Listen to tonight's class, "The Encounter Between Yitro and Moshe," here.
Follow along with the sources here.
Monday, January 29, 2018
Parashat Yitro: The Encounter Between Yitro and Moshe
Listen to tonight's class, "The Encounter Between Yitro and Moshe," here.
Follow along with the sources here.
Friday, January 26, 2018
Parashat BeShalah: Determination
Determination
A Message for Parashat BeShalah 2018
Click here to view as PDF
Am Yisrael was trapped. They were
frozen in their tracks as they stared out at the seemingly endless waters of
the Red Sea while the Egyptian forces charged from behind. Believing that they
had exhausted all sensible options, they cried out to God. He responded through
Moshe:
“Why do you cry out to
me? Speak to Bnei Yisrael, that they should journey onward.” (Shemot
14:15-16)
The tone of His words – “Why do you cry
out to me?” – portrayed God’s annoyance with their petitional gesture. He
demanded that they cease all prayer and trek forward. What was wrong with Am
Yisrael’s tefilot at that time? Why did God deem it inappropriate
for them to turn to Him at this point of helpless despair?
As Am Yisrael marched ahead, something
unexpected took place:
And the messenger of God that was going before the camp of
Yisrael moved and went behind them, and the pillar of cloud moved from before
them and stood behind them. (14:19)
R. Yaakov Kaminetzky z”l suggested
that the angel changed his position at
this time in order to force Am Yisrael to step into the sea without the
assistance of God.[2]
Meshekh Hokhmah voiced a similar understanding. He suggested that “the
messenger of God” referred not to a celestial angel, but to Moshe, and
explained that Moshe moved from his place at the front so that the people would
proceed on their own.[3]
God’s words and actions at that time made clear His will that Am Yisrael
cross Yam Suf on their own. Why?
In her best-selling book, Mindset: The New
Psychology of Success, Carol Dweck delineated two types of mindsets: fixed
and growth. She explained that people with a fixed mindset believe
that their qualities are “carved in stone.” When they fall short of a desired
goal – flunking a test, botching a lucrative business deal, or breaking a diet
for an unhealthy craving – they view themselves as total failures and become
stuck in that state. People with a growth mindset, however, believe that
their basic qualities can be cultivated through efforts, strategies, and help
from others. They therefore view their shortcomings as fertile grounds for
potential growth.[4]
Dweck explained that people with a strong
growth mindset can “stretch beyond the possible.” She cited, for example, the
case of actor Christopher Reeve, who was thrown from a horse and became
completely paralyzed from his neck down. Doctors advised him to come to terms
with his reality and warned that denial would only deepen his disappointment.
Reeves ignored them. Five years later, he defied the conceived rules of science
and regained movement in his hands, arms, legs and torso. Dweck remarked:
“Clearly, people with the growth mindset thrive when they’re stretching
themselves.”[5]
I had the special merit to be a firsthand
observer of a man who possessed an unparalleled determination to accomplish the
unfathomable – my rosh yeshivah, Rav Nosson Zvi Finkel z”l. Although
he suffered from the severely debilitating Parkinson’s disease for more than
two decades of his life, R. Finkel stood at the head of the largest yeshivah in
the world. He steered Yeshivat Mir in every step of its progress. From
individually collecting the money to sustain the yeshiva and overseeing the distribution
of the monthly stipends, to testing each potential applicant and delivering a
half-dozen shiurim throughout the week, Rav Nosson Zvi was involved with
every aspect of the yeshivah. Indeed, it is told that R. Finkel once sat with a
wealthy businessman and requested a large donation. The man responded, “I can’t,”
and assumed that he had put the matter to rest “I can’t either,” the rosh yeshivah
counter, “But I do anyway.” Needless to say, the man swiftly opened his pocket and
paid out the full donation.[6]
Carol Dweck cautioned our dismissal of
students’ weaknesses as “unchangeable.” She warned against self-defeating assurances
such as “Don’t worry, you’re just not a math person,” and suggested that we instead
inspire them to work harder in the spirt of what they want to become.[7]
I believe that God sent a similar message to Am Yisrael as they stood on
the brinks of freedom at Yam Suf. Two centuries of slavery had engendered
within the people a general sense of despair and dependency. God sensed that
now was the time to shift that mentality. He demanded Moshe, “Speak to Bnei
Yisrael, that they should journey onward,” and forced a new attitude onto
people. It was a mindset that was charged by a strong sense of determination
and self-confidence. It convinced them that they could now stretch themselves to
accomplish the impossible.
