Advertise on podcast: Parasha Insight

In one of the most famous – and most misquoted – verses in the Torah, we are commanded in Parashat Kedoshim (19:18), "Ve'ahabta Le're'acha Kamocha' – "You shall love your fellow as yourself." I say "misquoted" because the command does not conclude with the word "Kamocha" ("as yourself"). The verse continues, "Ani Hashem" – "I am G-d." It stands to reason that the pronouncement "Ani Hashem" constitutes part of the definition of this command, and informs us about the kind of love that we are to feel toward our fellow. The Meshech Hochma (Rav Meir Simcha Ha'kohen of Dvinsk, 1843-1926) offers several explanations of this command, and for why the Torah adds, "Ani Hashem." One approach he suggests is that we are to love our fellow in the same manner that we are commanded to love Hashem. It goes without saying that we cannot see G-d, and we cannot perceive Him directly with any of our senses. Nevertheless, we are to strive to love Hashem, knowing that He is infinitely great, compassionate, kind and merciful. We are to long for a relationship with Him and to understand Him even though we cannot see Him with our eyes. This is true also of the love we are to feel and show to our fellow Jews. This love must not be dependent upon our experiences with them, or upon what we know about them. Just as we believe in Hashem's greatness even though we cannot see Him directly, similarly, we are to firmly believe in the greatness of Am Yisrael, in the precious value of our fellow Jew, even if we cannot see it. The Torah therefore adds, "Ani Hashem" – indicating that we must love our fellow Jews the way we love Hashem. This requires us, first and foremost, to feel love and concern even for Jews whom we've never met, and whom we know nothing about. When we hear that a Jew is in need in a different part of the world, then we must do what we can to help, and pray for that person, even though we know nothing about him or her. But additionally, this means that we are to love our fellow Jews whom we know but are not particularly impressed with, or don't particularly like. Just as we must love Hashem even though He occasionally does things which appear harsh and to our detriment, firmly believing in His goodness, we must similarly believe in the goodness of all our fellow Jews, even if we cannot see it. We are to recognize that although all people are flawed, every person has a precious soul and is worthy of our genuine love and respect. The Misva of "Ve'ahabta Le're'acha Kamocha," then, requires us to believe in the greatness of each of our fellow Jews irrespective of our experiences with them, and to thereby arouse our feelings of love toward them.

Much of Parashiyot Tazria-Mesora is devoted to the topic of Sara'at – the affliction that would befall a person on account of certain misdeeds, primarily, the grievous sin of Lashon Ha'ra, negative speech about other people. King David, in a famous verse in Tehillim (34:14), instructs us, "Nesor Leshoncha Me'ra" – "Guard your tongue from evil," urging us to refrain from Lashon Ha'ra. Curiously, this verse continues, "U'sfatecha Mi'daber Mirma" – "and your lips from speaking deceit." At first glance, this means that we are to refrain from both negative speech about other people, and also from misleading others through dishonesty. We must wonder, however, why the verse combines these two admonitions. Seemingly, these are two completely distinct ills – Lashon Ha'ra, and deceit. Why would David combine them into a single warning, urging us to restrain our mouths from both negative talk about people and from dishonesty? We might perhaps arrive at a new understanding of this verse by exploring the psychological underpinnings of the desire to speak Lashon Ha'ra, why we are so often and so naturally inclined to hear and share negative information about other people, and why we find it so difficult to refrain from such speech. The most common reason people enjoy speaking Lashon Ha'ra, I think, is to feel good about themselves. We are all human, and human beings, by definition, are flawed and imperfect. A person's flaws and imperfections make him uncomfortable, bringing feelings of shame, inadequacy and insecurity. Speaking of other people's failings works like a drug to alleviate this discomfort. Focusing one's attention on another person's inadequacies brings a sense of superiority, thereby allowing him to feel good about himself. This is the lure of Lashon Ha'ra, and why nearly every person feels tempted to speak negatively about others. Since every person has faults which make him uncomfortable, every person feels a natural impulse to alleviate this discomfort the easy way – by looking down on other people, by talking about what they do wrong. However, like with all "drugs," this is the wrong way to handle uncomfortable feelings. When the fleeting rush of excitement fades, the person is still left with his deficiencies, and thus with his feelings of insecurity. Looking down on other people temporarily blinds a person to his own faults, but those faults remain, and will continue to make him feel uneasy and insecure. This might be the meaning of the verse in Tehillim cited earlier. "Guard your tongue from evil, and your lips from speaking deceit." The "deceit" mentioned in this verse perhaps refers to the self-deception of Lashon Ha'ra. When one speaks Lashon Ha'ra, he deceives himself, pretending that he is more impressive and accomplished than he really is. Lashon Ha'ra is all about fooling oneself into thinking that he is great by pointing out the failings of other people. What, then, is the proper way to deal with our feelings of insecurity? How, as imperfect people, can we feel good about ourselves and our lives? The answer is found in the very next verse in Tehillim: "Sur Me'ra Va'aseh Tob" – "Turn away from evil, and do goodness." Quite simply, the way to feel good about ourselves is by trying to be better. Rather than deceiving ourselves, we should instead honestly acknowledge our faults, admit to ourselves that we – like all people – are imperfect and are meant to be imperfect, and try to be better. If we want to live in peace with ourselves, we need to stop fooling ourselves and to instead work hard to address our faults and improve. No, this will not bring the same excitement as hearing or sharing "juicy," unflattering gossip about the people around us. But it will have the long-term effect of making us feel good about ourselves, of bringing us peace of mind and real fulfillment, as we know that we are genuinely making an effort to live our best lives and be the best version of ourselves.

