Kehilat Beta Yisrael

Parashat Naso 5786
Torah reading: Num.4:21 – 7:89
HafTorah reading: Judges 13:2 – 25

Parashat Summary for Parashat Naso
Note: The Shabbos Torah Reading is divided into 7 sections. Each section is called an Aliya [literally: Go up] since for each Aliya, one person “goes up” to make a bracha [blessing] on the Torah Reading.
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1st Aliya: The family of Gershon is assigned to carry the curtains and tapestries of the Mishkan. The family of Merrari is assigned to carry the beams, poles, and sockets that comprised the walls of the Mishkan.
2nd Aliya: The families of Gershon and Merrari are counted.
3rd Aliya: The laws regarding sending out of the camp: the Mitzora, the Zav (a type of discharge), and anyone who has come in contact with a dead body, are stated. The law of stealing from a convert (making restitution if someone steals from a convert who then dies without any heirs) is commanded.
4th Aliya: The laws and procedures for the Sotah – the accused adulteress; and the Nazir are explained.
5th, 6th, & 7th Aliyot: The Korbonos offered by the princes of each Shevet at the inauguration of the Mizbeach are listed.

Haftorah Naso
Shoftim 13:2
Around the year 2790 – 971 b.c.e., the Bnai Yisroel were subject to the rule of the Pilishtim. In the year 2810 – 951, Shimshon became the Judge – Shofet of the nation and served his people as both their greatest Tzadik and greatest warrior. This week’s Haftorah tells the story of Manoach and his wife, the parents of Shimshon (Shoftim Cap. 13).
Manoach’s wife was barren, and in response to her Tefilos, Hashem sent an Angel, disguised as a man, to tell Manoach’s wife of her impending pregnancy. The child would have to be a Nazir from the moment of his conception, and he would grow up to save the Jews from their enemies.
Manoach requested from Hashem that the “man” appear a second time, and the Angel appeared a second time. The same instructions were repeated to both Manoach and his wife, after which Manoach invited the “man” to join them for a meal. The “man” refused the invitation but suggested to Manoach that he offer a Korban to Hashem. Manoach did so, and as the flame rose to consume the offering, the “man” entered the flames and disappeared. Manoach and his wife then realized that the “man” was really an Angel, and understood the divine significance of their, yet to be born, child.
The connection to our Parashat is the fact that Shimshon was to be a Nazir. The commentaries explain that in contrast to the laws of the Sotah – the accused adulteress, it was the merit of Manoach’s wife which brought about the birth of Shimshon.
Shimshon is among the most difficult figures in Israeli’s history to understand.

Chapter 2, Mishna 5(b): Fighting G-d's Wars
Hillel said, do not separate from the community, do not trust yourself till the day you die, do not judge your fellow until you reach his place, do not make a statement which cannot be understood which will [only] later be understood, and do not say when I have free time I will learn, lest you not have free time.
Last week we discussed Hillel’s first statement, of the importance of being a part of the community. We now move on to his next equally-significant teaching: that we not trust ourselves till the day we die.
The simple idea behind this is that we can never relax in our service of G-d. We have never just “made it.” There is no sitting back and enjoying that homecoming celebration after triumphing over life’s challenges — for they are still with us. The Talmud writes that every day a man’s evil inclination gains strength and attempts to overpower him — and would do just that if not for G-d’s Divine assistance (Sukkah 52b). The fact that we’ve served G-d so admirably yesterday and the day before is no assurance we’ll do the same today. New challenges always come our way — as well as old ones which have never really been put to rest. We might simply be caught off our guard after so many years of religious service. Or, we might not recognize the new challenges which come along, nor will we necessarily know how to face them.
It is a known phenomenon that parents in less traditional families are often wiser of the ways of the world and better know how to protect their children from negative influences, whereas strictly religious families just have no idea what hit them. There are drug problems in the Orthodox world — as well as Internet problems (let’s just call them that). Nothing is certain in life. We might have the greatest track record in the world — for many generations back, but sometimes the slightest temptation which catches us off-balance might make the entire edifice come tumbling down.
