depth of the loss – and the greater the loss and sorrow, the greater the anticipation and visionary dreams.

The Chida expressed this that day in a far-off community. At first he thought Tisha B'Av was only for mourning – but then, from the womenfolk, he understood that the picture was not complete. When the afternoon hours arrived, the time at which the Mashiach was/will be born, the women – the Congregation of Israel – felt deep inside their heart that the winds had changed, and that the time had come to shake off the dust of "only the past," and to add to it a forward-looking "seeking out."

And in fact, it is customary throughout the Jewish Nation that, amid the sorrow of Tisha B'Av, we begin to engage in longing for the Mashiach when the afternoon arrives. We are permitted to sit on chairs, for instance, and some say we may participate in regularly-scheduled Torah classes. And in our generations, Israel has begun – and is now in the thick of – working all year round for the active Redemption of Zion.

The author of the Kuzari, Rav Yehuda HaLevy, wrote that Jerusalem will be rebuilt only when we long for it to the ultimate degree. Let us therefore all dream the great dream, raise our sights o so high, and thus awaken to act for the return of the Divine Presence to Zion and for the building of the Beit HaMikdash, in our own days!

Balak: Balak and Bil'am: Fear Itself – and Joy

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

The Baal Shem Tov (Besht) told the following parable: There was once a very wise king who wanted to challenge his subjects. He built many walls around his palace, one inside the other, with rivers in between them, as well as lions, tigers and bears for good measure. On the other hand, he also scattered there much silver and gold between the walls, and announced: "Whoever comes to see me, all the gold and silver he finds there is his!" Many people tried to climb the walls, but retreated as soon as they saw the wild animals. Others got up the courage, even took some money, but became more afraid as they advanced, and returned home.

But one man, who truly venerated and loved the king, paid no heed to the difficulties and dangers, because his heart burned with love within him to see and be with the king. And so he set off to climb the walls – and found that there actually were no walls; everything was imaginary. The only real thing he saw was the king on his throne, smiling and extending his hand in welcome…

With this parable, the Besht sought to teach us that the world is filled with many obstacles on the way to true service of G-d. One of them is simply the fear that we will not really be able to reach great heights. Other obstacles are our worries about making a living, which prevent us from fulfilling our potential to serve G-d. But in fact, all these and others are simply not true; they are all in our imagination. In truth, if a Jew can make sure not to scare himself, but to truly remember and know that he has the ability to rise up and fulfill his real potential – he will discover that he has the resources to serve G-d no matter what other challenges he faces, and will ultimately reach the King.

In truth, this idea is found in our weekly Torah portion of Balak [Bamidbar 22,2-25,9, to be read outside Israel only next week]. Two entities colluded in the wilderness to prevent Israel from cleaving to G-d and reaching the Holy Land, home of the Divine Presence: Moav and Midian, represented by King Balak and the Gentile prophet Bil'am. Let us consider: What were their respective motivations in seeking to harm Israel?

Regarding Moav, the Torah tells us that they were simply afraid: "The Moavites feared Israel because the people [of Israel] were so numerous" (22,3). In truth, however, they had nothing to fear; it was all in their imagination, as in the parable of the Besht. For G-d had commanded Israel straight out, "Do not attack Moav and do not provoke them to fight; I am not giving you their land…" (D'varim 2,9), meaning that the Moavites were simply scaring themselves, for no reason.

The other element in this struggle against Israel was Bil'am, who sought to harm Israel for nothing more than --- riches. He hinted at this himself, when he claimed to be subject only to G-d's word and said to Balak's messengers: "Even if Balak would give me his entire home's worth of silver and gold, I cannot violate G-d's word…" (22,18). As the Siftei Chachamim explains Rashi's commentary there, Bil'am did not say, "Even if Balak would cut off my head" or the like, but rather hinted that his true desires were for other people's money.

Thus, two phenomena joined together: One entity scares itself and allows itself to fear for no reason, and the other seeks illicit, transient wealth, and between the two of them, G-d reveals that these are both imaginary, and that Bil'am essentially has no power to curse G-d's nation, which will remain eternally blessed.

This is a very important point for us to adopt in our efforts to serve G-d and fulfill the Torah.