The Torah in Parashat Shemini tells the tragic story of Nadab and Abihu – two of Aharon's sons, who perished on the very first day they began serving as Kohanim in the Mishkan. After a special series of sacrifices were offered, with Aharon's sons performing the service for the first time, a fire descended from the heavens onto the altar and consumed the sacrifices, signalling the arrival of the Shechina (divine presence) into the Mishkan. Thereafter, Nadab and Abihu brought an incense offering, whereupon a fire came and consumed them. Rashi (10:2) brings different opinions as to the precise sin committed by Aharon's sons. One view – which appears in the Gemara (Erubin 63a) – is that of Rabbi Eliezer, who explains that "Horu Halacha Bi'fneh Moshe Rabban" – Nadab and Abihu were guilty of determining the Halacha without consulting with their Rabbi, Moshe. They reasoned that although a supernatural fire came down onto the altar from the heavens, there was nevertheless a requirement for the Kohanim to kindle a fire of their own on the altar, and this is the reason why they brought their offering. In truth, this conclusion was correct; there was, in fact, such a requirement. Nevertheless, Nadab and Abihu committed a grave offense by acting independently on their line of reasoning without first receiving guidance from Moshe. In Moshe's presence, they did not have the authority to establish Halachic norms on their own. Therefore, although their reasoning was entirely correct, they were guilty of a grievous sin in that they did not submit to Moshe Rabbenu's authority. The Lebush Ha'ora (Rav Mordechai Yoffe, c. 1530-1612) noted that Rabbi Eliezer's understanding of this episode is rooted in a careful reading of the text. In telling of Nadab and Abihu's offering, the Torah writes that they offered an "Esh Zara Asher Lo Siva Otam" – "a foreign fire which He did not command them." If the problem with the Nadab and Abihu's act was the offering itself, then the Torah should have simply stated that they brought an "Esh Zara" – an offering that was foreign, that was unwarranted and hence forbidden. But the Torah added "Asher Lo Siva Otam" – that Nadab and Abihu did not receive the command to bring this offering, suggesting that this was the essence of their sin. Hashem had taught Moshe the rule that the Kohanim were to produce their own fire on the altar, but this information had not yet been communicated to Aharon's sons. Moshe had been commanded to place fire on the altar – but Nadab and Abihu's hadn't. And thus the Torah emphasizes that this was an offering about which Moshe was commanded, but they weren't – and they were therefore punished for acting independently. This tragedy presents us with a crucial lesson in humility. Namely, even when we are confident that we are correct, we must still consult with those wiser and more knowledgeable than us. We must have the humility to recognize our limits, to realize that even things which seem obvious and intuitive to us might not necessarily be correct. We need to acknowledge that there are people with greater knowledge and wisdom whose advice is valuable and even indispensable. We should never feel too confident to ask, to seek guidance, to double check, to consult, to request advice. Even when we are certain, we must humbly question our conclusion and receive instruction and insight from those who know more than we do.

Toward the end of the Maggid section, we read the famous teaching of Rabban Gamliel: "Whoever did not say the following three things on Pesach has not fulfilled his obligation: Pesach, Masa, and Marror." Rabban Gamliel then proceeds to explain the meaning and significance of these three Misvot. The Pesach sacrifice was offered in the times of the Bet Ha'mikdash to commemorate the miracle of the plague of the firstborn, when Hashem "skipped" ("Pasach") over Beneh Yisrael's homes on the night of the Exodus, protecting them from the plague. The Masa commemorates the fact that Beneh Yisrael left Egypt hastily, without having had time to prepare and to allow their dough to rise. And the Marror symbolizes the "bitterness" of slavery from which our ancestors were saved. At the Seder, we are obligated to discuss the meaning of these three Misvot. Many commentators noted that this passage is stated out of chronological sequence. The "bitterness" of slavery, quite obviously, preceded the plague of the firstborn and Beneh Yisrael's frantic departure from Egypt. Yet, surprisingly, Rabban Gamliel first discusses the Pesach sacrifice and Masa – which commemorate the events of the Exodus – and only then mentions the Marror, which represents the slavery that our ancestors endured prior to their redemption. Why is the Marror mentioned last? Numerous answers have been given to this question, one of which emerges from a deeper understanding of Rabban Gamliel's teaching. Many years ago, as a young Rabbi, I was approached by a group of young men in the community who asked me to deliver a weekly class, which they would host on a rotational basis. These fellows were not particularly observant, and I was very pleased that they expressed interest in a weekly Shiur (Torah class). But when I showed up for the first class, I was aghast. The table was set up for a card game, with chips, cigarettes and beer bottles. I felt very uncomfortable, and I asked the host what this was all about. He explained that this group meets every week for a card game, so they figured they would begin the evening with a Torah class. After that first class, I consulted with a certain great Rabbi to receive guidance. I did not think it was appropriate for me to give a Shiur to these people under these conditions. I'll never forget what the Rabbi told me. "What they do after the Shiur is none of your business," he said. "Your job is to teach them Torah. And the light of Torah will change them." I accepted the advice, and he proved correct. Gradually, all