God’s message at Yam Suf is eternally
relevant. As you encounter the daily challenges of life, remember His words
long ago – “Why do you cry out to me?” And then, “Journey
onward!”
Shabbat shalom!
Rabbi Avi Harari
Rabbi Avi Harari
[1] Printed on the ice cream
cups at Walt Disney World.
[2] R. Yaakov Kaminetzky, Emet
LeYaakov (Brooklyn, NY, 1996), pg. 2909.
[3] R. Meir Simha Cohen, Meshekh
Hokhmah (Shemot 14:15, s.v. mah).
[4] Carol Dweck, Mindset: The New Psychology of Success (New York, NY, 2006), pg. 6-9.
[5] Ibid., pg. 22.
[6] As told by Hanoch Teller
in For the Love of Torah (Nanuet, NY, 2012), pg. 253.
[7] Greg Walton and Carol
Dweck, “Willpower: It’s in Your Head,” The New York Times, Nov. 26,
2011.
Sunday, January 21, 2018
Winter Break: Blank Spaces
Blank Spaces
A Message for Winter Break 2018
Click here to view as PDF
The secret to doing good
research is always to be a little underemployed. You waste years by not being
able to waste hours.
(Amos Tversky)[1]
(Amos Tversky)[1]
Your brain is most
intelligent when you don’t instruct it on what to do – something people who
take showers discover on occasion.
(Nassim Nicholas Taleb)[2]
(Nassim Nicholas Taleb)[2]
Sefer
Bemidbar, the book of ‘In the Wilderness,’ records the story of Am Yisrael’s forty-year journey from
Egypt to Israel. The book’s name is derived from its opening verse, which mentions
the location of the initial dialogue, stating:
And God spoke to Moshe in
the wilderness of Sinai, in Ohel Mo’ed… (Bemidbar 1:1)
Though the “wilderness of Sinai” functioned
as the necessary trail to the ultimate destination of the Land of Israel, its
role in the national-historical growth of Am
Yisrael is far more significant.
Several decades ago, anthropologist Arnold
van Gennep introduced the idea of liminal
space. Liminal is the Latin word for “threshold,” and the concept
refers to the transitional period between the old and the new.[3]
R. Jonathan Sacks suggested that that is what the wilderness signified for Am
Yisrael. The wilderness was the “liminal space between slavery and freedom,
past and future, exile and return, Egypt and the Promised Land.” He suggested
that the desert exists as “the space that makes transition and transformation
possible.”[4]
Erica Brown similarly noted that the lengthy and arduous travel in the midbar
forced people to move only with that which they could carry. Stripped of all
but the essentials forced the nation to “challenge every preconceived
assumption about their relationships with God, with Moses, with self, and with
other.”[5]
My uncle related to me that one summer that
he spent learning at Yeshivat Mir in Jerusalem in the early 1970’s, the
question of safety came up as the young men’s vacation time (bein ha-zemanim)
approached. The administration considered suspending the break time, and continuing
the students in active study at the yeshivah throughout bein
ha-zemanim. The rosh ha-yeshivah, R. Hayim Shmuelevitz z”l
weighed in on the matter in a public address that he delivered in the bet
midrash. He set forth his position in one brief sentence: “Just as the laws
of a sefer Torah require that there be a blank space to separate each of
the five books of the Torah, so too must our Torah study leave space in between
each of the zemanim.” His message was clear: healthy growth is best
attained when the activity is separated by appropriate breaks.
The famous violinist and conductor Isaac
Stern once said that “music” is what goes on in between the notes.
