Rebuilding the Third Temple in our own community

The Talmud teaches us that tisha b’av was caused by sinat hinam, causeless hatred, among the jews. The story is told of a certain unnamed man who intended to invite his friend, Hamtza, to a party. His servant, however, accidentally invited Bar Hamtza, whom this man disliked. When Bar Hamtza arrived, he refused to let him in. Bar Hamtza begged, offered to pay the cost of his dinner, offered to pay for the party, but he refused, and all the leading rabbis in Jerusalem, who were at the party, did not protest. Bar Hamtza then went and told the Romans that the jews were planning a revolt, and this led to the destruction of the temple.
One major challenge we have in this community, is how can we engage in conversation but avoid mahloket, controversy? How can we live in a community with people who share diametrically opposed perspectives, and yet have trust, and not sinat hinam.
This challenge came to a heated climax this past Sunday, at the board meeting, when as many of you know a vote was taken to enforce the mehitza at weekday minyanim. During the discussion, and also after the meeting, it was clear how passionate people feel on both sides of the issue. It was also clear that people on opposite sides deeply mistrust each other. Advocates of egalitarianism are deeply suspicious that the mehitza is just one step in a nefarious plot to make the synagogue orthodox. Similarly, I have heard some older members of the congregation deeply suspicious of the younger families, and I have heard younger families deeply suspicious of our clergy. These are the divisions dividing this community, and sadly these divisions do reach the point of mahloket, of controversy with personal animosity and mistrust.
In the mahloket of Hillel and Shammai, the classic mahloket leshem shamayim, mahloket for the sake of heaven, the Talmud says that the reason halacha went in accordance with Hillel was that he always quoted shammai first. What does it mean to quote the person you disagree with, and even put his opinion before yours?
First of all, it means he respected his opinion. He believed shammai was arguing for the sake of heaven, not out of any base motive. He assumed the best of intentions, and was not suspicious, even though he could have been.
Secondly, to teach shammai’s opinion, he must have taken the time to understand it. The torah’s prescription for getting over resentment, is that when you see your enemy’s donkey fallen, you help him reload it. It’s literally walking a mile in his shoes: roll up your sleeves, and get in the ditch with him.
If you are suspicious of what young families are doing during services, and you think they’re just up there schmoozing, go upstairs, help with childrens services, get to know the young families.
If you wonder why someone doesn’t come to minyan, find out what their day is like, what their struggles are.
If you wonder why someone feels so strongly about the mehitza, talk to them, get to understand what it means to them.
If you suspect that someone really wants to make the place orthodox, or that everything they do is part of a plot to make this place fully egalitarian, ask them, find out their vision for the shul. You may actually find out you have some of the same motives, and that you agree on a lot of things! We share the same passion, for making a vibrant place where all of our spiritual needs a can be met, and where we leave a spiritual legacy by passing on Torah to the next generation.
Resentment is a Torah prohibition, the same as eating pork. We wouldn’t serve pork at Kiddush, and we can’t afford to have resentment in our community. And when we misunderstand each other, and mistrust each other, we become mired in resentment and sinat hinam.
The solution is to take the time to really get to know each other. Visit a different table at Kiddush. Take a stroll up to the second floor during the service—I won’t mind. Volunteer to help babysit the children. Invite someone over for shabbes. When I was in college, in the Dartmouth Outing Club, we would raid campers, sneaking up at night with torches and ice cream. Raid someone you’ve never talked to by inviting them over for Shabbes. We need to get to know each other.
So Hillel respected Shammai’s opinion, did not let it become personal. He took the time to understand it, and understand where Shammai was coming from.
A third thing, is that both Hillel and Shammai stayed at the table. Shammai did not leave, even though his opinion lost. According to Reb Nahman, the world was created in the space opened up by Hillel and Shammai’s controversy. Mahloket can create a dialogical space that opens up the possibility of creating something new. If we threaten to leave when the majority rules against us, that can’t happen. If we tolerate each others’ opinions, take the time to understand each other, we can have a dialogue that creates something entirely new.
For now, the majority of this community has decided to enforce the mehitza. This doesn’t mean the minority is wrong: elu ve’elu divrey elohim hayyim hem, both these and these are the words of the living God. I hope the majority who support the mehitza are saying, like Hillel, “some people think the minyan should be egalitarian, and I respect these people, but I think the way to go is traditional.” And I hope the minority realize that you are still a vital part of the conversation. Right now you are not in the majority, but we respect and need your voice.
The kedushat levi, Rebbe Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, says that on Shabbat hazon, the Shabbat of vision, every jew is granted a vision of the third temple. Some people say this vision is only revealed to our highest soul, and our conscious self does not perceive it on this plane of reality. But I have seen it a few times.
One time was just after Rosh Hashanah in Uman, when I saw practically non-religious Jews break dancing with Hassidim at a Jewish hard rock concert. The divisions of contemporary society were not there—we were all brothers.
Another time was this past Sunday, after the meeting, when I stood talking with three people with totally different views on the mehitza. To some extent they heard each other, to some extent they didn’t. One of them asked another why he felt so strongly on the issue, and really wanted to hear him. We are trying to start to hear each other. That moment was a glimpse of the third temple.
The Rambam teaches that when we cry on tisha b’av, we are not crying because of what happened in the past, but because of our sins today that are similar, and that prolong the exile. Let’s all take the time to think about who we bear sinat hinam toward. A great litmus test is: if you were having a party, who wouldn’t you invite? Have you complained or even told a story about anybody in the past week? Take a moment now to think of one person. [Pause] That is sinat hinam. That is the relationship that needs mending.
Now you may be saying, “it’s not hinam (causeless), it’s legitimate!” Yes, we are allowed to hate true evil doers, people who intentionally violate ethical norms. I hope everybody here hates Ahmedenijad, or Hitler, or the guy last week who tried to kidnap a girl in Philadelphia. That’s legitimate hatred. Nobody here is on that level. Somebody may have done something that upset you, or even lost their temper and said something insulting or provocative, but unless they are truly wicked, we are still prohibited from hating them, and any resentment toward them is sinat hinam.
Most of us here try on some level to be shomer Shabbat and shomer kashrut. As we enter Tisha B’av, I invite you to take a step toward being shomer sinat hinam, by mending that relationship that needs healing, by getting to know that one person we would never invite over for Shabbes, maybe just saying “hi” at Kiddush, asking how they are, and actually finding out what’s happening in their life. Doing this, together, we are building the third temple