these young men discontinued their improper behavior. It did not happen immediately, but it happened. On another occasion, I was asked to deliver a weekly Torah class to a group of men on Shabbat. Every week, the man who hosted the Shiur in his home would get up and leave in the middle. I later found out that he left for work. Once again, I consulted with a great Rabbi in the community, asking if it was appropriate for me to continue teaching a Torah class in the home of a Shabbat desecrator who gets up to leave in the middle to go to work. "Are you going to wait for him to stop working on Shabbat before teaching him Torah?" the Rabbi told me. Now this man is fully observant, learns Torah for two hours every day, and gives large amounts of money to Sedaka. Three times every weekday, in the Amida prayer, we ask Hashem to help us repent. We ask, "Hashibenu Abinu Le'Toratecha Ve'korbenu Malkenu La'abodatecha" – "Bring us back, our Father, to Your Torah, and draw us close, our King, to Your service." We ask that we be returned to Torah even before our service is complete. We do not wait until our behavior is perfect, until we have fully performed Teshuba, before learning Torah and trying to draw close to Hashem. To the contrary – we are to take the first steps even in our state of imperfection, as these steps will help us improve. This might be the deeper meaning of Rabban Gamliel's teaching about "Pesach, Masa, U'marror." The word "Pesach" means to skip. Rabban Gamliel is teaching us to "skip" right to the "Masa." In a different context, the Sages commented that the word "Masa" is associated with the word "Misva," for we must observe Misvot with zeal and alacrity just as the dough must be handled quickly and rigorously to avoid becoming Hametz. We are to skip to the stage of "Masa," of Misva observance, even before addressing the "Marror" – the "bitterness" of sin and religious failings. Theoretically, we should first cleanse ourselves of wrongdoing before coming to serve G-d. In practice, however, this does not work. If we refrain from Misvot until we fully repent from our misdeeds, we will likely never feel ready to begin our service of Hashem. Rabban Gamliel therefore urges us to skip the stage of "Marror," to begin performing Misvot even if our behavior is far from perfect – as the light of Misvot will help us improve. We begin the Seder with the words "Kadesh U'rhatz" – referring to Kiddush and hand-washing. The message here is that we should strive for "Kadesh" – for holiness, even before we have "washed" ourselves, before we are fully "cleansed" of wrongdoing. Hashem wants us to begin learning Torah and performing Misvot even if we are currently far from perfect, and to trust that the good habits we develop, and the spiritual power of Torah and Misva observance, will impact our souls and our behavior, and lead us to greater purity.

Several different explanations have been given for why the Shabbat preceding Pesach is given the name "Shabbat Ha'gadol" – literally, "the Great Shabbat." One of the lesser-known reasons is a fascinating connection between this Shabbat and Abraham Abinu. The Gemara in Masechet Rosh Hashanah (11) brings a debate between Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshua as to the month in which the Abot (patriarchs) passed away. Rabbi Yehoshua maintained that the three Abot – Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob – died during the month of Nissan, whereas Rabbi Eliezer was of the opinion that they passed away during Tishri. However, a different source – the Yalkut Reubeni (in Parashat Lech-Lecha) – states that Abraham Abinu died during the month of Tebet. This is alluded to in G-d's promise to Abraham, "Tikaber Be'seba Toba" – that he would be buried at an advanced age (Bereshit 15:15). The first letters of these three words (Tav, Bet, Tet) are the three letters of the word "Tebet," and the word "Toba" resembles "Tebet." This is mentioned also in the work Seder Ha'dorot (Rav Yehiel Heilprin, 1660-1746). The obvious question arises as to how to reconcile this theory with the Gemara, which indicates that Abraham died either in Nissan or in Tishri. The Hida (Rav Haim Yosef David Azulai, 1724-1806) answers this question by citing a Kabbalistic source about the unique nature of the month of Nissan. The Torah designates Nissan as the first month of the year, and according to the teachings of Kabbalah, this month contains within it an element of all other months. Each of the first days of Nissan corresponds to a different month of the year. Rosh Hodesh Nissan is associated with Nissan itself, whereas the 2 nd of Nissan is associated with Iyar, the 3 rd is connected to Sivan, the 4 th to Tammuz, and so on. Accordingly, the sources that say that Abraham died in Tebet could be understood to mean that he died on the day of Nissan – following Rabbi Yehoshua's opinion – corresponding to the month of Tebet. As Tebet is the tenth month, this would mean that Abraham Abinu died on the 10 th of Nissan. As we know, the 10 th of Nissan is a very significant date – as it was on this day when, just before the Exodus from Egypt, Beneh Yisrael prepared the sheep for the Pesach sacrifice which they offered on the afternoon of the 14 th of Nissan (Shemot 12:3) in preparation for their departure from Egypt. Now in the year of the Exodus, the 15 th of Nissan – the day Beneh Yisrael left Egypt – fell on Thursday, such that the 10 th of Nissan fell on Shabbat. It emerges, then, that Shabbat Ha'gadol marks the Yahrtzeit of Abraham Abinu. On this basis, it has been explained why this Shabbat is given the name "Shabbat Ha'gadol." A verse in the Book of Yehoshua (14:15) speaks of a great man – "Ha'adam Ha'gadol Ba'anakim" – who lived in Hebron, and our Sages teach that this refers to Abraham Abinu. As he is the "Ha'adam Ha'gadol," the Shabbat before Pesach, which commemorates his Yahrtzeit, is called "Shabbat Ha'gadol."