Erling Kagge wrote: “Your brain is eager to tune in when the music is in
borderland where it can fluctuate.” He described his amazement at the
reflections and thoughts that suddenly arise in those moments.[6]
Estelle Frankel similarly explained that the silent spaces in between notes
create the rhythm and musical composition of a piece. They also provide the
musician with room to pour his or her emotions into the music. Frankel
reflected upon her appreciation of “negative space” in her career as a
storyteller. She noted that her silent pauses provide her listeners with the
chance to absorb and reflect upon what has been said and to locate themselves
within the story.[7]
David Leonhardt recalled a conversation that he
had with George Shultz, the former secretary of state during the 1980’s. Shultz
told him that he would carve out one hour each week for quiet reflection. He
would sit down in his office with a pad of paper and a pen. He would close the
door and instruct his secretary to interrupt him only if his wife or the
president called. Shultz felt that his hour of solitude was the only way that he
could find time to think about the strategic aspects of the job. The
moment-to-moment tactical issues would otherwise distract his focus from the
larger questions of national interest.[8]
Indeed, researchers have found that procrastination
is often conductive to originality. By delaying progress, we enable ourselves
to spend more time considering different ways to accomplish, and avoid becoming
stuck on one particular strategy. Adam Grant noted that long before the modern
obsession with efficiency, ancient civilizations recognized the benefits of
procrastination. In ancient Egypt, for example, there were two different verbs
for procrastination: one denoted laziness and the other meant waiting for the
right time. Grant astutely observed: “Procrastination may be the enemy of
productivity, but it can be a resource for creativity.”[9]
Psychoanalyst Anthony Storr found that nearly
all types of creative people seek states of solitude. He noticed that
appropriate avoidances of social encounters can oftentimes engender
originality.[10]
Researchers similarly found that teenagers who struggle with being alone tend
to have lessened creative abilities. Their creative habits seemingly blossom
best in the comfort of solitude.[11]
As Michael Harris noted: “The cliché of the painter locked away in a studio,
the writer in his cabin, the scientist in her late-night laboratory is no
accident.”[12]
Thomas Friedman’s Thank You for Being Late
sets forth a similar map for success in today’s fast-paced world. Friedman wrote
that he would regularly meet friends or interview officials, analysts or
diplomats over breakfast in downtown Washington, D.C. Once in a while, owing to
a variety of excuses, his guest would arrive late for the meeting. They would
enter flustered, apologizing as they sat down: “The subway was delayed…” “My
alarm failed…” or “My kid was sick…” It was on one of those occasions that
Friedman realized that he didn’t care at all about his guest’s tardiness, and
so he replied: “No, no, please – don’t apologize. In fact, you know what, thank
you for being late!” He recognized that the lateness had helped him mint time
for himself. Friedman discovered that during that time he could “just sit.” He
would eavesdrop on the conversations around him, “people-watch” the lobby, and
most importantly connect several ideas that he had struggled with for days.[13]
The tattered group of individuals that was
miraculously saved from Egypt was in no immediate position to enter their own
land and set up an independent system of governance. They lacked the
experience, mental strength, and national cohesion so necessary for that task.
Their growth therefore began with a transitional stage – a liminal space, in
the wilderness.
Searching for successful growth in any realm
of our lives, the transitional stage of the midbar must serve as our
model. It should remind us of the necessity of occasional vacation days and the
importance of a weekly “Shultz hour” of silent reflection. In our world of constant connection and regular
availability, our growth starves for the solitude of those “blank spaces.”
[1] Michael Lewis, The Undoing Project: A Friendship that Changed Our Minds (New York, NY, 2017),
pg. 230.
[2] The Bed of Procrustes:Philosophical and Practical Aphorisms (New York, NY, 2010), pg. 5.
[3] Arnold van Gennep, The Rites of Passage (Chicago, IL,
1960).
[4] R. Jonathan Sacks, Covenant and Conversation: A Weekly Reading of the Jewish Bible, Numbers (New Milford, CT, 2017), pg. 43.
[5] Erica Brown, Leadership in the Wilderness: Authority and Anarchy in the Book of Numbers (New
Milford, CT, 2013), pg. xi.
[6] Erling Kagge, Silence: In the Age of Noise (New York, NY, 2017), pg.109.
[7] Estelle Frankel, The Wisdom of Not Knowing: Discovering a Life of Wonder by Embracing Uncertainty
(Boulder, CO, 2017), pg. 98-9.