Who doesn't know the popular song, "Kol ha'olam kulo, gesher tzar me'od" (The entire world is a very narrow bridge)! The composer of these words was none other than Rabbe Nachman of Bresolv (Likutei Moharan Tinyana, 48). Most people know the end of the song as, "V'ha'ikar – lo lefa'ched klal" (The main thing is not to have any fear!). But in truth, Rabbe Nachman's original wording has one extra letter: not lo lefa'ched, but rather lo l'hitpa'ched, which is the reflexive form of the verb, and it means: "The main thing is not to allow yourself to fear!"

Rabbe Nachman is speaking to one who is entering the path of G-d, teaching that he must know that there will be difficulties and tests along the way, and that precisely when he wishes to take on the challenge, that is when his negative inclinations and urges will rise up and try to topple him and cause him to give up!

And therefore Rabbe Nachman says, "Know that one must pass over a very narrow bridge, and the principle rule is that he must not scare himself!" One must shake off his lack of faith in himself, and believe that he has the strength to rise up and do what is right. Rabbe Nachman continues there that one must gird himself forcefully against the Evil Inclination, and that "a true tzaddik once said that if he had heard this advice when he was just starting out, [he] would have run very eagerly to serve G-d…." 

And it is a good idea to follow what Rabbe Nachman writes at the end of the above passage, that one should seek out and find good points within himself, even a small merit or good thing, "and with that little goodness that he finds within himself, he should be very happy, and encourage himself, and not overlook it. Even if he fell into sin, even then he must strengthen himself with the small goodness that he still can find within himself, to the point where he will end up meriting via this to return to G-d completely… and the main thing is always to be in a state of happiness, even with frivolous dancing and laughter, in order to reach this state of happiness, which is a very great thing."

May we merit to strengthen and become strengthened very greatly in avodat Hashem!

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.

Shekalim: The Half-Shekel – Then and Today

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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)!

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!

Vayeshev: Yosef, His Dreams, and the Importance of Listening

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

It is told about the Tzaddik of Jerusalem, Rabbe Aryeh Levine (1885-1969), that people would come to him, crying about their problems and tribulations – and would exit his house not only in a good mood, but with a sense that their problems had been solved.

A famous psychiatrist was so impressed with these stories of Reb Aryeh that he once asked him, "What is it that you do with these people? How do they end up leaving you in such a better mood?"

Reb Aryeh answered simply: "I just listen to them."

The psychiatrist nodded: "Yes, listening is a great thing."

Another story was told by the writer Yaakov David Abramsky about himself. He said that after his son fell in the War of Independence in 1948, he found himself one night walking aimlessly around the streets of Jerusalem, and at one point just sat down somewhere and started crying bitterly. No one heard him, no one came to comfort him – until suddenly, from across broad Jaffa St. came Reb Aryeh Levine, who warmly placed the writer's hands in his and stroked them to comfort him. Reb Aryeh was the only one in the world who noticed him and his sadness. "Yes, I was still alone," concluded Abramsky, "but I was no longer all by myself." [These stories are recounted in the work by Simcha Raz about Rabbi Levine.]

In truth, there is a great secret here; would it be that we could walk even a bit in the path of R. Aryeh. People simply have a need for someone to listen to them, and primarily – someone who will give them "space."

I've noticed that little toddlers, when beginning to speak, point to something and call it by its name (in baby-talk) – and then wait for the adult to repeat what they said. Even at this young age, they need approval, affirmation, and even respect.

And of course, this does not change much as they grow older. Every person, no matter how old or even strong, needs attention and to be given their space by others.

This can explain an important point in this week's Torah portion of Vayeshev (B'reshit 37-40). We read that Yosef HaTzaddik has two dreams that are not received very happily by his brothers – but there is a big difference as to how he relates them.

He tells the first dream to his brothers (37,5-6), and they rebuke him for seemingly wanting to rule over them. But regarding the second dream, we see that he first tells it to his brothers (verse 9) – but then, surprisingly, he tells it once again (verse 10) to both his father and his brothers!

The questions are clear: Why does he tell the second dream to his father, after he told the first one only to his brothers? And why did he apparently plan at first to tell the second dream only to his brothers, and then decide to tell it to his father as well?

