Parashat Bechukotai (5760)
With God’s help, on the eve of the holy Sabbath, Parashat Bechukotai, 5760
“And you shall be driven mad by the sight that your eyes shall see”
Our portion opens: “If you walk in My statutes and keep My commandments… I shall grant peace in the land, and you shall lie down
with none to frighten you… you shall pursue your enemies… and I shall walk among you and be your God.” But on the other hand:
“But if you do not heed Me and do not perform all these commandments… then I too shall do this to you… you shall be struck down before
your enemies, and those who hate you shall rule over you, and you shall flee though none pursues you… and your land shall become desolate and your cities
shall lie in ruins.”
Some interpret the portion as a prophecy specific to a particular historical period, but it is clear that it also contains
a message valid for all periods and situations: the material condition of the people of Israel is determined by the degree of
its Jewishness.
On several occasions in the past, there were those who attributed disasters that befell us to certain transgressions from which Israeli society
suffers. Immediately, of course, a public outcry arose: how could they possess such knowledge from behind the curtain?
Yet, what can one do? In this portion God Himself violates the rules of political correctness and links
the people’s material condition to its spiritual level. Clearly, we have no definite way of knowing precisely because of
what each disaster occurs, but on the other hand that changes nothing. We do have a clear way of knowing what
is desirable in God’s eyes and what is not. For that we were given Torah and sound reason. If so, let
even little me be permitted to imitate God, to deviate once again from the rules of political correctness,
and to state: when our condition cries out to heaven, we must examine our spiritual level.
And our condition indeed cries out. The way we conduct ourselves publicly today admits of no rational explanation.
Have you ever heard of a state in whose sovereign territory civilians and soldiers are shelled for years
from a neighboring country, and which announces that it will “respond at a place and time of its choosing”? That same land
of make-believe, after deciding to withdraw from Lebanon, has its enfeebled security officials “surprised
and concerned by the collapse of the South Lebanon Army,” our allies whom we betrayed (as always), and who seek
clemency to save their humiliated lives and are not answered. A state that, on the very day officers of its army are wounded (by weapons
it itself supplied), decides (in parliament and government) to hand over control of the suburbs of its capital
to the very terrorists who did it? What would France do in such cases? That same wonderland,
which, after about a year of preparations for a unilateral withdrawal from Lebanon, now finds itself in completely uncontrolled chaos
of a panicked flight from there, with no conformity at all to the planned timetable.
One of the results of severance from commandment observance, as described in our portion, is flight with no pursuer. This is
our condition today: we are “fleeing and stumbling over one another,” even though there is simply “no pursuer.” The strongest army
in the region, out of all proportion to the opposing armies and organizations, flees as if seized by madness
from every front on which it is in conflict—in the north, the center, and the south. The only front on which it is
not fleeing is the Syrian front, and that too only because Syria, the “mighty superpower,” is not
willing to “allow us” to hand over the Golan without any compensation. Since the Yom Kippur War,
I cannot recall a single military mission in which we have succeeded. We are failing on every front, and our power
of deterrence, once so famous, has long since become an outdated myth.
At the beginning of the week, when I first wrote the present passage, the Lebanese catastrophe had not yet arisen
on the scale it later reached, even though everything was foreseeable. Any ordinary citizen, with
a bit of common sense, could have foreseen the situation that developed. A number of politicians and officers, who apparently
were endowed with a rather modest portion of the above-mentioned scarce commodity, failed to do so.
Our public conduct, here as in many other areas, cannot be described
except as blindness, or madness, or a combination of the two. Madness on this scale cannot
be given any rational explanation; it is truly a cuckoo’s nest. The only explanation is: “If you reject My statutes…”
For us, the spiritual determines the material.