The Mishna in Pirkeh Abot (3:16) teaches: "The shop is open, the shopkeeper gives on credit, the ledger is open, the hand writes, and whoever wishes to borrow may come and borrow." Meaning, G-d invited us to come and enjoy the blessings of the world, "on credit," even before we deserve them, though with the expectation that repay our "debt" through the performance of Misvot. The Megaleh Amukot (Rav Natan Neta Spira, Poland, 1584-1633) offers a deeper explanation of the Mishna's teaching, noting that the word "Hanut" ("shop") may be read as an acrostic for "Hodesh Nissan Ve'hodesh Tishri" – "the month of Nissan and the month of Tishri." During these two months in particular we are invited to "borrow," to receive great blessings from the Almighty that we do not necessarily deserve. These two months – Tishri, when we observe the Yamim Noraim, and Nissan, when we observe Pesach – are especially auspicious times when we are able to turn to Hashem in sincere prayer and have our wishes fulfilled. This connection between the months of Nissan and Tishri is discussed also by Rav Baruch of Medzhybizh (1753–1811), in explaining a verse in Parashat Bo ( 13:5) regarding the Pesach sacrifice: "Ve'abateta Et Ha'aboda Ha'zot Ba'hodesh Ha'zeh" – "You shall perform this service in this month." Rav Baruch explains that the word "Zot" ("this") refers to Yom Kippur, when the Kohen Gadol would perform the special Aboda (service) in the Bet Ha'mikdash, which the Torah describes with the word "Zot": "Be'zot Yabo Aharon El Ha'kodesh" ("With this shall Aharon enter the Sanctuary" – Vayikra 16:3). The word "Zeh" (the masculine form of "Zot"), Rav Baruch says, refers to the month of Nissan, of which G-d declared, "Ha'hodesh Ha'zeh Lachem Rosh Hodashim" – "This month is for you the first of the months" (Shemot 12:2). Hence, when the Torah tells us, "Ve'abateta Et Ha'aboda Ha'zot Ba'hodesh Ha'zeh," it means that we should perform the service of "Ha'zot" – of Yom Kippur – during "Ha'hodesh Ha'zeh" – the month of Nissan. Just as the period of the High Holidays is a time for repentance and spiritual growth, so is the month of Nissan. Rav Baruch adds that the difference between the words "Zot" and "Zeh" shows us the difference between the Teshuba (repentance) of Tishri and the Teshuba of Nissan. In Kabbalistic teaching, the feminine form is associated with passivity and timidness, whereas the masculine form connotes assertiveness. Tishri is referred to with the feminine form, "Zot," because this is a time of fear and intimidation, when we repent because we are being judged. Nissan, however, is a time for "Teshuba Me'ahaba" – repentance out of love. This is a joyous, vigorous Teshuba, when we seek to grow out of a sense of excitement and enthusiasm, out of deep love for Hashem and a desire to draw closer to Him. The Abneh Nezer (Rav Avraham Borenstein of Sochatchov, Poland, 1838-1910) writes that the days of Nissan are especially precious, and every hour during this month is as valuable as an entire day in a different month. This is a month in which we can achieve greatness, and it behooves to take full advantage of this opportunity, and utilize our time during Nissan for intensive Torah learning, prayer, and spiritual growth.