The Response is the Key

It would seem that the explanation lies in how, and if, his brothers react to what Yosef told them. After the first dream, they reacted with rebuke – but at least they heard him and responded to him! It is important to be heard, even if negatively! (And of course, we remember that Yosef HaTzaddik was on an exalted level, as is seen later in his behavior in Egypt, and his needs are not only psychological but also spiritual.)

However, when he recounted to them his second dream, they did not respond at all! He therefore tells it again to his father, so that it will have its place in the world. Again, he is met with a rebuke (verse 10) – but at least he, and the dream, are heard. When the brothers ignored him, this was harder than their anger and resentment.

** This also adds further depth to Yaakov's reaction: "His father guarded the matter" (verse 11) – it was his reaction that preserved it and gave it space.

What Saved Yosef From Sin?

In general, Yaakov gave space to all his sons – and we see that for Yosef, this was exactly what saved him later from a great sin. The Talmud (Sotah 36b) tells us that when Potiphar's wife tried to seduce Yosef, this was a great temptation for him, and according to some opinions, he nearly caved in. For he was only a slave servant, sold by his own brothers – and here she was, the only one who gave him attention, respect and space. But then, as the Talmud relates, this happened: "He suddenly remembered his father, whose likeness appeared to him in a vision and said to him, 'Yosef, the names of you and your brothers will one day be written on the stones of the Ephod [in the Tabernacle] – do you want your name to be erased and instead be remembered as one who frequents harlots?'… He immediately desisted."

That is, at the moment of truth he remembered his father, our Patriarch Yaakov, who knew how to give him his own place among all the other brothers. His name among theirs had its own precious stone, and it was this that enabled him to overcome and be saved from sin. For this incident emphasizes that Yaakov told Yosef, "Let not your name be erased from among your brothers' names! Stay with them and be part of them" – and that is what did the trick." (And again, we emphasize that the specific lesson for Yosef must be upgraded, in that what was important for him was not only superficial respect from others, but the framework of spiritual continuity.)

May we also merit to feel the needs of the people around us, give them space and respect, and thus uplift them!

Lech Lecha: How Can a Philosopher Become a Kabbalist?

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

Shavuot night, sometime around the expulsion from Spain ( ~ 1492):

In those days, the custom of Tikun Leil Shavuot had not yet become prevalent. This practice involves remaining awake the entire night of the Shavuot holiday [which commemorates Israel's acceptance of the Torah at Mt. Sinai] and reciting excerpts from every Biblical chapter, as well as other Jewish texts.

But behold, a small group of sages and pious individuals had begun to take shape, among them Rabbi Yosef Karo, author of the Shulchan Arukh, and Rabbi Shlomo Alkabetz, composer of Lekha Dodi. On this Shavuot night, they decide to stay awake on the night of Shavuot, studying according to the order of the Tikkun. Suddenly, in the midst of this special Tikkun, a surprising and wondrous event occurs, the impact of which is felt to this very day.

And so recounted R. Shlomo Alkabetz:

"We were reading the verses… with fear and awe, with melody and cantillation… and then, as we began to learn the Mishna, our Creator granted us the privilege of hearing the Voice speaking from the mouth of the great pious man [R. Yosef Karo], a loud and clear voice...  We fell on our faces, and no spirit was left within [us]… And the voice said as follows:

'My beloved friends, peace upon you… Go to live in the Land of Israel! Do not worry about your possessions, for you will eat of the goodness of the Upper Land – and if you hearken to me, you will eat the goodness of that land, so therefore make haste and go up to the Land…'"

This is a very rare account of the Heavenly Maggid - R. Karo's Divine mentor who taught him the secrets of Torah and ethical living, in the period of the Exile. This description by R. Alkabetz is familiar to many because of its depiction of the virtues of Torah study on the night of Shavuot – but very few notice that already in this first revelation, Rabbis Karo and Alkabetz and their group are instructed to ascend to the Land of Israel! And indeed, they do go to the Land, where Rabbi Yosef Karo merits to complete his great works, such as the Beit Yosef, Kesef Mishneh, and Shulchan Arukh, and becomes the “master rabbi of the Land of Israel.”