[8] David Leonhardt, “You’re Too Busy. You Need a ‘Shultz Hour.” The New York Times, Apr. 18, 2017.
[9] Adam Grant, Originals: How Non-Conformists Move the World (New York, NY, 2016), pg. 94-6.
[10] Anthony Storr, Solitude: A Return to the Self (New York, NY, 2005), pg. 34.
[11] Christopher R. Long and
James R. Averill, “Solitude: An Exploration of the Benefits of Being Alone,” Journal
for the Theory of Social Behaviour 33, no. I (2003), pg. 21-44.
[12] Michael Harris, Solitude: In Pursuit of a Singular Life in a Crowded World (New York, NY, 2017), pg.
34-5.
[13] Thomas L. Friedman, Thank You for Being Late: An Optimist’s Guide to Thriving in the Age of Accelerations
(New York, NY, 2016), pg. 2-3.
Parashat Bo: Quality Time Together
Quality Time Together
A Message for Parashat Bo 2018
Click here to view as PDF
The Hebrew root shamar (שמר)
is mentioned several times in Parashat Bo, each time referring to a
different verb or action. Am Yisrael were commanded to separate a lamb
prior to its sacrifice le-mishmeret – “for examination” (12:6), they
were furthermore instructed u-shmartem et ha-massot – to “safeguard the massot”
(12:17), and they were twice told u-shmartem – to eternally “observe the
service of the korban Pesah” (12:25, 13:10). Indeed, the very night of
departure from Egypt was designated as a night of shemirah:
It is a night of “shimurim” for God,
to take them out of the Land of Egypt. This was the night for God; a “shimurim”
for all Bnei Yisrael for their generations. (Shemot 12:42)
This pasuk implies that the night of the 14th
of Nissan exhibits a “shared shemirah,” as both God and Am Yisrael
will experience it as an evening of “shimurim.” What is the meaning of
this “shimurim,” and how do we perform it “for generations”?
R. Avraham Ibn Ezra suggested that shemirah in this
context refers to this word’s standard association – to guard and protect. God
commanded Am Yisrael to treat the night as a guard (shomer)
protects a city. Just as a responsible guard must stay awake all night at his
post, so too must Am Yisrael stay awake throughout this night. But what
was the purpose of this “all-night” endeavor? It surely wasn’t to eat the korban
Pesah, as according to most authorities it needed to be consumed by
midnight. It wasn’t intended for the retelling of yessiat Missrayim either,
as that must be done while eating the korban Pesah, massah, and maror.
Why, then, was Am Yisrael signed up for an “all-night shift” on the
night of the 14th of Nissan?
Let us shift our focus to the beginning of the pasuk,
which details God’s role in this shemirah: “It is a night of shimurim
for God…this was the night for God.” The pasuk clearly states that
God, as it were, took ownership of this night – it is “His night.” The shimurim
duty of Am Yisrael thus flows from His possession. God seemingly says,
“Since it is my night, and on it I will perform my own shimurim, you, Am
Yisrael, must do so as well.” It appears, then, that there is no practical,
action-based purpose to this all-night endeavor of leil shimurim beyond
the simple (yet awesome) experience of sharing the night awake and in the
presence of God – “on His night.”
R. Shimon ben Semah Duran (Rashbass) suggested a
similar understanding of leil shimurim in his commentary to the
Haggadah. In the well-known anecdote recited at the seder every year,
several prominent tana’im retold yessiat Missrayim throughout the
night, until their students informed them that the time for the morning keriat
shema had arrived. Rashbass suggested that the reason for the
rabbis’ long-winded retelling of yessiat Missrayim was in order to
fulfill the mandate of leil shimurim. Beyond the structured missvot
of korban Pesah, massah and maror, the night of 14 Nissan sets
forth the obligation to stay awake and experience the entire night.
Since most of our lives and the decisions we make are driven
by practical considerations, the concept of leil shimurim may seem
foreign. It is difficult to see the “gain” in staying up all night without a
set plan of action. Conceptualizing our relationship with God as similar to
that of a loved one, however, may help our understanding. We can relate to the
enriching experience of simply spending time together with a person whom we
cherish. It is not the food that we eat, the show that we watch, nor the game
that we play that endures. It is the simple reality of quality time spent
together. Similarly, leil shimurim is the night designated for us to
“spend together” with God – without a scripted plan or course of events.