Devarim: breaking through our spiritual resistances

Moses begins his great recap of the 40 years in the desert,starting at Horeb(=Sinai), highlighting all of the Jews’ failures.
According to the Sifri, the numerous place names listed in the first verse are hidden words of rebuke by Moses to the people of Israel. Instead of mentioning their sins outright, he alluded to them with these place names:
"In the desert" -- the time they complained "if only we would have died in the desert" (Exodus 17:3)
"In the Arava (Plain)" -- their worship of Baal Peor in the Plains of Moab (Numbers 25)
"Opposite Suf" -- the trouble they made at the shores of Yam Suf, the Red Sea (see Exodus 14:11 and Rashi on Exodus 15:22)
"Paran" -- the sin of the Spies, who were dispatched from Paran (as recounted in Numbers 13 and later in our own Parshah)
"Tofel" and "Lavan" (meaning "libel" and "white") -- their libeling about the manna which was white (Numbers 21:5)
"Hazerot" -- where Korach's mutiny against Moses took place.
"Di Zahav" (literally "too much gold") -- the sin of the Golden Calf. (copied from chabad.com)
It’s a jarring beginning for a great book, and totally out of character for Deuteronomy, which has some of the loftiest parts of the Torah, like caring for the widow and orphan, the shema, and the veahafta.
The slonimer rebbe says that Moshe was intentionally trying to make the Jews broken hearted, so they could reach these high ideals, just like the broken tablets preceeded the second tablets.
There is a moment when we have to have a spiritual breakdown, to realize our insincerity, our inconsistencies.
Each of us have places in our lives where we don’t live up to Torah’s ideals, and we are defensive around those parts, don’t admit any wrongdoing, because they are so hard to change, and it would be painful to admit that we do anything wrong.
We fiercely avoid truly examining our behavior. In psychology it’s called a defense: if a therapist were to try to challenge somebody on their dysfunctional behavior, the patient would find a way to avoid taking in what they are saying.
This process of becoming broken-hearted, of davenning in such a deep and heart felt way that we admit our inadequacies and feel deep grief over what we have done, is a way to overcome these defenses, iron out our failures, and finally be able to embody the highest ideals of Torah.