If we delve a bit more into this point, we will discover that over the course of the generations of the Exile, when only a small portion of the nation of Israel was in the Land, still, many of the main Torah giants made Aliyah - or tried to do so - to Eretz Yisrael. And it was especially those who were leading giants in the study of Kabbalah who made Aliyah, and many of them merited to receive Divine revelations: Nachmanides, the holy Arizal, the Ramak, the holy Rashash, the holy Ohr HaChaim, the Baal Shem Tov, the Ramchal, the Vilna Gaon, Rabbe Nachman of Breslov, HaRav Kook, the Baal HaLeshem, and very many others.

This must be understood: Why is it that specifically the Divine revelations are linked with Eretz Yisrael?

The answer begins in our weekly portion of Lekh Lekha (B'reshit 12-17), where G-d commands our Patriarch Avraham: "Go… to the Land that I will show you" (12,1). The Torah tells us that Avraham was 75 years old at the time, but tells us nothing else of his life until then. But that which the Torah conceals from us is revealed by our Sages and the Rambam. The latter explains (in the beginning of the Laws of Avodah Zarah) that in those years people worshiped idols, and “there was no one who recognized or knew G-d, except for a few individuals such as Hanokh, Metushelah, Noah, Shem, and Ever. And the world continued along in this manner, until was born the pillar of the world: our father Avraham.”

The Rambam continues on to say that as a child, Avraham began to think and wonder, night and day, "how is it possible for the sphere [universe] to continue to revolve without anyone controlling it? Who is causing it to revolve? Surely it does not revolve itself! He had no teacher; he was mired in Ur Kasdim among the foolish idolaters… But he continued to explore and gain understanding, until he realized that there was one G-d who controlled the sphere and created everything…"

From this description we understand that Avraham Avinu did not receive his faith and belief in G-d as a tradition from his parents. He rather attained it totally on his own, after deep thought and investigation. In short, he was a "Divine Philosopher."

However, the Medrash tells us a different story – namely, that Avraham concluded with finality that there was a Creator only after He actually revealed Himself to him. The Medrash states: "What happened is likened to a wayfarer on his travels who once saw a brightly lit palace. He wondered: 'Can this palace possibly exist without an owner [or operator]?' The owner then revealed himself to him and said, 'I am the owner.' Similarly, Avraham wondered: 'Is it possible for the world to exist without a leader?' G-d then revealed Himself to him: "G-d said to Avram, go ye to the Land that I will show you…"

The Rambam said that Avraham discovered G-d after his own research, and the Medrash said that G-d revealed Himself to him. Are these two accounts contradictory? Was Avraham a Divine philosopher, or was he a Kabbalist-like prophet who merited Divine revelation?

The answer appears in the Medrash. Avraham in fact started off as a philosopher, asking and searching: "Who's in charge here?" He concluded that there is certainly a Creator, but he then discovered the complete truth of the matter when G-d revealed Himself and spoke to him.

And this discovery means immediate Aliyah to the Land of Israel. As we read in the Kuzari (2,14): "All the prophets prophesied only in or for the Land of Israel. For instance, Avraham received prophecy so that he would go to the Land [i.e., this was the first thing that G-d told him]."

Outside the Land, one can come to a knowledge of G-d with one's intellect or via research – but one who wants to truly experience Divine revelation has to make Aliyah to Eretz Yisrael!

The Positive Side of Pesach Preparations

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

I once invited over some people for a Tu B'Shvat seder, exactly two months before Passover. One of the women said she couldn't make it: "I'm too busy cleaning for Pesach…"

Fulfilling the Torah's mitzvot often takes time – some more, some less. But for Pesach, we all expend much effort and time in preparations. We clean, scrub, search and destroy every crumb of chametz (and even some that are not chametz…) that we can find. Not everyone starts quite as early as Tu B'shvat, but the idea is clear.

There are Halakhic sources for the manifold preparations for Pesach. The Gemara (Megillah 4a) tells us: "Moshe instituted that Israel should ask and study about the [current] festival: the laws of Pesach on Pesach, of Shavuot on Shavuot, and of Sukkot on Sukkot." That is, the time for this study is on the holiday itself.

But we learn in another Gemara (Pesachim 6a) that for Pesach, the time for asking and studying is 30 days before the holiday! Why is this night of Pesach different than all others?

The Beit Yosef, author of the Shulchan Arukh, answers that the laws of Pesach are very many and detailed, more than the other holidays. He also notes that many of the laws must be fulfilled even before Pesach, such as burning the chametz and the like.