And the challenges are endless. We might become so used to serving G-d that it all becomes mechanical and habitual. Our Judaism might become so ingrained that it grows stale. And we will be unable to recognize the new challenges that face us as we grow older. (Try telling a 80 year old man he’s doing something wrong and needs improvement. Personally, I don’t even try. I have a very practical life rule never to argue with anyone twenty years older than I (which 80 still is — for now). Whatever they do is fine…) Our evil inclinations do not rest. The Talmud states quite frankly that there is only one place in which we can truly live worry-free and secure in our accomplishments: the grave (see Sotah 21a).
But there’s a far more sinister aspect to this. There is an unfortunate — but wholly logical — principle in Judaism. The Talmud states: “One who is greater than his fellow has a more powerful evil inclination than he” (Sukkah 52a). The greater we are, the greater our challenges will be. And theologically, this makes perfect sense. For free will to be upheld, G-d must maintain an equilibrium in the world. The greater I am, the more difficult my challenges must be — or otherwise I would have no real temptation to sin. And if I am not tempted, life not challenging. And if life is not challenging, my good deeds themselves are no longer meaningful. Thus, in order to maintain the realistic possibility of sin, G-d must preserve a balance in the world — a fulcrum precariously poised between the forces of good and evil.
On a practical level, however, this requires some explanation. If I, Dovid Rosenfeld, have never stepped into a MacDonald’s before in my life, it’s not likely I’m going to do so in the very near future. I have no temptation to eat a Big Mac, and I question the sanity of anyone who would actually want to eat an arachnid-resembling lobster. If so, wouldn’t we say my challenges are higher than those of my fellow? Perhaps I will slip and arrive five minutes later than I wanted to morning synagogue services, but aren’t the temptations I’m challenged with so much “higher” and less pernicious? Doesn’t it seem that — thanks to my parents and background — in certain ways at least my evil inclination has backed off and conceded defeat?
Unfortunately, the case is the exact opposite. As we grow, our evil inclination grows with us — and it will become far more subtle and sinister. Yes, it would not ask us to do overtly sinful acts. We will have outgrown the “simple” stuff; we won’t walk into a MacDonald’s. But our evil inclination is far wilier than that, and the greater we are, the more cunning it becomes. With appalling success, it will use our very righteousness against us. It will bring us to arrogance, causing us to look down upon others not as pious. Further, it will convince us that we’re so righteous that everything we do is sincere and justified. Acts of hatred and fanaticism will appear as religious zeal and righteous wrath. We’ll be so sure of ourselves that anyone less holy will be fair game. Our evil inclination will dress wickedness as righteousness — and we’ll pursue that with equal fanaticism. The increasingly fine line between good and evil will become ever more blurred — and our failure to discern the good will become ever more catastrophic.
Allow me to illustrate this. The Mishna states that with very few exceptions, “All of Israel has a share in the World to Come” (Sanhedrin 10:1). Our default position, bequeathed by our forefathers as our national heritage, is to have a connection to G-d and a place in eternity. We have to actively “blow it” to lose that share.
The mishna there then proceeds to list seven people who were exceptions to this rule — individuals from Scripture who did not receive their share in the hereafter. It’s interesting — and sobering — to note that according to our tradition most of these wicked men were Torah scholars of the highest caliber, almost unmatched in their generations. One such man was Do’eg, chief adviser to King Saul and head of the Sanhedrin (high court) of his time. Because he believed the future King David to be an enemy to Saul’s throne, he gave orders to wipe out the Priestly city of Nov for having unwittingly offered David asylum. When even the soldiers refused to commit such an atrocity, he personally slew the entire city — man, woman and child. (See I Samuel, Chapter 22.)
What brought Do’eg to such horrific evil? It is exactly as we wrote. Do’eg was so scholarly and beyond his peers that he knew just what G-d wanted better than anyone else. David was a traitor in his eyes — and besides, David’s piety and popularity had aroused Do’eg’s jealousy. And so, everything became justified in Do’eg’s holy war. Convince yourself that you’re G-d’s holy envoy, and anything you do will be justified and assume sacred dimensions. What any common soldier knew to be reprehensible evil became heroism in his eyes. Zealousness has a way of making the world appear very different from how it looks to the common-sense man. And when one is totally sure of himself, there is no limit to what he can do.