In our present condition, everything that runs contrary to the Jewish identity of the state receives intensive backing from
the media, the judicial system, and other elites. By contrast, any action that seeks to establish such an identity
is immediately classified as intolerance, incitement, racism, anti-democratic behavior, primitiveness,
and so forth. One of the peaks of this phenomenon is when the president of the Supreme Court interprets the constitutional principle
“a Jewish and democratic state” in an entirely postmodern manner, as “a
democratic state.” The court over which he presides often behaves in a way utterly detached
from the public’s values, from the Jewish identity of the state (also in the national sense, and not only the religious one),
and, it seems to me, from reality as well. They do as they please, and anyone who dares criticize them is immediately denounced
as “undermining the foundations of democracy.”
Our portion teaches us that this is our fundamental problem: disconnection from Jewish identity.
The fact is that those who are cut off from Judaism are also the ones who suffer more than anyone from that same
mad blindness. If we continue to allow them to set the public tone, we will very quickly reach the edge of the abyss.
“Our dread and fear will fall upon all the nations” only “if you walk in My statutes.” If not,
“our cities will lie in ruins” (see Kiryat Shmona), and we will continue to flee with no pursuer. No
policy changes, coalitions, or other measures will help here.
This may sound mystical, but facts are hard to dispute. Ben-Gurion already said that in Israel, whoever
does not believe in miracles is not realistic. The special providence over the people of Israel means that its
spiritual condition is reflected directly in its material condition. Judaism is neither folklore nor a luxury. For us
it is a basic existential necessity.
Peaceful Sabbath.
May be deposited for respectful disposal at any synagogue or Torah academy. Comments and responses are welcome.
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With God’s help, Jerusalem Day, on the eve of the holy Sabbath, Parashat Bemidbar, 5760
Staffing public offices: aristocracy and democracy
Our portion mentions the replacement of the firstborn by members of the tribe of Levi. Until now the firstborn had been chosen to serve
before the Lord, and now, after they sinned with the calf, the Levites (and the priests, who are also from the tribe of Levi) replace
them in that role. Also in the census of the children of Israel described in the portion, the tribe of Levi is counted separately from the rest of
the people. The tribe of Levi, like the firstborn who served before it, has a privileged status, determined on the basis of
lineage rather than deeds and qualities.
The Sages describe three crowns: the crown of priesthood, given to the descendants of Aaron the priest; the crown of kingship, given
to the house of David; and the crown of Torah, which lies in a corner, and whoever wishes may come and take it. Unlike the other two
crowns, the crown of Torah is intended for anyone prepared to take it. It is granted according to
ability and effort, not pedigree.
The Sages said: “A Torah scholar of illegitimate birth takes precedence over an ignorant High Priest.” Here there is a description of the bearer
of the crown of Torah as someone not necessarily of distinguished origin (even a person of illegitimate birth can be a Torah scholar),
and there is also a hierarchy among the crowns: the crown of Torah takes precedence over the crown of priesthood.
The Torah’s view is that there are roles intended for the “well-born,” and there are roles intended
for those suited to them. In halakhic literature there are many discussions of which offices pass by inheritance
and which are “open to competition,” in which the worthy candidate is chosen. These discussions (most of them held in exile) deal
with synagogue wardenship, cantorial office, teaching, headship of an academy, and more, but something can be learned from them also regarding
more modern officeholders. Today the “class-based” approach seems outdated, and a democratic conception prevails
holding that positions should be filled solely according to qualifications, and not
granted to any “well-born” person of whatever sort.
It seems to me that both approaches have advantages, but also disadvantages. A person destined for a certain role
from birth naturally receives training appropriate to that role from earliest childhood. Such training does not
consist only of acquiring knowledge, but also orientation, responsibility, proper conduct, and the like—things
that are no less important and yet harder to impart in professional training courses. On the other hand,
a situation in which roles are guaranteed in advance to certain population groups can create
corruption and a lack of seriousness. If the role is guaranteed, there is no reason for me to adapt myself
to its demands and behave appropriately.
Both approaches carry a price, and in these days we see this very clearly; therefore it is important to understand for which
types of roles each should be adopted. Democracy, despite the tendency to support it, is not
necessarily preferable.[1]
Another important component in the Torah conception of filling offices is the possibility of divine intervention.