Words Creating Worlds

The beginning of our parsha today deals with hatarat nedarim, the release of vows. If a woman makes a vow or oath, her father or husband can annul it when he hears it; if a man makes a vow or oath, he can go to a det din, to ask them to annul it. Otherwise, it is a very dangerous thing. If a person vows that they will never eat meat again, meat to them becomes hekdesh, and breaking their vow is like eating the priestly food! The Talmud strongly discourages people from making vows, as we can never foresee what will come. I once was asked, just before Yom Kippur, to annul someone’s vow who had swore they wouldn’t eat cake again; how could they not eat cake at their own birthday party? But once a vow has been made, it has the force of a Torah prohibition.
There are two types of vows discussed. A neder is a vow not to partake of something; the item itself becomes prohibited to me. A shvua, an oath, prohibits me from doing something—it makes me forbidden. The Mishnah tells us that an oath or vow can be said even in non-technical language, any language which implies a vow IS a vow. So if I swear off cake, even without saying the word neder, I have made a vow, and am forbidden from eating cake! If I say to my spouse, “I swear I won’t touch you again,” I am forbidden from my own spouse!
What is amazing about this is that the human word can hold so much power. The torah, in 30:3, says “lo yahel devarecha”—which rashi explains as “your words shall not become hullin, profane. Human language is sacred, and by violating what one has said, one has violated its sanctity. But how can a word have so much power, to make something prohibited to me?
In Bereshit, when God creates, he creates through language. God says, “let there be light,” and there was light. So how did this command get fulfilled? The traditional understanding of this is that the word itself—or, light- became light. Divine speech is the essence of the universe. God speaks ten times in the creation of the world, and these 10 utterances are the metaphysical basis for all of creation.
Sefer yetzira states, “22 foundation letters… He permuted them, weighed them, and transformed them, alef with them all and all of them with alef, bet with them all and all of them with bet, they repeat in a cycle and exist in 231 gates. It comes out that all that is formed and all that is spoken emanates from one name.” (SY 2:5) The 22 letters are the 22 letters of the Hebrew Alphabet. In other words, all of reality comes from permutations of the Hebrew letters of divine speech, in combination with each other. The letters from the ten utterances of bereshit combined with each other to form the spiritual basis of everything in the universe. Everything at its core is really divine speech, clothed in apparent physical garb.
This is why we say in pesukey, Baruch she’amar vehaya haolam, Blessed is the one who spoke and the world is—the moment of divine speech was the moment of creation.
If we can focus on the divine in everything, and ignore the physical garment, we could theoretically see the letters of divine speech. Rebbe Nahman of Breslav tells a story of a young man, probably himself, who fell asleep at the shabbes table, and when he woke up, the bread on the table was replaced by a pile of letters. This story, the story of the bread, was successfully hidden for 200 years, because experiencing divine speech means standing on the level of Moses, who experienced revelation directly from God. The image is a spiritual core of divine letters, garbed in an illusory veil of physicality.
Human language, too, and especially Hebrew, shares in the creative power of divine language. King Solomon says in Proverbs, “Life and death are in the hands of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21). According to Isaac Luria, every word we speak creates an angel above, either a friendly angel or a prosecuting angel. According to the Zohar, our words of study and prayer actually create new worlds:
Zohar 4b
IN THE BEGINNING. R. Simeon opened his discourse with the text: And I put my words in thy mouth (Is. LI, 16). He said: ‘How greatly is it incumbent on a man to study the Torah day and night! For the Holy One, blessed be He, is attentive to the voice of those who occupy themselves with the Torah, and through each innovation made by them in the Torah a new heaven is created. Our teachers have told us that at the moment when a man expounds something new in the Torah, his word ascends before the Holy One, blessed be He, and He takes it up and kisses it and crowns it with seventy crowns of graven and inscribed letters. When a new word of wisdom is innovated, it ascends and rests on the head of the “Zaddik, the life of the universe”, and then it flies off and traverses seventy thousand worlds until it ascends to the “Ancient of Days”. All the words of the “Ancient of Days” are words of wisdom comprising sublime and hidden mysteries. When that hidden word of wisdom ascends there, it is joined to the words of the “Ancient of Days”, and together with them enters into the eighteen mystical worlds, concerning which we read “No eye hath seen beside thee, O God” (Ibid. LXIV, 3). From there they roam and fly to and fro, until finally arriving, perfected and completed, before the “Ancient of Days”. At that moment the “Ancient of Days” savours that word of wisdom, and finds satisfaction therein above all else. He takes that word and crowns it with three hundred and seventy thousand crowns, and it flies up and down until it is made into a sky. And so each word of wisdom is made into a sky which presents itself fully formed before the “Ancient of Days”, who calls them “new heavens”, newly created heavens, hidden mysteries of supernal wisdom. As for the other innovative words of Torah, they present themselves before the Holy One, blessed be He, and ascend and become “earths of the living”, then they descend and become absorbed into one earth, whereby a new earth emerges through that renewed word of Torah. This is implied in the verse, “For as the new heavens and the new earth, which I am making, rise up before me, etc.” (Ibid. LXVI, 22). It is not written “I have made”, but “I am making”, for he makes them continually out of those new innovations and mysteries of Torah. Further, it is written, “And I have placed my words in thy mouth, and with the shadow of my hand have I covered thee, to plant a heaven and to lay the foundations of an earth” (Ibid. LI, 16). It does not say “the heavens” [i.e. which already exist], but “heavens”.
It is a beautiful image; you can take it as literally or figuratively as you want. Every word of torah we innovate flies up and becomes a new heaven, a new world. Just like God can create worlds through speech, we can create worlds through speech.
Even if you don’t believe the world is literally created by language, the world we experience is created by our language. We can deeply impact the world we live in through our attitude and our speech. We can create worlds with our speech.
There is an interesting passage in the Mishnah, tractate Berachot, discussing behavior of the shaliach tzibbor. If the shatz says “modim modim” (thank you, thank you) he is silenced. One explanation is that he appears to be praying to 2 entities. The Baal Shem Tov’s explanation is that actually, he’s only praying to god, but by saying it twice he makes it seem like the first word didn’t work, like it didn’t ascend. In reality, every word ascends to heaven. Every word we say creates a world.
One of my favorite childrens’ books, growing up, was the little engine that could. It is a story about a group of dolls who need to make it over the mountain before the children awake; a parade of engines, which clearly are capable of the trip, either say they cannot or are unwilling to do it. One of those is a rusty old engine, who says he simply cannot do it. The hero is a small engine, far smaller than any of the other ones, who has a positive attitude, and repeats “I think I can I think I can” until she makes it over the mountain.
Our speech has a profound impact on our attitude and ability to accomplish something. If I say “I can’t do something” or “that’s beyond me,” I reinforce my belief that I can’t do it, and find myself unable to do it. My language is even more important than my attitude, because it shapes my attitude. It’s okay to be insincere, if I’m skeptical but speak with positive attitude and conviction. If I have a difficult goal, then saying I can do it actually helps accomplish it.
We also create labels with our speech, which can either become something to hide behind, or something to rise up to. I once heard someone say, “I eat pork, I’m conservative.” Besides the fact that they didn’t know what Conservative Judaism was, it became a convenient label, shielding them from having to reconcile what they did with what the Torah says. But labels can also be something that makes us live up to them. If we wake up in the morning and say thank you god for giving me a holy soul, then we need to make sure we live up to that, and lead a life which reflects carrying a spark of the divine.
We can profoundly affect other people with our speech. One of the most insidious forms of abuse is verbal abuse, which is incredibly hard to identify decisively. When a parent or guardian repeatedly tells a child they’re worthless or bad, they can start to believe it, and they end up acting in worthless and bad ways themselves. Negative words can kill someone’s spirit.
We can also create a positive, loving world with speech. In a relationship that has stalled, or fallen into a cycle of fighting and arguing, saying “I love you” can jump starts the cycle of love. What messages do we give to our family members, our loved one? What kind of a world do we create for them?

The story is told of a woman whose husband frequently insulted her. She would respond angrily, which in turn provoked an even more offensive response, resulting in a spiral of back-and-forth shouting and name-calling. Exasperated, the woman consulted with her Rabbi, who gave her a curious piece of advice. He said that each time her husband said something hurtful to her, instead of responding, she should take a hammer and bang a nail into some surface.

And so, that day, when the husband insulted the woman, she didn’t say a word. She went upstairs with a hammer, and banged a nail into a wall. When he insulted her again for doing something so foolish, she again banged a nail into a wall.

This went on for several weeks, until finally the husband wanted to know what was going on. The wife told him about the Rabbi’s suggestion, and showed him the approximately 100 nails in the wall.

“I offended you so many times?” the husband asked.

“Yes,” the wife confirmed. “Each nail is another time you said something hurtful to me.”

“Well,” the husband said, “it should work the other way, as well. Every time I say something nice to you, you should remove a nail from the wall.” The idea sounded reasonable, so the wife agreed.