In the times of the Holy Temple, the Paschal sacrifice was offered, as the Torah mandates, on the day before the holiday, and could then be eaten that night, again as the Torah mandates, at what we now call the Passover Seder. In fact, sometimes the Bible itself uses the word "Pesach" to refer to "Passover eve," the time of the sacrifice (see Rosh HaShanah 13a, Tosafot s.v. d'akrivu). Here again, we see an emphasis on the time before Pesach, the time of preparation for the holiday.

Let us delve further into the nature and importance of these preparations. To this end, let us ask the following: We know that there is a mitzvah to tell and retell the story of the Exodus on Passover. In the Haggadah we see that it must be told beginning with the g'nut, the difficult and painful parts, and ending with the shevach, the positive parts of the Redemption from the house of bondage. Why must we tell about the "preparatory" stage of the subjugation and the hardships, instead of sufficing with the happy ending?

The answer, of course, is that the difficult period during which we were enslaved in Egypt has great importance. G-d specifically, in the Covenant Between the Pieces that He forged with Avraham Avinu, assigned us to a torturous period of enslavement – and He had good reason. The purpose was that we experience the crucible of Egypt, which would strengthen and forge us into a great nation of G-d, and would also leave us with r'chush gadol, massive material possessions. In short, we would become a nation wealthy both materially and spiritually.

The emerging nation of Israel in Egypt can be likened to a fetus in its mother's womb. The fetus grows there in a phenomenal manner – proportionately much more than it will develop at any time after its birth. It begins as a solitary cell, weighing nothing, and ends up being born with a weight of several pounds! Israel, too, began in Egypt with 70 souls, and ended up numbering a few million (over 600,000 men aged 20-60, plus the other males, and women and children). This is a huge population growth, and it took place precisely during their period of subjugation. In fact, the members of the Tribe of Levy, which did not experience slavery in Egypt, multiplied less than the other tribes!

Egypt in Hebrew is Mitzrayim, similar to the word meitzarim, "narrow straits." It is thus like a pressure cooker, which amasses more and more steam inside until it finally bursts forth with tremendous power. The same happened with Israel: Its strengths and abilities increasingly grew in Egypt, finally bursting forth with tremendous power.

This is what is meant by "beginning with g'nut" – and is also the idea of the days of hard preparations before Pesach. The very engagement with Pesach and its preparations forms within us an inner process of filling ourselves with the ideas and lessons of the holiday, which, with G-d's help, will burst forth with great vigor at the Seder table and in the festival days afterwards.

And perhaps this is yet another explanation for the name of the Sabbath before Pesach, which is known as Shabbat HaGadol – because on these days we "grow" (from the root ligdol).

May we merit this year to commemorate Pesach with gadlut (greatness), in our glorious and holy Beit Mikdash!

Tu B'Shvat: How the Fruits of the Land of Israel Comforted Rabbi Berlin

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

At the end of his life, the great Netziv of Volozhin – Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, Rosh Yeshivat Volozhin – was weak and ill, both physically and otherwise. The Russian authorities had ordered that secular studies be taught in the renowned Yeshiva for six hours a day (!), which was of course unacceptable to the Netziv, and so he closed down the institution. In addition, he and the other Yeshiva teachers were expelled from the area, and he was forced to wander from place to place.

The Netziv thereupon decided that he would move to Eretz Yisrael, his love for which was evident in all his many writings. This in fact gave him hope and happiness. However, his doctors ultimately forbade him from making the difficult trip, and he died in eastern Europe in August 1893.

But behold, several months before his death, a final ray of light and joy shined down upon him – directly from our Holy Land. His son Rabbi Meir Bar-Ilan, president of the American Mizrachi movement, described this event as follows:

"It happened just before Pesach of 1893. The 'Carmel' store selling wine made in the Land of Israel had just opened. When my father came to Warsaw, Yaakov Brody [a founder of Rechovot and co-owner of Carmel] and the directors of Carmel sent him some bottles of wine. Despite his physical and spiritual suffering, his face shined with joy when he received the wine, and he said, 'Thanks to G-d that we have merited to have wine from Eretz Yisrael, from a vineyard planted by Jews in the Land of Israel. It is a great privilege for all of us to 'eat of its fruits and be satiated from its goodness' [as we recite in the blessing after grains and Land of Israel fruits]. Blessed is He Who has brought us to this day!