Although the firstborn held the senior roles in the service of the Lord, and ostensibly
their status as a group was secure, God intervenes after they sin with the calf and transfers the role
to another group. We see that God does not instruct us to change the approach in a democratic direction, but
He does shift the privileged status from the firstborn to the Levites. This is an optimal approach. On the one hand,
the role is by birth, and therefore the training one receives for it is better. On the other hand, the corruption that can
grow out of such a situation is prevented because the role is not guaranteed. God can change the
“privileged” class and replace it with another.[2]
In our day, when divine intervention is absent, the halakhic approach too undergoes a metamorphosis
in a more democratic direction. Remnants of the original approach remain, as in Hasidism for example, and indeed there are
prices to be paid for this. It seems that the upbringing of people for public leadership is positively affected
very significantly by their growing up and being educated in a household of greatness. On the other hand, it is hard to deny that there are
also phenomena of “politicization” and corruption bound up with this form of leadership. Sometimes people are appointed
who are unworthy simply because of their lineage, and this of course leaves its mark on their leadership.
This picture sheds light on the proper attitude toward the democratic position in general. Today, when we
must stand on our own feet, whether we like it or not, there is no choice
but to adopt more democratic norms (an approach that has support in halakhic literature as well). In the future,
when the divine presence in the world will be more direct, and when we will have prophets to assist
in our relationship with the divine, there may perhaps be room to reconsider the proper way of filling roles.
We must not cling to norms that prevailed in a world of different characteristics, a world that has for the present passed away; but on the other hand it is also important not to cling uncritically to modern norms, which are likewise not
free of defects.
“Restore our judges as at first, and our counselors as at the beginning.”
Peaceful Sabbath.
May be deposited for respectful disposal at any synagogue or Torah academy. Comments and responses are welcome.
———————–
[1] It is interesting to note that Maimonides also describes a democratic aspect of the role of the Levite, which is ostensibly class-based,
and he writes (at the end of the Laws of Sabbatical and Jubilee Years): “Not only the tribe of Levi, but every single person from among all who enter
the world whose spirit generously moves him and whose understanding gives him insight to set himself apart and stand before the Lord, to serve Him and worship Him, to know
the Lord, and who walks uprightly as God made him, and removes from his neck the yoke of the many calculations that
people seek—such a person is sanctified as holy of holies, and the Lord will be his portion and inheritance forever and ever,
and He will grant him in this world what is sufficient for him, just as He granted to the priests and the Levites.”
[2] It seems to me that the Levites represent a different kind of class structure than the firstborn. The Levite is born into a Levite household,
and can therefore receive an education suited to that role. The firstborn is born into an ordinary household, and thus loses some of
the advantages of class-based functioning. The replacement of the firstborn by the Levites actually moves in a more
class-based and less democratic direction. If one adopts a class-based approach, it should at least be done fully.
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With God’s help, on the eve of the festival of Shavuot, 5760
“A Voice Emerging from Silence”: A Liturgical Poem for the Festival of the Giving of the Torah
The festival of Shavuot is a festival without distinctive features, a solemn assembly. Its connection to the giving of the Torah is problematic
in terms of the exact date (there is a difference of one day), and it seems that this association appeared only later. Its name
apparently hints that it is the conclusion of the counting of the Omer (seven “weeks”), and Nahmanides likewise explains
that from Passover to Shavuot this is one extended festival. According to this conception, Shavuot is the “eighth-day assembly” of
Passover. The obscurity in the nature of the festival also finds expression in the commandments absent from it. Unlike all
the other festivals, Shavuot has no commandment that uniquely defines it, apart from the ordinary festival obligations (offerings,
refraining from labor, the sanctification rite, and the like, as on every festival).
This festival is enveloped in silence.
This phenomenon reminds us of the silence that prevailed at Mount Sinai at the giving of the Torah. After the great tumult
(the voices and the lightning), not even a bird chirped. After Elijah the prophet’s scene at Mount Carmel
(which parallels the giving of the Torah in several respects), we again find great tumult, followed by silence: “The Lord is not
in the tumult.” The giving of the Torah took place in silence, and were it not for the tumult that preceded that silence, some
people might not even have sensed that it was being given.