Thus, the greater a person is, the more terrible the evil he is capable of perpetrating. One who sees himself as G-d’s fierce defender, who believes so utterly in his principles (which only the greatest among us do) — when those principles become ever so slightly corrupted — is capable of the greatest and most terrible acts of destruction. Such people possess the potential for tremendous good. But their potential for evil — if their evil inclination gets the better of them — is equally awesome and terrible
(The original version of this class was written well over 20 years ago. Since then, we have unfortunately been blessed with the hindsight of living post 9/11, 2001. The world today has learned ever more strongly of the deadly and catastrophic evil man is capable of when in his insanity he convinces himself he is acting in the name of G-d.)
And this is not limited to sensational acts of heroism and mass destruction. One final example of this phenomenon, also from Scripture, comes to mind. In the first verses of the Book of Samuel, we read of Elkanah and his two wives, Chana and Penina. Penina was blessed with children while Chana, to her profound sadness, was not — until she poured out her heart in prayer to the Almighty and was blessed with the future Prophet Samuel (as well as other children). Verse 6 states that Penina, in her cruelty, actually mocked Chana for her childlessness. (She got her just desserts in the end; she lost most of her children as Chana began having hers.) The Talmud tells us that amazingly, Penina mocked Chana “for the sake of Heaven,” i.e., with sincere intentions, for she wanted her co-wife’s feelings aroused so she would pray to Heaven with more intensity (Bava Basra 16a).
The Kotzker Rebbe, one of the all-time great Chassidic masters, posed the following question. From where did the Talmud infer that Penina had sincere intentions? There is nothing in Scripture that gives one that impression?
He answered quite simply: Our Sages realized it must have been so, for there is no one on the face of this earth who could be so cruel and heartless as to make fun of a barren woman — unless she was doing it for the sake of Heaven.
Well, there’s our point — exactly. What the simplest individual knows to be terrible cruelty is justified in the eyes of one who feels he acts in the Name of G-d — and is even a good deed. The more a person believes — or convinces himself — that his acts are for the sake of Heaven, the harder it is to arrest his course of action, and the more effort he will place in spiritual self-justification. All throughout Jewish history until this very day, some of the ugliest and most irreligious acts were perpetrated in the name of religion (in other religions as well, to be sure). Battles between Chassidim and Misnagdim (as well as between different groups of Chassidim — and as well as between Catholics and Protestants, Christians and Muslims, etc.) immediately come to mind. The more religious we are, the more strongly we feel (and should feel) about our convictions, and the more greatness as well as awesome destruction we become capable of.
Anyway, speaking of getting carried away in religious fervor, I think I’m beginning to exceed the bounds of even my usually-too-lengthy Pirkei Avos. We will wrap up this discussion G-d willing next week and will hopefully complete the remainder of this mishna as well.

Chapter 2, Mishna 5(a): United We Stand
Hillel said, do not separate from the community, do not trust yourself till the day you die, do not judge your fellow until you reach his place, do not make a statement which cannot be understood which will [only] later be understood, and do not say when I have free time I will learn, lest you not have free time.
This week’s mishna was authored by Hillel, to whom we were introduced in Chapter 1, Mishnas 12-14. Hillel was one of the great scholars of the early generations of the Mishna and of the late Second Temple era, of approximately the 1st century B.C.E. This mishna presents us with a collection of his short sayings, all of them invaluable and deserving our careful attention. We will study each one separately.
Hillel first tells us not to separate ourselves from the community. One should not feel he is an island, that he neither needs the rest of his community nor need share in their suffering. The Talmud states: “When the community is suffering, one may not say ‘I will go to my house, eat and drink, and I will be fine'” (Ta’anis 11a).
A common mindset one hears nowadays, whether spoken or not and on both the personal and national levels, is “It’s not my problem.” If people are suffering on the other side of the world (or two blocks away) it doesn’t affect me, so why should I care? Needless to say, such is a very UN-Jewish attitude. As we will learn later, one of the traits of the Torah scholar is “bearing the yoke with his fellow” (6:6, Way 37). We should care if others are suffering — whether in the form of massacres in Homs or a neighbor whose teenage child isn’t coping. Our care may translate into direct involvement, financial assistance, or at the very least (or maybe not so least) prayer for those in need. The Talmud writes, “One who is able to pray for mercy for another but does not is called a sinner” (Brachos 12b). There is certainly some way that all of us, no matter how distant and removed, can help.