"He did not stop expressing his bliss at the fact that we were able to enjoy the fruits of Eretz Yisrael for several days, until it was no longer a novelty. And even though he was told that the wine was too strong for his physical state, he insisted on drinking the Land of Israel wine on both Seder nights. With every blessing that he recited over the Four Cups, his tremendous happiness was evident to all."

This coming week we will commemorate Tu B'Shvat (the 15^th day of the month of Shvat, commonly known as the Jewish New Year for Trees). This was the day that the students of the Arizal (Rav Yitzchak Luria of 16^th-century Tzfat) instituted as the day in which we connect with the special qualities of the Holy Land and its holy fruits. The Netziv was in fact one of a long line of great Torah giants who extolled at length of the virtues of the fruits of Eretz Yisrael.

The Ben Ish Chai (R. Yosef Chaim of Baghdad, master of Jewish Law and Kabbalah, d. 1909) wrote that enjoying the fruits of Eretz Yisrael is an aspect of the mitzvah of showing love for the Land. He was once asked whether it might be considered gluttonous to make a special trip of a few days simply to eat tasty fruits in a certain place in Eretz Yisrael. He answered by citing the Talmud (Eruvin 30a) that recounts the following incident by one of the rabbis:

"When we would follow R. Yochanan to eat of the [famously sweet] fruits of Ginosar [near Tiberias] – if we were 100 [people], each of us would take ten fruits, and if we were ten, each of us would take 100 – and each hundred of these fruits could not fit into a basket holding three se'ahs."

The Ben Ish Chai then concluded: "It is thus clearly stated that R. Yochanan and 100 sages did this, and this was the entire purpose of their trek, and certainly their intentions were for their love of the Land and for the sake of Heaven, to eat of its sweet and important fruits, and they were all righteous and holy … and since your intentions are the same, for the love of the Land and to thank G-d for the Land and its good fruits – go and eat in happiness.."

Lessons from the Manna

The Chessed L'Avraham wrote that the manna fell for the Israelites in the desert but not when they arrived in the Holy Land – because the Land had its own holy fruits which, like the manna, had the holiness of the Divine Presence. In other ways, too, the fruits of the Land are like the manna: Just like the manna changed forms in accordance with G-d's will, so too the fruits of the Land. Let us elaborate.

The manna was supposed to be eaten and not saved for the next day – and if it was left over until the morning, it would become wormy and foul-smelling. On the Sabbath, however, it would remain fresh and tasty, just as the manna which G-d commanded us to save in a jar in the Holy of Holies for future generations. In addition, on weekdays, the manna maintained a fixed dosage of an omer per person, whereas on Shabbat, the manna doubled its quantity, even for those who gathered less.

During the week, everything is contracted, both in time (shorter "shelf life" for the manna) and in quantity. This is in contrast with the holy day of Sabbath, when the time for eating manna is increased, as is the quantity – just as spirituality expands infinitely, in contrast with the limitations of materialism. The manna thus taught that one receives in proportion to his ties with G-d's word and with sanctity.

The same is true in Eretz Yisrael, and particularly regarding its holy fruits. The Torah promises us abundance and long life in the Land if we adhere to G-d's word, for that is what the Land of Israel is all about: the manifestation of G-d's word in our material reality, and that following His word brings economic and practical success. As we read in the second paragraph of Kriat Shma: "If you adhere to My commandments… You will gather in your grain, oil and wine [in abundance]… [all this] so that you and your children will live long on the Land that G-d swore to give your ancestors" (D'varim 11, 13-21).

How fortunate are we that we have merited to live in the Holy Land, and that we can eat of its fruits. This Tu B'Shvat - and every Tu B'Shvat - let us eat from the holy fruits of this Land, let us thank G-d for all the goodness He showers upon us, and with this we will merit to rise up and connect with the holiness of the Divine Presence that is being revealed in our Land!

Miketz: Dreams of Royalty

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

Nighttime. The leader of the community sits back in his chair, and takes a deep breath. These are his hours. Finally, silence around him, allowing him to think. It is now that he takes stock of the various issues, and tries to come up with solutions to the community's problems.

 

He looks back in time. It seems that peace has finally come to the small community. Many years of hardships and struggles against vexing external enemies that threatened to swallow the community altogether, have come to an end.