Sure enough, the husband starting showering his wife with compliments. He praised her for her meals, her appearance, and her personality, told her how much she meant to him and said that he loved her. Each time, a nail came out of the wall. Finally, the day arrived when the last nail was pulled out.

“You see?” the husband said. “It’s all fixed now. The nails are all gone.”

“Not quite,” the wife replied. “Yes, the nails are gone – but look at all the holes that are left in the wall. They still need to be filled.”
Our words can destroy, or heal, our relationships.
Rabbeynu Yonah says that when a Jew sanctifies his mouth, it becomes a cli sharet, a vessel sanctified for holy use in the temple. We have the power with our language to sanctify God, to build a sacred space for the divine on earth, to create angels, and even to create new heavens.
We can create worlds with our speech. May we all create worlds of love, of believing in ourselves & in each other, of understanding & appreciation, of forgiveness.

Pinhas: Can we rely on intuition?

Pinhas

Our parsha opens with the second half of a pretty shocking episode which began last week. When Balak was unsuccessful at getting Balak to curse the Jews, he resorted to the subtle tactic of sending in the women. Thousands of Jews were seduced by the idolatrous Midianite women. One person in particular, Zimri, committed his sin in public with Cosbi. While almost everyone is standing around weeping, not knowing what to do, Pinhas acts decisively, killing them both with a spear. For this, he and his descendants are given the priesthood, described as brit shalom, a covenant of peace.
The episode is rather shocking. Are we supposed to be such extremists that we would kill someone as a religious act? We are all too familiar with religious extremism, the cruisades, in which marauding groups of Christians periodically slaughtered m,ass numbers of Jews repeatedly; muslim extremism such as the Taliban, and before them the Almohades who drove the Jews out of Spain in the medieval era. Fortunately, such extremism has been rare in the Jewish community; Baruch Goldstein’s purim rampage is the only example I can think of of a murderous rampage. None of these are positive examples.
The Mishnah actually codifies Pinhas’ actions as halacha:
Sanh 81b:
IF ONE STEALS THE KISWAH,23 [a temple vessel] OR CURSES BY ENCHANTMENT, OR COHABITS WITH A SYRIAN [i.er. idolatrous] WOMAN, zealots may strike him (hakenaim pogim bo) IF A PRIEST PERFORMED THE TEMPLE SERVICE WHILST UNCLEAN, HIS BROTHER PRIESTS DO NOT CHARGE HIM THEREWITH AT BETH DIN, BUT THE YOUNG PRIESTS TAKE HIM OUT OF THE TEMPLE COURT AND SPLIT HIS SKULL WITH CLUBS. A LAYMAN WHO PERFORMED THE SERVICE IN THE TEMPLE, R. AKIBA SAID: HE IS STRANGLED; THE SAGES SAY: [HIS DEATH IS] AT THE HANDS OF HEAVEN.
Note that this law that “zealots may strike him” only apply to these three situations. The Talmud says that this law is not based on any verse in the Torah, but rather was a tradition handed to Moses at Sinai. According to the Talmud, Moses had taught this halacha, but when the Jews saw Zimri do what he did, they were all so shocked that they forgot the halacha, and just stood there and cried. Pinhas was the only one who remembered the halacha, which was why he was the one who took action.
According to the Talmud, the zealot is not executing a court judgment—he is not an agent of God. the punishment for public intercourse with an idolatress is caret, death at the hands of hyeaven. If the couple was tried in a court, there is no punishment. The zealot is someone who is carrying out the divine decree. They are even risking their lives doing it: if Zimri had defended himself and killed Pinhas, he would have been innocent of murder. It is someone so inflamed that they risk their own lives to defend God’s honor. He is a direct agent of God.
So this is an even more problematic thought, that a human can be an agent of God’s wrath. In the extremely violent film Pulp Fiction, before violently murdering his victims, one of the main characters quotes the following passage from Ezekiel:
And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.
Here’s what he says about it:
I never gave much thought to what it meant. I just thought it was some cold-blooded *** to say to a **** before I popped a cap in his ***.
In the course of the movie he does come to question himself, but the point is that it is very dangerous for any human to claim to be the agent of God’s wrath on earth.
Fortunately for us, the Talmud and codes raise a number of limitations. First of all, this law only applies to the specific sins listed in the Mishnah. The intercourse with the idolatress must be committed in public, making it a public desecration of God’s name. The big issue with Zimri and Cosbi was not just their individual act, but the way it flagrantly disregarded the divine instructions. This situation –public relations with an idolatress- doesn’t happen all that often. Secondly, the zealot’s action must be completely intuitive. If the zealot asks a court whether they can do it, the court cannot tell them to do it. Third, the zealot must warn the couple verbally. Fourth, the zealot must kill them during the act.
A few more conditions: According to the Mei Shiloach, a Chassidic rebbe, the zealot must himself be completely clean of this sin himself. Too often, zealousness arises out of defensiveness—I feel bad about my own faults, or don’t want to think about my own weaknesses, so I jump on other peoples’ faults. Or people feel ashamed of their origins, or just want to feel like they are superior, so they become holier than thou. So the Mei shiloah says that I can’t trust my intuition toward zealousness unless I know that I am not only innocent of this sin, but have cleaned my soul of any inclination toward this sin. This is a pretty high bar which makes this halacha something pretty much impossible.
Zelig Pliskin, in “Love your neighbor,” also adds the condition that one must be truly an ohev yisrael, someone who loves their fellow Jew. Pinhas knew he was acting purely for God’s honor, and not out of any destructive or violent or hateful inclination. He murdered someone he otherwise loved. The Torah reassures us, with Pinhas, that his intentions were in fact pure. In 25:12, God says that Pinhas “kino et kinati”—he was zealous for my zealousness. He channeled God’s zealousness, without any mixture of his own personal agenda.
Rabbi Hayyim of Brisk taught that “both the owner of the hosue and the cat want to destroy mice; the real difference lies in their motives. The owner wants to be rid of them, but the cat wants to attack them. One must sincerely not want the misdeeds. One should not use the misdeed as an opportunity to engage in protesting.” Extremists who murder aren’t truly passionate about serving God; they are finding an excuse for entertaining their own violent yetzer. A terrific example of this is in the movie “the kite runner,” depicting a taliban leader who was a murderer and rapist. Extremism can be a way for people to make their evil inclinations appear kosher.
Many people in the Jewish community take a less extreme attitude, certainly not killing, but protesting other peoples’ lack of observance or personal weaknesses. These rules about zealousness teach us that we need to be very careful about our motives. It is too easy to use religion as a tool for self-aggrandizement, to be like the cat who loves to attack the mice, to feel good about criticizing others. Criticising other jewish groups is a terrific jewish past-time. It is a very easy way to feel good about oneself. This is saying that if you’re going to criticize, you must first love all your fellow Jews, and make sure you are just trying to get rid of their misdeeds, and not using the opportunity to build yourself up by attacking others.
If you look at the siddur, in the amida on page 85, the prayer for knowledge speaks of several types of knowledge: “havinenu me-itcha deah, binah, vehaskel. The Ari and some Sephardic texts emend this to follow the order of Ex 35:31, hochmah, binah, u’deah—reversing the order, and switching haskel for hohma. Hohmah (haskel in our siddur) is intuition, a single unified thought, not developed in any detail, a flash of insight. Binah is breaking an idea down, analyzing, thinking through implications. The Divine thought process which initiated the world started out as a Hohma intuition, and this intuitive energy was broken down, analyzed, developed as Binah. The impulsive energy of Hohmah was united with the cautious, analytic style of Binah to become Da’at. Da’at is the capacity to wed cautiousness and thoughtful reasoning with intuition.
Pinhas acted entirely out of Hohmah, impulsively, not analyzing his actions. He was completely lost in serving God, and never considered the possibility that Zimri could kill him. He completely trusted his intuition, his Hochmah.
He could do so, however, only because he was entirely pure, he embodied the love of his fellow Jew. In Pirke Avot, we read to “aseh ritzono ritzonha”—make His will your own. Pinhas emptied himself of any personal motivation; His zealousness was a channel for of God’s zealousness, with no mixture of his own will.
Such a person can trust his intuition. The rest of us, for sure, should value our intuition. The Baal shem tov says that when we get an intuitive thought to serve god in a particular way, it is prophecy, and we need to follow it. However, we need to balance our intuition, our hohmah, with thoughtfulness, with binah, taking the time to consider our motives, and to consider whether we are really helping God’s honor.
May we all merit hearing this prophetic voice emerging from our soul, this intuitive thought leading us to passionately serve God, to live our lives passionately. But may we also exercise great caution, balancing intuition with thoughtfulness, questioning our motives, and making sure that our impulse to holiness stems from a love of our fellow jew and human being.