Rashi, in his commentary on the verses in Kings that describe Elijah the prophet’s vision, cites:
“I heard that there is a voice that emerges from the silence.” Within the silence there is a voice (more precisely, a heavenly echo) that
it carries within it, and one must know how to listen to it. There are those who need noise in order to direct their attention
to the quiet that follows it, and there are those who do not need this. But there are also those for whom the noise
captures all their attention, and they do not notice at all the silence that follows it.
I once wrote in this column that there is a positive commandment to desist from labor on the Sabbath. This cessation constitutes
a kind of silencing of all the noise, in order to listen to the voice that rises from the silence thereby created. On the Day of Atonement
we silence even our sensory enjoyment, and not only labor, not only creative activity.
In such a state one can grasp more deeply the voice that rises from the silence. On the festival of the giving of the Torah there is absolute silence;
the festival was not even given a commandment of its own. We silence even the higher part
of ourselves, the divine part entrusted with performing commandments. We need only listen carefully to what remains
afterward, and at least understand that there is such a thing.
Do we really believe that we were created in order to eat (the Day of Atonement comes to challenge that), or perhaps in order
to work (for that comes the Sabbath), or even in order to perform commandments (Shavuot)? All these constitute
only a partial picture of reality. What is usually called “reality” is noise that envelops the true reality,
the hidden one. After all the systems—higher and lower—are switched off, a voice emerges from
the silence: “I am the Lord your God.” The voice of faith.
There are halakhic decisors who did not count “I am the Lord your God” as a positive commandment. The commandments are not the highest part of
spiritual reality; they are only its material expression. They are external forms that come to awaken us
to listen to the voice that emerges from the silence within them. There are those who think there is a way to bypass
this material expression and reach that inner dimension directly, not through the practical part, the “noise.”
God teaches us that it does not work that way; this is a necessary passageway. Still, even one who observes
the commandments may do so with the feeling that they are an end in themselves, whereas they are only
external expressions of that inner essence. One day, in the future, there will be such a state: “the commandments will be annulled
in the time to come.”
There are people whose lives revolve around concrete systems, some higher and some lower. On the lower level
are those who “live in order to work and work in order to live.” Higher up are those
occupied with performing commandments and various spiritual pursuits, but their motivations are found
within this world. Even the moral rules that guide them are drawn from the modes of thought current in the
this world. I do not in the least disparage such human morality, but it is still only a partial picture. Within
this human morality there is hidden a divine element, a kind of “voice rising from the silence.” At times it
seems contradictory, at times disconnected, irrelevant, and certainly not fully grasped. But the thought
that nothing is hidden in the silence is a terrible mistake. Within every “noise” there is hidden quiet, and out of every
quiet a voice rises.
Philosophers, and certainly scientists, often attend to the “noise,” to what is rationally articulated as it
appears concretely before our eyes. The Greeks, as Nahmanides says, thought that what is not apprehended by the senses
does not exist. They did not understand that a proof contains nothing beyond the insight already within it. Philosophers
of a more refined kind, like Wittgenstein at the end of his Tractatus, understand that: “Whereof one cannot
spea, thereof one must be silent.” Poets, whose art is to speak of what cannot
be spoken of, grasp this “phenomenon” (which does not appear, and therefore perhaps does not deserve the name
“phenomenon”), and write lines such as: “For there is silence within the storms; there is hidden light in the darkness
that has passed away.” Hasidic masters expressed this too in various ways: “One can cry out in a voice of subtle silence.”
And Rabbi Nachman, the great master of silence, said: “When a person has something to cry out about, and wants to cry out, but
cannot cry out—this is the greatest cry of all.” And about this our Sages already said: a word
is worth one sela; silence is worth two.
“The sounds of silence are higher than the sounds of speech” (the Baal Shem Tov).
A joyous festival and a peaceful Sabbath.
May be deposited for respectful disposal at any synagogue or Torah academy. Comments and responses are welcome.
Biton41.doc