Regardless, however, of what we do about it — and of course we can’t solve all the world’s problems and priorities must be established — we must certainly care about others. And it does not stem from some altruistic sense of universal sympathy for mankind — nor some selfish sense that it may happen to us one day and we’ll need their help. It is because we all share the world together and we are all children of G-d. And if another child is suffering, he is my brother.
There is a further aspect to the importance of community — one which applies in particular to the Jewish people. When G-d entrusted Israel with the Torah and its national mission, it was not as a collection of great individuals. It was as a nation.
On the one hand, the Book of Genesis is the story of great individuals, of men such as Abraham who discovered G-d and followed His call. Exodus, by contrast, is not a book about individuals, but about a nation. It does not focus on great personalities — save a few brief incidents which outlined Moses’s development as a leader. As scholars have noted, we read the first few chapters of Exodus and we are struck that practically no names appear: “And a man went from the House of Levi and he married the daughter of Levi” (2:1). “And his sister stood at a distance to know what would be done to him” (v. 4). The greatest Jews of the generation (Amram, Yocheved, Miriam) are no-names, fading into obscurity.
The reason for this is because the Book of Exodus — the story of G-d redeeming us and making us His chosen nation — was not concerned with individuals. G-d selected us as a nation, not as a collection of people, however great. When Israel stood at Sinai to receive the Torah, the verse states that “Israel camped there opposite the mountain” (Exodus 19:2). The Midrash, noting that Israel is there referred to in the singular (as one singular nation), comments: “as one man with one heart.” We were united and G-d selected us. Only together can we truly serve G-d.
As I once heard R. Yitzchak Breitowitz point it, this is true firstly in a very literal sense. The Torah contains 613 mitzvos (commandments), yet no one Jew can perform all of them. Some mitzvos apply only to priests (such as the Temple service), while some apply only to non-priests (burial of the dead); some apply only to men, and some only to women (laws of family purity). When G-d commanded us in all 613, His intention was that we perform them as a nation.
In addition, some of us are clearly more suited for some areas of Judaism than others. Some are scribes, some (not me) can slaughter animals or perform circumcisions, some are educators, some are supporters of Torah, some are thinkers or visionaries, some down-to-earth doers, etc. The mitzvos were given to a nation, in which if each and every one of us, using his or her own unique and G-d-given talents, performs his or her part, Israel in its entirety becomes “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exodus 19:6).
Finally, this message is equally relevant on a community-wide level. We must serve and stand before G-d as a united community. The Sages seem to almost want sinners to be included in our synagogues and congregations. The Talmud writes that any fast day which does not include the sinners of Israel (who are of course also fasting and attempting to be a part of the gathering) is not a fast day, for chelbina (galbanum), a bitter smelling spice, was an ingredient of the daily incense offering in the Temple (Kerisos 6b). For better or worse, it takes all kinds to make a nation.
Likewise, the synagogue services on Yom Kippur begin with a proclamation permitting prayer with transgressors. We don’t want to rule out anyone (who wants to pray), regardless of how he acted the rest of the year. Were we really such paragons of virtue ourselves? We must approach G-d as a community, as an all-inclusive assembly of G-d. Once we start rejecting people, even the ones most wicked or distasteful to us, we go from being an all-inclusive nation of G-d to an assortment of individuals — the ones we happen to get along with. And as individuals we will never withstand G-d’s exacting and scrutinizing judgment. United we have a chance of surviving; divided, forget it.
(On the other hand, there are people who openly and knowingly reject the most fundamental principles of Judaism — belief in G-d or in the divinity of the Torah etc. — and not from a lack of knowledge or education, but from an utter contempt of G-d’s word. Such people have willingly removed themselves from the fold, and there is no obligation to include them. We try to be all-inclusive, but we are still a community of G-d.)