After describing in great detail the construction of the Mishkan and its furnishings, the Torah tells: "All the work for the Mishkan…was completed; Beneh Yisrael did in accordance with all that G-d had commanded Moshe; so did they do" (39:32). Rav Moshe Alshich (Safed, 1508-1593) observes that the sequence in this verse seems difficult. We would have expected the Torah to first tell us that Beneh Yisrael followed G-d's commands and built the Mishkan as He had instructed, and to then state that "the work…was completed." Instead, the Torah first writes that the work was completed, and then tells that Beneh Yisrael did as G-d had commanded them. Rav Moshe Alshich answers this question by postulating that in truth, the Mishkan was built miraculously. Beneh Yisrael, he explains, did not have the capabilities needed to complete such a large, complex project. However, when a person exerts maximum effort into the performance of a Misva, he is credited with the Misva's fulfillment regardless of the outcome. As long as a person does his best, he is credited with completing the job, even if the job was not actually completed. In the case of the Mishkan, then, the people were credited with building the Mishkan even though it was, in the end, built on its own, by Hashem. Since they exerted maximum effort in this undertaking, they are considered as though they actually built it – even though it was built by Hashem. The Alshich thus explains that the Torah first tells us, "All the work…was completed" – on its own, through Hashem's supernatural intervention. Nevertheless, "Beneh Yisrael did in accordance with all that G-d had commanded" – the people were credited with the fulfillment of Hashem's command to construct a Mishkan. The Alshich notes that the Torah here says that the people did not "Kol Asher Siva Hashem" – "all that G-d had commanded," but rather "Ke'chol Asher Siva Hashem," which could be read as, "similar to all that G-d had commanded." They did not actually perform what Hashem told them to do, because this was beyond their capabilities. But they were regarded as though they did, because they invested the greatest effort that they could, and therefore, "Ken Asu" – "so did they do," meaning, they were credited with the completion of the Mishkan. This insight denies us the ability to tell ourselves, "Why bother?" or "There's no point in even trying." Too often, people find Torah study and observance difficult, and so they just give up. They feel that since they can't do everything right, and since they've failed so many times, there's no point in trying. This is not true. The Torah was given to each and every one of us, with all our flaws and all our limitations, and we are each meant to do the best we can. We are not always going to succeed. We are going to make mistakes. We won't always get it right. But this reality does not in any way absolve us of the obligation to do the best we can, to make an effort to "build" the "Mishkan" within our beings. There is no excuse to stop trying. And the more we try, the more divine assistance we receive, and the greater success Hashem will grant us in all our spiritual endeavors.

Hashem commands in Parashat Ki-Tisa, "Ach Et Shabetotai Tishmoru" – "However, you shall observe my Shabbatot" (31:13). Rashi explains that after Hashem presented the commands regarding the construction of the Mishkan, He emphasized that the work on the Mishkan must be discontinued on Shabbat. The question arises, however, as to why Hashem here commands observing "Shabetotai" – His "Shabbatot." Instead of simply telling us to observe "Shabbat," He uses the plural form, referring to Shabbat as "Shabbatot." Why? A fascinating explanation is offered by the Ha'ketab Ve'ha'kabbala (Rav Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenberg, 1785-1865). He writes that etymologically, the word "Shabbat" has two meanings. First, it denotes "Shebita" – cessation from work. Additionally, the word "Shabbat" refers to "Yishub Ha'da'at" – peace of mind, and clarity. Ha'ketab Ve'ha'kabbala explains that we are commanded to "observe Shabbat" in two senses: by refraining from Melacha (forbidden activity), and by attaining "Yishub Ha'da'at" by experiencing he special Kedusha of Shabbat. The first Shabbat is intended to bring us to the second; we are to refrain from forbidden work for the purpose of reprogramming our minds, resetting our priorities, and refreshing our perspective on life. Throughout the week, we are busy tending to our needs, occupied with our careers, our businesses, and all the many other important things that we need to deal with. With all the frenzy of the workweek, we can so easily forget what this is all about, what the purpose of all this is. On Shabbat, there is an obligation of "Shebita" – to desist from Melacha – so that we can achieve "Yishub Ha'da'at," peace of mind, a clearer perspective on what life is all about, what our priorities ought to be. We spend more time in the synagogue, more time with our families, more time singing Pizmonim and learning Torah, so we can refresh our minds and remind ourselves of what's truly important. On this basis, Ha'ketab Ve'ha'kabbala suggests a novel reading of the Gemara's famous teaching (Shabbat 118b) that if the Jewish People would properly observe "Sheteh Shabbatot" – two Shabbatot – we would be worthy of redemption. This is commonly understood to mean that we would be redeemed if we all observe Shabbat for two weeks. Ha'ketab Ve'ha'kabbala, however, offers a different interpretation, explaining that the Gemara speaks of the two different dimensions of Shabbat observance. We become worthy of redemption if we not only refrain from the forbidden activities on Shabbat, but also experience the weekly "reset," gaining a new perspective on life by redirecting our focus onto spirituality and the service of Hashem. This concept might also shed light on a different teaching in the Gemara – that whoever enjoys delights on Shabbat, "the desires of his hearts are granted to him." At first glance, this means that by enjoying fine foods and delicacies on Shabbat, one guarantees that all his wishes are fulfilled. We might, however, understand this passage differently. If we observe Shabbat properly, then "Notenin Lo Mish'alot Libo" – he is given new wishes, new desires. Proper observance of Shabbat gives us a new perspective, and resets our priorities. Thus, if during the week our primary aspirations were about wealth and material luxuries, on Shabbat our aspirations are spiritual. Shabbat refreshes our perspective such that our primary goals are a greater connection with Hashem, more Torah knowledge, more Misvot, more religious engagement. The ultimate purpose of Shabbat is not the cessation of work itself – but rather the renewed perspective that this brings, which leads us to reset our priorities and redirect our focus onto that which really matters.