Balak
We read this week the episode of Balaam, who was recruited by King Balak to curse the Jews but found himself unable to do so. As he is going on his way riding his donkey (miraculously, a talking donkey, created on Friday afternoon during the 1st week of creation) and and angel blocks his way. He doesn’t see the angel but the donkey does—I do think the Torah is making fun of him for having less insight than his donkey. He strikes the donkey to move forward, and the angel reveals himself to Balaam, telling him not to continue.
The angel rebukes him, “why did you strike the donkey? She just saved your life!”
Balaam says, Num 21:35: “I sinned, for I did not know you were standing against me on the way, so now if it is evil in your eyes, I will return to myself.”
Hizkuni on this verse explains Balaam’s statement this way: “I sinned in that I didn’t know, and I didn’t focus my heart to understand why my way was not successful.”
In other words, ignorance is not an excuse, it is a sin. By not taking the trouble to find out why his way kept being blocked, he became responsible. When we try something over and over and it doesn’t work, when we repeat a negative pattern, we have an obligation to look into our negative patterns, to become aware of our blindspots.
In loving and caring for my fellow, too, I have the responsibility to find out what they need, to investigate what is going on in their life, and see how I can help them. If someone hasn’t shown up week after week at shul, we need to call, find out if they’re okay. If someone looks haggard, it is our business to investigate. It is my responsibility to make sure I am not living in ignorance.