There is an important exception to the above, to being a part of the community. And that is if the society in which we live becomes degenerate. Maimonides (Mishne Torah, Hilchos De’os 6:1) writes as follows:
“The nature of man is to be influenced both in outlook and deed by his friends and to act in the manner of the people of his country. Therefore, one should strive to befriend the righteous… so that he will learn their ways. He should likewise avoid the wicked… If he lives in a country where the customs are evil and its inhabitants do not follow the upright path, he should move to a place where the people are righteous and act properly. And if all the countries he knows about act improperly as in our times (emphasis mine), or if he cannot move to a different country… he should dwell alone [dissociated from others] … And if [this too is impractical] … he should move out to the caves and wilderness, and not accustom himself to the ways of sin.”
We should care about others and want to be involved with them and enlighten them. Yet we may never allow this to cause us to sacrifice our own G-d-given standards of ethics and morality. If the society in which we live drops all adherence to moral standards, (Are things really better today than they were in Maimonides’ time?) we are left with no choice. No one can take on a whole country, no matter how strong his convictions and compelling his arguments. And when matters get that bad, we must simply bow out: withdraw within ourselves, preserve what we may, and pray that G-d bring better times.

Parashat Bamidbar 5786
Torah reading: Num.1:1 – 4:20
HafTorah reading: I Sam. 20:18 – 42

Parashat Summary for Parashat Bamidbar
Note: The Shabbos Torah Reading is divided into 7 sections. Each section is called an Aliya [literally: Go up] since for each Aliya, one person “goes up” to make a bracha [blessing] on the Torah Reading.
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1st & 2nd Aliyot: Moshe counts all males over the age of 20, and registers them according to their paternal ancestry. The total, not including Shayvet Layvie, was 603,550. The total number of Jews was around 3 million.
3rd Aliya: The tribes are each assigned their position within the camp, and in the order of the traveling.
4th Aliya: In preparation for separating the tribe of Layvie, the Torah establishes Aharon’s genealogy. Although the Kohanim were also from the Tribe of Layvie, they were counted by themselves.
5th Aliya: Moshe counts the Leviyim according to their three basic families: Gershon, Kehas, and Mirarri. Their individual responsibilities in transporting the Mishkan is stated, and their total was 22,000.
6th Aliya: Being that the Leviyim were to be in direct exchange for the first born, Moshe counts all the first born in the rest of the nation. Their total was 22,273. The extra 273 first born are instructed to redeem themselves from Aharon the Kohain for 5 silver shekels.
7th Aliya: The Parashat concludes with detailed instructions for the family of Kahas. Their primary responsibility was to transport the vessels of the Mishkan. Only Aharon and his sons were allowed to cover the vessels in preparation for transport. Once covered, the family of Kahas did the actual carrying.

Chapter 2, Mishna 4: The World's User's Guide
He [Rabban Gamliel] used to say: Do His will as your will in order that He do your will as His will. Annul your will before His will in order that He annul the will of others before your will.
This mishna instructs us to not only follow G-d’s will, but to make G-d’s will our own. We are not only to perform the mitzvos (commandments), but to want to do nothing else. This seems a daunting and near impossible challenge, yet it is in essence the challenge of Judaism.
We must establish an important principle to begin to appreciate our mishna. It is one which is unfortunately often overlooked, certainly from outside the religious world but tragically sometimes even within. Parts of the following are based on a lecture heard from R. Noach Weinberg OBM of Yeshiva Aish Hatorah, Jerusalem.
There is a common misconception about Torah observance and Judaism in general. We often view the Torah as a set of commands whose primary purpose is to enable us to earn a share in the World to Come. More precisely, we see the Torah as a means of being miserable down here so that after a lifetime of struggle and deprivation, we will acquire our share in the hereafter. We would much rather enjoy ourselves and live as we please down here, but (perhaps) it is worth denying ourselves this world in order to get a share of the next one.
That perspective, however, is wrong — dead wrong to be precise. And even more, it misses the entire message of Judaism.
The Torah is not a book about the World to Come, as we will see below. Rather, the Torah is a guidebook for living in this world. As R. Weinberg explains, whenever you buy an item of value, it typically comes with a set of instructions. Buy a vacuum cleaner and you’ll get a one-page instruction sheet (the warranty, changing the bag etc.). Buy a stereo system and you’ll get a pamphlet (setting the controls, cleaning, maintenance). Buy a car and you’ll get a book, a mainframe and you’ll get a shelf-full of wholly unreadable manuals.