 

Finally, he is able to deal with the simple, routine problems. How long he waited for this time! He is happy, too, that he now has some help – in the form of an elderly wise man whose advice is worth more than gold. He has someone on whom to lean.

 

The truth is that of late, a new problem has arisen from within. One of the community members has begun to spread novel and unfamiliar ideas, which are very challenging to the other members' regular ways. Not surprisingly, disputes and arguments have begun to arise between friends and neighbors.  

 

For a moment, he asks himself: Perhaps there is no way out? Maybe people have to have something to fight about, such that if there are no outside enemies, internal disputes come to take their place? And which, actually, is preferable?

 

The thoughts give him no rest, and he consults with his mentor. He is taken aback with the concise, sharp, and memorable answer he receives: "It is true: serenity from without brings disputes from within – but these enable the birthing of new and profound insights that will leave a long-lasting impression."

This little tale is actually a double allegory, regarding both the story of Joseph and his brothers of these weeks' Torah portions, and also the importance of the miracles of Chanukah.

We read last week that Yaakov dwelled in the residence of his father when the enmity of his older sons toward Joseph broke out. Rashi tells us that Yaakov "sought to dwell in serenity, but the agitation of [the story of] Joseph jumped out at him."

Yaakov was over 100 years old at this time, and thought he would be able to finally "retire" gracefully after having suffered through the tribulations of Esav, Lavan, and Shechem. But then, with these external troubles having been solved, all of a sudden his own sons begin to bicker among themselves. Just as we see in Israeli society today, when our external enemies rise above us, they bury our internal disputes – but, seemingly, only until our enemies are defeated.

But in truth, this is only a partial picture. The other half is that it is precisely during these times of peace and serenity, just before the onset of the internal bickering, that Joseph has his dreams of royalty. They take physical shape as part of the Egyptian bondage, but when they are actually dreamt, with Yaakov and his family living in peace and freedom, these are dreams of royalty.

Peace allows for freedom of thought. Freedom inherently gives rise to conflicting insights, which in turn give rise to disputes - but arguments actually indicate spiritual unrest, which can produce great tidings.

This matter also illuminates the importance of the Chanukah miracles for all generations. Maimonides writes (Laws of Chanukah 3,1) that a central part of the thanks that we give on this holiday is for the establishment of the Hasmonean kingdom of Israel: "The G-d of their fathers had mercy on Israel, and granted them salvation from their enemies… and they were able to install a king from the Priestly family - and the kingdom of Israel was restored for over 200 years…"

This of course raises a great question: Israel was the beneficiary of many miraculous events throughout the generations, and of course not each one "merited" to be remembered as a holiday for all time. One would think that only miracles that had true significance for very many generations would be commemorated forever. Yet we know that the Hasmonean kingdom has long been extinct. Why, then, do we still remember it in our thanksgiving prayers close to 2,200 years later?

One of the answers given is that the history of the Hasmonean regime is reminiscent from several angles of what we wrote above. The kingdom was destroyed because of an internal dispute as to which of the descendants of the original Maccabees should be king, Yochanan Hyrcanus or Yehuda Aristobulus. They invited the Romans to arbitrate, who promptly arrived and took over the kingdom for themselves.

However, there is another side to the picture. The Hasmonean kingdom enabled the Nation of Israel to actualize its full potential and strength, during the second half of the Second Temple period.

During the First Temple, we merited to have prophecy and nearly the entire Bible. But it was during the Second Temple that we attained new depths in the study of the Oral Law, the Mishna, and the profound teachings of our Sages, which led to centuries of intense and weighty Torah study throughout our terrible Exile.

It is the Oral Law that enabled our holy Torah to remain relevant throughout the generations, and that provided answers to the manifold challenges that arose wherever and whenever Jews found themselves. And this is the miracle of Chanukah that thus sustained the nation throughout the generations.

The Sages tell us that he who wishes to attain wisdom should go southward, and that the Menorah was in fact placed in the south side of the Sanctuary. The miracle of Menorah alludes to the light of the wisdom of the Oral Law, which we received during Chanukah – and it continually rises and increases [just as we increase the number of Chanukah candles each night, in accordance with Beit Hillel's ruling], leading Israel to its complete Redemption, speedily in our days!