17th of Tammuz

Tomorrow is the fast of the 17th of Tammuz, and also the beginning of tlata depuranuta, the three week period leading up to Tisha B’av. The fast tomorrow is a minor fast day—it is only during the day, and of course pregnant or nursing women, elderly, and children are not included, but are encouraged restrict themselves to bread & water. And It does not have all of the extra restrictions that Tisha B’av and Yom Kippur have.
After the fast
After tomorrow we are in the period of the 3 weeks. Custom to avoid
haircutting and shaving,
marriages,
parties, live music, & dancing.
Originally these restrictions were only during the week of Tisha B’av or the 9 days from Rosh Hodesh av. They became extended for the whole 3 weeks simply by popular custom.
Keep in mind that these are just customs. Although custom has the force of halacha, other factors like shalom bayit can also be more important. And if you need to play an instrument for a livelihood, posekim generally say it’s okay.
This morning, I am going to talk about the halachic basis for the 17th of Tammuz, and whether in fact we are still required to observe it.
Origins
The seventeenth of Tammuz was originally a fast day dating back to the 6th century CE, when Jerusalem fell to the Babylonians. The date was actually the 9th of Tammuz, and it was called the fast of the 4th, because Tammuz is the 4th month if you start counting at Nissan. It was originally on the 9th of Tammuz, and was cancelled at the time of the 2nd temple. When the 2nd Temple was destroyed, Jerusalem’s walls were breached on the 17th of Tammuz, so the fast was reinstated. Since it would have been too much to ask people to fast on the 9th and 17th, they consolidated the date into the 17th, because the 2nd destruction was worse than the 1st.
The Talmud actually presents the minor fast days as optional. Rosh Hashanah 18a-b states:
Mishnah: For six months, messengers go out [to let people know when the new month began, so people know when to observe the holiday]. For Nissan because of Passover, For Av because of the fast, for elul because of Rosh Hashanah, for Tishrei because of the holidays [ie Yom Kippur and Sukkot], at the beginning of Kislev because of Hanukah, and Adar because of Purim. When the Temple stood, they went forth at the beginning o Iyyar because of Minor Pesah.
Gemara: They should go out at Tammuz and Tevet as well [so people know when to observe those fast days]! For Rav Hana Bizna said in the name of R Shimon Hasida?: What is written, Thus says Hashem, Master of Legions: the fast of the fourth [ie 17th of Tammuz], the fast of the fifth [i.e. Tisha BAv], the fast of the seventh [Tzom Gedalyah], and the fast of the tenth [i.e. Assarah BeTavet] will be to the House of Judah for joy and for happiness. [nb: this verse was stated when the 2nd Temple was built, and Zechariah was announcing that the mourning was finished.] The verse calls them a fast, but then calls them joy and happiness! [how can that be?] At a time when there is peace they will be for joy and happiness, but at a time when there is no peace, they will be fast days.
Rav Pappa said: this is what the verse means: At a time when there is peace, they will be for joy and happiness; if there is a governmental decree, they must fast; if there is neither a governmental decree nor peace, if they want they fast, if they don’t want they don’t fast.
The Talmud’s answer, then, is that if there is peace, they will become a festival; if there is government oppression of religion, they are mandatory, and when there is no oppression but no peace, they are optional. In the Mishnah’s time, there was no peace but no oppression, so they were optional.
What does peace mean in this sugiya?
Rabbeynu Hananel interprets peace as referring to the Temple:
clomar, kol zman shebet hamikdash kayyam
In other words, when the Temple stands
Makes sense, because the verse from Zechariah is connected with rebuilding the Temple. The fast, on this opinion, is commemorating the destruction of the Temple, and is part of a series of fasts all of which are connected to the Temple.
Peace could also be meant in a more literal sense. Rashi says that peace means “That the hands of the idolaters is not strong on the Jews. One way to understand this is that since the fast is in response to oppression by a foreign power, when that oppression is done, the fast is done. The fast then is less connected to the Temple, than to the national experience of suffering war. Although some commentators understand rashi here to be adding another condition—there needs to be a Temple and peace for the 17th of Tammuz to become a festival.
Rabbi Shimon Ibn Adret, similarly, interprets peace as meaning when Israel dwells on its land. When we are securely in the land of Israel. This today has been fulfilled to some extent, although with the Nuclear threat from Iran, and the perpetual hostilities with the Palestinians, we have enough to pray about.
Perhaps in a more universal mentality, we can also take the opportunity to mourn the lack of world peace, to mourn the ongoing wars that America is engaged in, and all of the victims, and to think about what we can do to promote peace both in our own communities and far away.
The fast, then, is not just about the Temple, but about our still partially longings to have our own land where we can dwell in peace and security, and to have a world at peace.
What is oppression?
The word for oppression is gezeirat hamalchut, Government decree. This seems to be how the Mishna and Talmud describe the roman decrees against studying torah, circumcisions, etc., which carried with them the penalty of death. The most famous image of this is Rabbi Akiba, who was burned alive for studying and teaching torah. The fast, on this level, is a plea to God to remove the decrees, and allow us to practice our religion in peace.
In Cologne last week, a German court handed down a pretty shocking ruling banning circumcision. The ruling came in response to an apparently botched circumcision, in which a boy needed four stitches after his circumcision, and continued to bleed for days later. Islamic and Jewish organizations are in an uproar over this decision, even accusing it of Naziism.
It is an interesting coincidence that circumcision was actually one of the rituals forbidden by the Romans. The Rabbis in the Talmud were so distressed by this that one rabbi even argued that theoretically, if circumcisions are banned, we shouldn’t get married and have children:
Bava Batra 60b:
It has been taught: R. Ishmael ben Elisha said: Since the day of the destruction of the Temple we should by rights not eat meat nor drink wine, only we do not lay a hardship on the community unless the majority can endure it. And from the day that a Government has come into power which issues cruel decrees against us and forbids to us the observance of the Torah and the precepts and does not allow us to enter into the 'week of the son' [i.e. circumcision] we ought by rights not to marry and beget children, and the seed of Abraham our father would come to an end of itself. However, let Israel go their way: it is better that they should err in ignorance than presumptuously
In other words, banning circumcision is such a terrible thing that theoretically, if we are unable to circumcise our children and thereby enter them into the covenant of Abraham, we should not even get married (at least according to Reb Ishmael). This seems like a pretty extreme reaction—is circumcision really that important? Can’t we be members of the covenant, the brit, and observe the covenant, without having a physical sign? But Judaism always insists that the physical sign is an essential element, that the covenant has to include the physical acts which bring us into the covenant.
Thank God, however, the Cologne decision is just one local decree, in a world where really we are free to practice as Jews. It has received immense backlash, and I have a hard time imagining it will be upheld. By and large, we do not live in a time of Gezeirat malchut, governmental decrees against religion.
So we are at a time where we don’t have peace or a Temple, but on the other hand we do not have decrees. According to the conclusion of the Gemara, then, at our current moment in history, these fasts are optional!
What does optional mean?
The literal meaning of the gemara seems to be that the fast is optional. The medieval commentators have trouble with this. The Ritva quotes someone anonymous who said that if we chose not to fast today, we would not have to, but he himself rejects that approach, arguing that we have accepted the practice so it is mandatory. He argues that in the time of the mishna it was still optional because the practice hadn’t become entirely widespread, but now that it is widespread, it is no longer optional.
The Rosh says that it is a communal decision, and an individual should not separate himself from the community by going against the community’s decision.
The Shulchan Aruch, discussing the fast, even curses someone who goes against communal practice: asur lifrotz geder, he says: it is forbidden to breach a fence. and when talking about the custom to refrain from eating meat, he writes asur lifrotz geder veyinashchecu mahash: it is forbidden to breach a fence, and may a serpent bite him (perhaps the serpent here being his own evil inclination that will be strengthened by ignoring a rabbinic decree)! The point is, the only basis for the practice is the rabbinic decree, which he emphasizes is itself very serious. Still, it feels a little bit like circular reasoning, if the only reason for the prohibition is the fact that it’s prohibited.
Many in the Conservative Jewish community argue that since we don’t make decrees that the majority of people can’t uphold, since many people don’t follow this decree, and since the reasons no longer completely apply, it actually is no longer mandatory. Rabbi Ethan Tucker, of Yeshivat Hadar, writes that:
My own feeling is that the factors of the founding of the State of Israel and living as equals in American democracy are too significant to claim that we either live in a time of shemad or even in the world of medieval consensus that the Jewish people has clearly accepted these fasts upon themselves as unquestionably mandatory. It is hard to imagine that all of those medieval authorities would have lived through 1948 and 1967 unaffected. On the other hand, I am skittish about suggesting that with the creation of the State of Israel, shalom has arrived, and worry about running afoul of Zechariah’s call to prioritize the creation of a just and perfect society over the question of the celebratory abrogation of fast days.