Numerous sources point to a connection between the celebration of Purim and the story of Yosef. For example, Rav Levi Yishak of Berditchev (1740-1809) taught that each of the twelve months corresponds to one of the twelve sons of Yaakob Abinu, and the month of Adar – the month when Purim is celebrated – corresponds to Yosef. And already the Gemara (Megilla 16a-b) draws an association between the Purim story and the story of Yosef, explaining that Yosef gave Binyamin five changes of clothing (Bereshit 45:22) as an allusion to Binyamin's descendant, Mordechai, who received five royal garments upon being appointed Ahashverosh's vizier (Ester 8:15). Another early source for this connection sheds light on one of the fundamental lessons of the Purim miracle. The Midrash comments that the Jews were deserving of annihilation because of the sin of Mechirat Yosef – the sale of Yosef as a slave by his brothers. Right after the brothers thew Yosef into a pit, they sat down to eat a meal ("Va'yeshbu Le'echol Lehem" – Bereshit 37:25). G-d responded very harshly, the Midrash states, warning that in the future, Haman and Ahashverosh would sit down together for a banquet immediately after condemning the Jews to death ("Ve'ha'melech Ve'Haman Yashebu Li'shtot" – Ester 3:15). Just as the brothers callously ate after acting to kill Yosef, so did Ahashverosh and Haman enjoy a feast after issuing the edict ordering the murder of all the Jews in the kingdom. It seems that the plague of jealousy and strife that led the brothers to eliminate Yosef was prevalent also during the time of the Purim story. Then, too, the Jews were not getting along with one another. They envied, resented, competed with and fought with one another, rather than working together in harmony despite their differences. This is why Ester, after hearing of Haman's edict, instructed Mordechai, "Lech Kenos Et Kol Ha'Yehudim" – to bring all the Jews together (Ester 4:16). She understood full well the reason for this harsh decree – the fraternal strife among the Jews. In order to earn salvation, the Jews would need to cure this ill through Ahdut, unity, by joining together with mutual love, respect and concern. This is also why Mordechai and Ester later established that the commemoration of the Purim miracle must include efforts to strengthen the bonds between Jews. The Misva of Mishloah Manot requires sending gifts, and the obligation of Matanot La'ebyonim requires lending assistance to the needy. Moreover, the Purim feast is traditionally eaten in large gatherings, with friends and families coming together in love and joy, thereby increasing the Ahdut among the Jewish People. The celebration of the Purim miracle must include a reenactment of "Lech Kenos Et Kol Ha'Yehudim" – of the Jews' efforts to create greater unity and a greater sense of togetherness. This might explain an otherwise perplexing aspect of the story of Yosef and his brothers. When the brothers arrived in Egypt with Binyamin, Yosef had a feast prepared for them, and the Torah tells, "Va'yishtu Va'yishkeru Imo" – Yosef and brothers drank and even became inebriated (43:34). Why was this an occasion for drinking? The answer might be found in the previous words – which tell that Yosef gave Binyamin five times the amount of food that he gave the other brothers. Despite this display of favoritism, the other brothers felt no jealousy toward Binyamin. They were not bothered by the fact that he received special treatment. Years earlier, they resented their father's preferential treatment toward Yosef, to the extent that they drove Yosef from the family, but they had now rectified this failing. They had reached the point where they felt no jealousy toward one another. This feast, then, laid the foundations for the story of Purim, when the Jews rectified the ill of baseless hatred and petty jealousy, resulting in their salvation which is celebrated through festive drinking. One of the central, overarching obligations on this day is to work to strengthen our Ahdut, the unity among the Jewish People. And our models for this process are Yosef's brothers, who learned from their mistake and grew to the point where they no longer harbored feelings of resentment and jealousy toward each other. We need to follow their example, and make the decision to look lovingly at our fellow Jews, to stop feeling jealous of those who seem to have more, to stop resenting those who do things differently than we do, to stop disliking people for silly reasons. Purim is the time to rise above the pettiness, the childishness and the competitiveness, to see the good in our fellow Jews instead of looking for reasons to look down at them. We will then be worthy of great miracles like those performed for our ancestors in Persia, Amen.