The concept of leil shimurim must extend further than
one night a year. It must serve as our paradigm for connection, and become our
guiding light on a continuous search for moments in the presence of God. Those
moments, we know, are invaluable. They represent our opportunity to bond with
God during the simple, yet ever important quality time together.
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Monday, January 15, 2018
Parashat Bo: Communal Maturity
Communal Maturity
A Message for Parashat Bo 2017
Click here to view as PDF
The detailed laws that Am Yisrael was
commanded on the night before their exodus from Egypt reveal a recurring theme
of the “house” and “household.” They were instructed with regards to the korban
Pesah, “let every man take a lamb for a father’s house, a lamb for a
household” (12:3), and further informed that if the household was too
small to consume a full lamb, “it must take together with its neighbor who is
close to its house” (4). The blood of the lamb was to be placed on “the
doorposts and lintel of the house” (7), serving as “a sign for you upon
the house in which you are” (13), in order that “He shall not allow the
Destroyer to come into your houses to scourge” (23). Each man was
commanded to not leave the entrance “of his house” until morning (22),
and to teach his children in the future: “A Passover sacrifice to God, who
passed over the houses of Bnei Yisrael in Egypt when he scourged
Egypt, and our households He rescued” (27).
The significance of the “house” and
“household” to the story of yessiat Misrayim became clear when the
nation was twice commanded to remember the exodus from the “house of slaves”
(13:3, 14).[1]
They were perhaps being taught in that instance that their freedom from a
“house of slavery” was appropriately designated by the establishment of
independent “houses” and “households.”
The Torah surprisingly shifts from its
emphasis on the “house,” however, when commanding future observance of the laws
of Pesah. Whereas the nation was initially commanded, “The very first day you
shall expunge leaven (se’or) from your houses,” and,
“Seven days no leaven shall be found in your houses” (12:19), the
command upon entrance into Israel was different: “And no leavening of yours
shall be seen in all your territory” (13:7). Whereas the theme of
“house” and “household” dominated the description of Pesah in Egypt, its
repeated command for future observance bore no mention of it whatsoever.
This conspicuous change in theme was repeated
in the context of another dominant feature of the commands – the distinguishing
“sign” (ot) of Am Yisrael. In Egypt, the blood on the houses
stood as their “sign”: “And the blood will be a sign for you upon the
houses in which you are” (12:13). The future “sign,” however, bore no
connection to houses or households and instead lived on through the tefillin:
“And it shall be a sign for you on your hand and a remembrance between
your eyes…” (13:10, 16).
The establishment of Am Yisrael as a
free and independent nation began with complete separation. This was initially
performed by God through the plagues,[2]
and then symbolized by the nation’s various observances in their “houses” and
“households” which separated them from the “house of Pharaoh.” The future
vision for the nation, however, was considerably different. The distinguishing
“sign” was no longer displayed on their houses, but instead concealed on their
arms. The spatial isolation necessary for Am Yisrael’s establishment in
Egypt was replaced by self-realization and demonstration.[3]
We often misunderstand our communities’ source
of strength. We believe that it is the separate “houses” and “households” that
empower the members, and we therefore fear involvement with others. The Torah’s
deliberate shift in description from the initial creation of Am Yisrael
to its eternal existence teaches otherwise. Freed from the “house of slavery,”
the nation was further freed to endeavor from their “houses” and appropriately
engage with others. Though a sense and practice of separateness was eternally
enduring, it no longer existed as a spatial segregation but as an existential
realization and performance.
[1] A depiction of the
bondage as a “house entrapment” is particularly striking considering the
etymology of the name “Pharaoh,” from the Egyptian words “great house.”
[2] Recall last week’s devar
Torah, “Separation.”
[3] Most appropriate in this
context is R. Eliezer’s well-known interpretation, “It shall be for you a
sign – for you a sign and not for others a sign” (Menahot 37b).