Well, G-d gave us — He entrusted us — with something much greater and much more precious: that great big Spaceship Earth that we all reside upon and share with one another. G-d gave us a world in which we are to create civilizations, till the soil, develop relationships, build families, get along with one another, and share with millions of other species. What did He give us to operate it? How are we to live the most meaningful and rewarding type of existence on it? Where is the user’s guide? It is the Torah.
The Torah is not primarily a book which concerns itself with the World to Come. Amazingly, it talks very little about G-d per se (as in, attempting to give us some Kabbalistic understanding of who G-d actually is). And it makes virtually no mention of the World to Come or the Resurrection of the Dead — although such concepts are literally the cornerstones of our faith. The most the Torah (and by the Torah I mean Scripture — the written part of our tradition) ever seems to promise for our good deeds is bounty in this world: “And it will be, if you shall surely hearken unto My commandments… I will give you the rain of your land in its time, the autumn rains and the spring rains, and you will gather your grain, wine and oil.” (Deuteronomy 11:13-14). Doesn’t the Torah have anything grander and loftier to offer us than rain puddles and grain?
The answer is that the Torah is very much a “this world” book. It is not a book which tells us about G-d or religious theology — nor does it even bother to state that the true reward for our deeds will be in the next world. Rather, the Torah is the set of instructions G-d gave us for making sense of life and of human nature. It is a practical work — for healthy and meaningful living in this world: how to eat, how to marry, how to build relationships, how to combine Torah study and worldly involvement, and even how to relax on the Sabbath.
The Torah is thus a work which understands — and never denies — human nature. It knows what our needs are and what our natures are, and it enables us to sublimate every one of our drives and talents towards the spiritual. It provides us with the keys to happiness and fulfillment in this world: through the ideal combination of ritual and individuality, of discipline and personal self-expression. It allows both our bodies and souls to be satisfied and fulfilled. And when the Torah is observed properly, rather than denying the physical side of man making us “miserable”, both body and soul become fulfilled, transforming man into a single and complete being in the image of G-d.
(This incidentally is an issue the other great religions have grappled with far less successfully. I am certainly no expert on comparative religions, but my overall understanding is that Christianity has much more trouble relating to the physical side of man, sometimes seeing the ideal as celibacy and poverty. Islam on the other hand, not being able to discount such a central part of man’s makeup, seems to have subjugated the spiritual side of man to the physical. Their version of the “world to come” is a huge harem of virgins (at least for men — I’m not even sure what they offer women (perhaps one reason there are so far fewer female su***de bombers)). Judaism, however, has no such complex about the physical world. All aspects of humanity are purposeful and G-d-given. There is nothing which cannot be properly directed and turned into a vehicle for holiness.)
Thus, the rewards promised in Scripture are likewise limited to this world. The meaning is not, of course, that there will be nothing greater in the World to Come. The Talmud tells us, “There is no true reward in this world” (Kiddushin 39b). All this world truly has to offer is that nothing will go wrong: the rains and weather will cooperate, we won’t get sick, the human race won’t be wiped out by giant asteroid. True spiritual reward (and punishment) for our deeds is a thing of the next world. But the Written Torah, which deals with living in this world, does not focus on it. It rather tells us that if we serve G-d properly, the world — and especially the Land of Israel — will function in harmony with man — allowing us to serve G-d even better. Not only will our total selves — body and soul — be united in service of G-d, but the world itself will join mankind in complete perfection.
We can now begin to appreciate Rabban Gamliel’s advice in our mishna. We should want to do the mitzvos — not just in order to earn reward, but because we recognize that mitzvah observance is itself the reward. It is the most rewarding and fulfilling way to live on this earth. Of course, after our 120 years, the actual reward will come — and we will hardly have to settle for any moral clichés that virtue is its own reward. But Scripture provides us with a wholly accurate depiction of life: Serve G-d down here and you will be happy. I am giving you these commandments for your own sakes, not Mine.
And if we recognize that G-d’s will is what is best for us, He will do our will too. Our wants and His will no longer be separate. Our desire will be to serve G-d, to come closer to Him and to realize our own potential. We will want health, happiness and all the blessings but only in order to serve G-d better. And so, there will be a merging of wills. Both our will and G-d’s will become one and the same.