Parashat Teruma begins with G-d's command, "Ve'yikhu Li Teruma" – that Beneh Yisrael should donate materials toward the construction of the Mishkan. Surprisingly, Hashem here commands that the people donate toward this project with the word "Ve'yikhu," which means "They shall take." Instead of saying that the people should give, that they should donate, Hashem commands them to "take" a donation. This highlights a basic truism about charity – that by giving, we receive. When we give charity, when we donate toward a worthy cause, we receive far more than we give. We lose nothing, and we gain an incalculable amount. The merits earned through charitable donations are worth far more, and are infinitely more secure, than any financial asset. The rewards are both inestimable and guaranteed. But this understanding of the word "Ve'yikhu" actually runs even deeper. The Gemara in Masechet Kiddushin speaks of an exceptional case where a bride can be betrothed by giving, instead of receiving. The Halachic mechanism of Kiddushin, whereby a woman becomes formally betrothed to a man, requires the man to give the woman something of value. Of course, this is commonly done by giving the bride a ring. Normally, Kiddushin cannot be effectuated in the opposite manner, through the bride giving something to the groom. If the bride wishes to give the groom a gift, this must not be done as part of the Huppa ceremony, because it must be perfectly clear that the betrothal takes effect through the groom giving the ring to the bride. However, the Gemara establishes that if the groom is a distinguished person, such as a member of the royal court, then his bride can become betrothed to him through her giving him a gift. The reason, the Gemara explains, is that when an ordinary person gives a gift to a person of distinction, the giver derives great benefit by the recipient's acceptance of the gift. The satisfaction that comes from the distinguished person's consent to receive the gift outweighs the value of the gift. Therefore, if the groom is a man of distinction, the bride can become betrothed through the benefit she receives by the groom's acceptance of her gift, because by giving, the bride is actually receiving. This Halacha sheds new light on the command "Ve'yikhu Li Teruma." When we donate for a Misva purpose, we are, in essence, donating to Hashem, as it were. We are so-to-speak giving something to Hashem. Whether it's assisting a family in need, contributing to a charity fund, or supporting a synagogue of yeshiva, we are giving a gift to Hashem – who is, quite obviously, far more "distinguished" than any dignitary or prominent figure. And in this sense, we receive when we give. Anytime we have the opportunity to donate, we are given the privilege of giving a gift to Hashem. This is a privilege we should celebrate – and an opportunity that we should eagerly and enthusiastically seize as often as we can.

Parashat Mishpatim is well known for its presentation of a series of civil laws. These laws govern interpersonal relations, mainly matters related to conflicts over money or property. Speaking to Moshe, Hashem introduces this series of laws by saying, "Ve'eleh Ha'mishpatim Asher Tasim Lifnehem" – "And these are the statutes that you shall place before them." Rashi, citing the Gemara, comments that the word "Lifnehem" ("before them") implies "Lifnehem Ve'lo Lifneh Goyim" – these laws were to be presented specifically to Beneh Yisrael, and not to other peoples. Of course, we know that all the Torah's laws were given specifically to Beneh Yisrael, and not to the other nations. It seems that Rashi seeks to emphasize the fundamental difference between the Torah's system of civil law and that of the other nations. Although all civilized societies devise and implement an effective judicial system, there is something distinct about our system of law, and this is the implication of the word "Lifnehem" – that the special code of law presented in this Parasha is unique to the Jewish People. Among the unique features of the Torah legal system is the standardization and uniformity of its penal code. In other systems, the judge is authorized to determine the punishment for a convicted offender, and to take into account the offender's condition and the circumstances surrounding his crime. Thus, for example, if an impoverished man who had been out of work for years was caught stealing, the judge will issue a much lighter sentence than he would if a multimillionaire stole the same amount. When a person commits an offense, there might be mitigating circumstances that lessen its severity, or circumstances that make the act especially cruel. Most legal systems empower the judge to take all these factors into account when deciding the appropriate punishment. The Torah, however, establishes punishments that must be administered equally to all people convicted of the given crime. The financial condition of neither the perpetrator nor the victim affects the sentencing. The punishments assigned by the Torah for particular crimes are applied without considering the broader context of the act. The reason is that no human being can truly determine the severity of another person's behavior. Even if we know the background, the context, and the circumstances surrounding the incident, there is so much more that we do not know. We will never know what kind of pressures and lures contributed to an offender's decision to commit the act, nor can we know the full scope of a criminal's malicious intent. Only Hashem can determine the true extent of a crime, and the precise punishment that the offender deserves. For this reason, the verse says in Tehillim (82:1), "Elokim Nisav Ba'adat Kel, Be'kereb Elohim Yishpot" – Hashem is present in the courtroom when the judges try a case. Hashem is present because He is needed to determine what the judges are incapable of determining. The Torah establishes guidelines for the judges to follow, but we know that their decision will not necessarily result in the defendant receiving precisely what he deserves. Hashem's presence assures that He will make this happen, that He will do what the judges cannot do, that after the judges rule in accordance with Torah law, Hashem will see to it that justice is flawlessly and perfectly served. We must always remember how limited our vision and knowledge are, how little we know about other people. We might think we have the "whole story," but the truth is that we always know a very small part of the story. It is therefore foolish – not to mention unproductive – to cast judgment and reach conclusions about other people's conduct. This should be left to G-d, while we devote our attention to our own behavior, constantly striving to grow and improve.