Sunday, January 14, 2018
Friday, January 12, 2018
Parashat VaEra: Silence
Silence
A Message for Parashat VaEra 2018
Click here to view as PDF
And Moshe said before God, “Look, I am uncircumcised of lips,
and how will Pharaoh heed me?” And God said to Moshe, “Behold, I have set you
as a god to Pharaoh, and Aharon your brother will be your prophet.” (Shemot
6:30-7:1)
God placed Aharon into the role of vocal
ambassador to Pharaoh in response to Moshe’s reluctance to speak. He explained
that although Moshe would continue as the direct conduit to Him, Aharon would
now voice the messages to Pharaoh. Why, then, did God insist that Moshe
accompany his brother on the subsequent encounters with Pharaoh? What was the
purpose of Moshe’s “silent presence” at the palace of Pharaoh?
I believe that the answer to this question
lies in a proper understanding of the role of silence in our lives.
Best-selling author Susan Cain wrote about the hidden strengths of silence in Quiet:
The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking. She noted the
surprising reality that many of the world’s most effective people have climbed
to success through a naturally inclined demeanor of introversion. Her
list includes the likes of Charles Schwab, Bill Gates, Brenda Barnes (CEO of
Sara Lee) and James Copeland (former CEO of Deloitte Touche Tohmatsu). She
quoted the findings of management guru Peter Drucker, that successful leaders
possessed a broad variety of personalities and approaches, but generally shared
one common characteristic: “They had little or no ‘charisma’ and little use
either for the term or what it signifies.”[1]
Cain then demonstrated the ultimate strengths of introversion by pointing to
Moshe, and noting: “People followed Moses because his words were thoughtful,
not because he spoke them well.”[2]
Moshe’s impressive stature as a leader, then,
wasn’t built upon his spoken words, but rather upon the content of his
messages. Indeed, Nessiv highlighted God’s unique description of
Moshe as “a god to Pharaoh,” and explained that it meant that just as God can
maintain his stature among mankind even without any direct verbal
correspondence with them, so too would Moshe to Pharaoh.[3]
I would suggest, however, that beyond the important
force of the content of the message voiced by Aharon, Moshe gained
authority by means of the manner in which they presented it, as well.
Noted philosopher Erling Kagge referred to a
unique style of many contemporary songs. The songs are introduced by long
buildups which lead to “the drop” – the moment when the drums and the song’s
most important themes kick in. They then turn quiet again, as the cycle
repeats. He explained that this style is used in other realms of our lives, as
well. For instance, in order to convince someone else of his position, the
clever debater will introduce a pause before and after the crux of his
argument. Kagge realized our tendency to become attentive whenever the
soundscape changes and to doze off when it remains the same, and briefly
surmised: “Our brains prefer contrasts.”[4]
This reality lends depth to the Hakhamim’s
description of a worldwide silence prior to God’s first pronouncement at Har Sinai. [5]
They were perhaps hinting that the silent prelude added a significant layer of potency
to His words. Michael Fishbane similarly wrote: “The sounds of speech are
meaningful only through the silences that precede them or carry them forward.”
He suggested that the efficacy of prayer lies primarily in the preceding
moments of silent focus upon the content of the words and their reference.
Fishbane explained: “This is a spiritually pregnant silence, and gives birth to
words framed by that silence and infused by it in every aspiration.”[6]
Perhaps God demanded Moshe’s presence when
Aharon made his demands to Pharaoh in order to build the contrast between a silent
demeanor and a loud message. Becoming a “god to Pharaoh” emanated
from Moshe’s firm and silent stance at the very moment that his forceful
demands reverberated off the walls of Pharaoh’s palace.
The ironic concept that strength can be manifested
in contraction (or “holding back”) is most relevant to this analysis. The
Lurianic kabbalists explained that God created the world by means of
“contracting his infinite light” and allowing for a “conceptual space,” a
principle widely known as “simsum.” The awesomeness of existence,
then, is borne out of His act of withdrawal. Mordechai Rotenberg furthermore pointed
to the parallel demand of man to “contract” in order to “make room for others.”
He demonstrated the necessity of man’s simsum in the realms such as
empathy and education.[7]
The ability to withstand the urge to immediately
voice our opinion and instead remain silent represents another dimension of simsum.
Moshe’s approach to leadership teaches that in order to best transmit a message,
the direct route of loud confrontation is rarely effective. A careful contrast
between gaps of appropriate silence and a meaningful message will oftentimes
work best.