It therefore seems to me that we are best described as living in category 3), where the fast days other than Tish’a B’Av are optional, and I personally do not feel that there is any formal obligation to fast on the other three fast days.
So why do I fast …? There are, to my mind, two compelling reasons: First, there is much injustice and imperfection in the world in general, and in the sovereign Jewish state in particular. These days and their fasting ritual are a powerful way to trigger us to think about those issues. Second, Zechariah tells us that these days will one day be ones of rejoicing. That means that they must be maintained on the calendar so that the Jewish people will remember them when history takes the turn that will enable us to see the world as one infused with shalom.
In other words, we’re almost there but we’re not quite there; we need to celebrate what we have been given with Israel, and with religious freedom. Part of what makes it difficult to connect to these fasts is the fact that we do have our own country; we are only here by choice, and we could always get a plane ticket and make aliyah.
On the other hand, we also need to continue to push for a just and peaceful state in Israel, and to work to create peace there. The fast is about remembering what is broken in Israel and in our world, and examining our sins as a people.
If you do fast …
For me, Rambam’s comments are a key to thinking about fasting as a spiritual practice. This is from his laws of fasting, Hilchot Ta’aniyot 5:1:
There are days when all of Israel fast because of the suffering that happened on them, in order to arouse the hearts and open the pathways of repentance . And this will be a memorial to our bad ways and to those of our ancestors which were like our own now, such that they caused them and us so much suffering. By remembering these things, we will repent and improve, as it says, “confess their sin and that of their fathers.”
In other words, history is only important to the extent that we use it to reflect on our own lives. Don’t think the Temple was destroyed just because of something that happened two thousand years ago—it continues to be destroyed, we continue to be at war, we continue to be in exile, because of our own faults as a people.
When we read about sinat hinam, causeless hatred, among the Jews of the Roman period, Which the Rabbis say led to the destruction of the Temple, the point is that it is our own sinat hinam today that prevents the rebuilding of the Temple. There’s plenty of sinat hinam going around, toward other Jewish groups, and toward other people within our own communities.
When we read about the Golden Calf, and about the tablets being shattered, which happened on the seventeenth of Tammuz, the point is to reflect on our contemporary Golden Calfs, the idols we turn to now instead of serving God, instead of doing what is right. When we serve our own greed, or laziness, or self-importance, instead of serving God, we are continuing to give Moses a good reason for shattering the tablets. Let’s take tomorrow to think about what our own Golden Calfs are.
The Jerusalem Talmud says that on the 17th of Tammuz, Apostomos, who may have been Antiochus, burned a sefer torah. What do we do today to bring honor or disrepute to the Torah, to Judaism? What are the ways we fail to encourage reverence and respect for Judaism, for learning? What are the ways in our own lives we burn the Torah, we fail to take the time to study, we disparage her practices, or her teachings?
So tomorrow, drink plenty of water beforehand and stay out of the heat, and have a meaningful fast.

Hevre,

A very respected colleague of mine, Rabbi Ari Weiss, is running an organization called Tav HaYosher, which is essentially a social responsibility hechsher. Given the terrible business practices rampant in our society, this is clearly a way to make ahalcha relevant to contemporary consumption practices, and ensure that when we buy we are not enabling injustice. Sadly, some of the restaurants which have signed up have recently been bullied for it! Please make the time to take yourself out to one of these restaurants, and let them know you are there because they support the Tav HaYosher. You can find a list at www.isupportthetav.com .