Shabbat shalom!
Rabbi Avi Harari
[1] Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking (New York, NY,
2012), pg. 53.
[2] Ibid., pg. 61.
[3] R. Naftali Yehudah Sevi
Berlin, HaAmek Davar: Shemot 7:1 (s.v. netatikha).
[4] Erling Kagge, Silence: In the Age of Noise (New York, NY, 2017), pg.108.
[5] See Shemot Rabah 29.
[6] Michael Fishbane, Sacred Attunement: A Jewish Theology (Chicago, IL, 2008), pg. 133-4.
[7] Mordechai Rotenberg, The Psychology of Tzimtzum (New Milford, CT, 2015), pg 21-2. See, as well, the
comments of R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, “Majesty and Humility,” in Confrontation and Other Essays (New Milford, CT, 2015), pg. 38, in the context of
withdrawal from man’s innermost desires.
Thursday, January 11, 2018
Tuesday, January 9, 2018
Parashat VaEra: Separation
Separation
A Message for Parashat VaEra 2017
Click here to view as PDF
Sefer Shemot began
with a list of the names of the literal “sons of Israel,” and swiftly recorded
their transition into the “Bnei Yisrael.
nation” Pharaoh was the first to recognize this reality. He told his people,
“Look the Bnei Yisrael nation are
much too numerous for us” (1:9), and then set forth a plan to stifle their
future growth as a nation. Though the planned murder of all Israelite sons
would stall the progress of his building projects, it was a necessary
concession for Bnei Yisrael’s
national assimilation. God’s promise that “I will take you to be My nation”
(6:7) was thus the climax of our freedom from Pharaoh.
Without Contraries is no progression.
Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to
Human existence. (William Blake)[1]
One of the numerous roles played by the
plagues in Egypt was the separation of Am
Yisrael. It was apparent when God struck with lice: “The cattle of Egypt
died; but of the cattle of Bnei Yisrael
died not one” (9:6). It continued when the hail fell upon the Egyptians, and
“Only in the land of Goshen, where Bnei
Yisrael were, there was no hail” (9:26). And though the three days of
darkness paralyzed Egypt, “all Bnei
Yisrael had light in their dwellings” (10:23). Predicting the final plague
of makkat bekhorot, God stated it
clearly: “But not a dog shall snarl at any of Bnei Yisrael – at man or beast – in order that you may know that
Hashem makes a distinction between Egypt and Israel” (6:7).
The pre-Socratic Greek philosopher Heraclitus
suggested that the material world exists by means of the “unity of opposites.”
He explained that the world was built and sustained upon the foundations of
friction and balance of coexisting opposites. R. Yonatan Grossman posited that
the consistent “separations” of opposites that make up the Torah’s story of
creation paint a similar picture. Consider God’s first several actions: Light
is separated from darkness (1:3-4), the “waters” are separated from each other
(6-7), land and water are separated (9-10), and the heavenly bodies are
purposed to separate between day and night (14-18).[2]
Political philosopher Leo Strauss similarly counted five explicit and ten
implicit mentions of separation in the first chapter of Bereshit, thus
concluding: “Creation is the making of separated things.”[3]
It appears that just as the world’s creation
came forth from acts of separation, so too did that of Am Yisrael. Aaron Wildavsky in fact suggested that the severe
judgment against mankind’s mixing of cultural categories during the Tower of
Bavel episode prepared the way for the separation and selection of Am Yisrael. The corruption of “the whole
earth was of one language and of one speech” (Bereshit 11:1) necessitated God’s
dispersal and separation, and Pharaoh’s aim to disperse Bnei Yisrael brought forth His separation and removal of them.[4]
A nation built upon the foundations of
separation must envision its continued existence through the prism of eternal separation.
[1] The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (London, EN, 1975), pg. 3.
[2] See Yonatan Grossman, Ba’ah Shabbat Ba’ah Menuhah.
[3] Leo Strauss, On the Interpretation of Genesis,
published in L’Homme 1981 (21:1), pg.
9.
[4] Aaron Wildavsky, Moses as Political Leader (Israel,
2005), 90-1.
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