B'shalom,

David Siff

Hukat
It is surprising, in our parsha, that Moses is punished so harshly for what seems like a fairly innocuous mix up. When the Children of Israel complain of thirst, God tells Moses to speak to the rock, and instead he strikes it twice. Which was a reasonable thing to do, considering that the last time they ran out of water, in Refidim, he was told to strike the rock. Not such an unreasonable mistake. But for this, he is punished and not allowed to lead the Children of Israel into the promised land.
This is a big question the commentaries deal with; the Or HaHayyim counts ten explanations, and adds his own. A number of commentators say that Moses’ failure here points to a general leadership issue he had, and that from this we can learn how we should be as leaders, and also as parents. So I am going to look at a ferw of these explanations, and use them to think about how the Torah is instructing us to act with those over whom we have authority, at work, as community leaders, or as parents.
One explanation I want to bring is that of the Kli Yakar, Rabbi Shlomo Luntschitz of Lublin (16/17c). He says, first of all, that by hitting the rock instead of speaking to it, Moses was like a parent who disciplines by force when they could have disciplined with words. By using his staff, Moses opened the door for people to think it was magic, and not divine intervention. Yes, the job got done efficiently, but he missed the opportunity for building faith, for building character in his followers. It’s easier to use force: I got my kid away from the hot stove, she stopped writing on the wall. But it’s also less effective, in that I didn’t cultivate anything in my child. I didn’t cultivate an awareness of right and wrong.
He also says that by using the rod multiple times, it weakens the general effectiveness. If I overdo punishment with a child, if I overly reprimand a worker, I water down their respect for me, so when I speak respectfully, they may ignore me. The Cli Yakar says that by hitting the rock multiple times, Moses ensured that the Israelites wouldn’t listen to the prophets. If I get upset with at my child too often, if I am constantly angry with them, they lose their respect, they stop listening at all.
Another point that Yalkut Shimoni (#763) raises is that when a child is old enough, they can be reasoned with, instead of punished with the rod. After they had just left Egypt, they were like children, so Moses used the rod. Here, however, they were older, and Moses should have talked. It says that punishing with the rod makes an impression more slowly than speaking to a child. Yes, it stops them in the moment, but they don’t know what they’ve done wrong. Children actually want to know right from wrong, want to behave in a way that lives up to their parents expectations, but need to be taught how to do it.
I was at dinner recently with someone who’s child did something entirely inappropriate. The parent was shocked, and reprimanded the child. But the child just actually confused and startled, because he didn’t know how inappropriate his behavior was, so the punishment was a little overwhelming and upsetting. Even if it is something inappropriate, we need to take the time to sit children down and explain how they should behave.
A number of weeks ago, a little girl was running around in the shul, and somebody made the comment “that girl needs to learn how to behave,” as if it was a character fault that she didn’t know how to behave. We need to have the attitude of “let me teach her how to behave, so she can get by in the world.”
Another mistake of Moses’, according to Ramban (Moshe ben Nahman), was that Moses thought that God was angry, when in fact God would not get angry over a reasonable request, even if asked in a rebellious, hungry tone. If a child says, “I’m huuuuuungry,” we can relate politely, teach them how to ask nicely, and model how to act politely by nicely helping them get something to eat.
Moses’ reaction was quite harsh. He called them “Rebels”—shimu na, hamorim. He insulted them. Midrash Shimoni says it was this act of disparaging the Israelites, for which he was forbidden to enter Israel. The midrash continues that Isaiah was punished for saying “I am a man of unclean lips and dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips” (Isaiah 6:5) Elijah, too, was punished for saying “I have been very zealous for the lord God of hosts, for the Children of Israel have forsaken your covenant” (I Kings 18:10), and it was in response to this that God sends him to pick out his replacement, Elisha. And the Midrash relates an episode that Rabbi Avuhu was walking with Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish, and they were travelling to a certain town. Rabbi Avuhu asked, “why should we go to a place of blasphemers,” and in response Rabbi Shimon got off his donkey, picked up some sand, and put it in Rabbi Avuhu’s mouth, telling him “God does not want us to speak evil about the Jewish people”!
We can never insult our workers, children, or those in the community we serve. Tanya and I go to great pains never to call Hannah bad, or god forbid anything worse. Actions can be bad, irresponsible, misinformed, or just plain stupid, but the person is always good.
We need to be especially careful of lashon hara around what we consider to be matters of fact—saying things like “the people here are lazy,” or “the people here don’t really care about shabbes.” Even if we think it’s true, we are not allowed to say negative things about other people.
In addition, on a more basic level, a leader needs to have faith in his or her followers. Moses needed to believe that the Jews were basically good, were faithful, were just thirsty and a bit desperater. The moment a leader does not have faith in his followers, he can’t be their leader. The Netivot Shalom says that Moses needed to believe that each of his followers had a holy soul, a spark of God which cannot become unclean no matter how many sins they have committed. Faith in the basic goodness of each of his followers, that everybody has a basic drive to lead a holy life.
The same is true for any leader of the community. Our leaders need to have faith that every member of this congregation deep down desire to be an ehrlicher yid, an upright Jew leading an upright, mitzvah driven life. They might not be there yet entirely, but that is their basic desire.
A manager also needs to believe that their employees, deep down, want to do a good job. Management can’t be just by punishment, by fear; that doesn’t build a company where people want to do a good job. One of Toyota’s great managerial innovations was that workers’ quality improvement suggestions were taken seriously. Workers were empowered. Managers need to have a basic faith that workers want to do a good job, and empower them to do it. For sure, you might have hired a bad apple, who just wants to be lazy, and need to take appropriate actions. But most people deserve and need this benefit of the doubt.
Children also need this benefit of the doubt, the faith that deep down they want to do the right thing. Fear of punishment only goes so far in training children to be good. Children do not become good by being punished, and when punishment becomes abusive, it actually makes children worse. By believing in a child’s basic goodness, in their desire to do good, we nurture that part of them, and help them become good people.
So Moses’ failure here teaches us some basic lessons about leadership and parenting. We should never be harsh—we need to believe in peoples’ basic goodness, and take the time to explain how we need them to act. We should never insult them. And we should not overdo it, but just rebuke once and then forgive.
May God help us be sensitive and kind with all our words, especially with those we have authority over, with our workers, with our spouses and children, and with our community members, and may all of our words only build up those around us.

Carbon Cap Petition
The EPA is considering regulating Carbon emissions. Climate change is a massive threat we are creating for next generation, which has already started to destroy so much of God’s creation. Our responsibility as Jews to do all we can to fight it both through how we live our lives & through advocacy. On website: link to article, which has link to a petition. Please read the article and consider signing the petition.