The opening verses of Parashat Yitro tell of Yitro's arrival at Beneh Yisrael's camp. Yitro, Moshe's father-in-law, had been a pagan priest, but then recognized the truth of monotheism. He now took the next step, and joined Beneh Yisrael as they encamped at the foot of Mount Sinai. Rashi comments that Yitro was motivated to join the nation upon hearing of two events: Keri'at Yam Suf (the splitting of the sea), and the war against Amalek. It seems difficult to understand why the war with Amalek contributed to Yitro's decision. The splitting of the sea was, of course, an extraordinary miracle, an event that was heard throughout the ancient world and led all the nations to look at Beneh Yisrael with awe. It is understandable that this miracle inspired Yitro to come and join Beneh Yisrael. But how did the war against Amalek have this kind of effect? What about this event inspired Yitro? One answer is that Yitro was struck by the drastic decline that Beneh Yisrael experienced from the event of Keri'at Yan Suf to the war against Amalek. The Sages teach that at the time of Keri'a Yam Suf, every member of the nation, even the most unlearned among them, reached a certain level of prophecy. The nation at that moment rose to the greatest heights. Just several weeks later, however, when they found themselves without water, their faith was shaken, and they started asking, "Is G-d in our midst or not?" (Shemot 17:7). It was in response to this lack of faith that Hashem led Amalek to attack Beneh Yisrael. Yitro saw how the people so quickly fell from the stature of prophets to the point where they could actually question whether Hashem was with them. This rapid decline is what prompted Yitro to join Beneh Yisrael. The Gemara teaches that Torah is the "antidote" to the Yeser Ha'ra (evil inclination). Sinful tendencies are part of the human condition; as long as a person is alive, he is going to tempted by some lure, by some human weakness, by one or several of the many negative traits with which people are created. And in order to withstand these inclinations, we need to immerse ourselves in Torah. Therefore, when Yitro saw how fast people are capable of falling, he made the decision to join Beneh Yisrael, so he can access the Torah, the "antidote" to the Yeser Ha'ra and protect himself from spiritual decline. Rav Yosef Salant (Jerusalem, 1885-1981) offers a different explanation of Rashi's comment. He writes that after the miracle of the sea, many people throughout the world attributed this event to Moshe Rabbenu. Rather than recognize the existence of a single, omnipotent Creator, they instead concluded that Moshe was a superior sorcerer who succeeded in defeating the Egyptians through his magical prowess. Yitro, who was well-versed in all the various forms of ancient paganism, including sorcery, likewise suspected that it was Moshe who split the sea by lifting his staff over the water. Beneh Yisrael's miraculous victory against Amalek, however, was clearly not brought about by Moshe. At the time of the battle, Moshe stood at a distance, on a hill overlooking the battlefield. And when the people looked heavenward, they received Hashem's assistance and defeated the Amalekites. This event showed that the splitting of the sea was wrought not by Moshe, but by an all-powerful G-d, and this motivated Yitro to come join Beneh Yisrael. There might also be a third interpretation. In the Book of Debarim (25:18), Moshe describes Amalek's attack with the word "Karecha." The Sages explained this term as a derivative of the word "Kar" – "cool." After the miracle of the sea, Beneh Yisrael were feared throughout the world. The Rabbis drew a comparison to a tub filled with scalding hot water, that nobody dared touch. When Amalek launched their attack, they were like a person who jumped into the tub of boiling hot water – he suffered bad burns, but cooled the water for anyone else who wished to bathe afterward. Amalek was defeated, but this battle had the effect of "cooling" Beneh Yisrael, of exposing their vulnerability. Beneh Yisrael now appeared far less fearsome, and no longer seemed invincible. Yitro saw the grave Hillul Hashem – defamation of Hashem's Name – caused by Amalek's attack. The awe and admiration that the world felt toward Beneh Yisrael after the splitting of the sea were now gone. And Yitro understood that the only way to rectify a Hillul Hashem is by creating a Kiddush Hashem – a glorification of Hashem's Name. He therefore decided to join Beneh Yisrael. As a respected and wealthy public figure, his arrival would "make the news," and become widely known. People all over would hear that a prominent former pagan cleric had recognized the truth of the Jewish faith and decided to join Beneh Yisrael's ranks. This would repair, at least somewhat, the damage caused by Amalek's attack. And thus Yitro's decision was driven by these two events – the splitting of the sea and Amalek's attack, as he sought to restore the respect for Beneh Yisrael that was achieved by the miracle of Keri'at Yam Suf.

REM-SS85-08 The Torah tells that as Beneh Yisrael stood at the shores of the sea, and they saw the Egyptian army pursuing them, they cried out to G-d – "Va'yis'aku Beneh Yisrael El Hashem" (14:10). Rashi comments: "Tafesu Umanut Abotam" – "They took hold of their forefathers' craft." Meaning, Beneh Yisrael here followed the example set for them by the patriarchs, who likewise prayed to G-d. Rashi then proceeds to cite verses from the Book of Bereshit showing that the three patriarchs – Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob – prayed. When reading Rashi's brief remark, we must wonder what point he wishes to make, which difficulty in the text he is trying to resolve. Why must we be informed that Beneh Yisrael's prayers at the shores of the sea followed the patriarchs' example? How does this enhance our understanding of the text? Probing a bit deeper, Rashi's comments become even more perplexing. As mentioned, Rashi cites verses that speak of the patriarchs praying. Surprisingly, however, Rashi specifically does not cite the more obvious sources of the patriarchs' prayers. Instead of pointing to Abraham's prayer on behalf of the city of Sedom, Rashi instead brings the verse that tells of Abraham returning the next day to the spot where he had prayed for Sedom (Bereshit 19:27). Instead of noting Yishak's prayer for a child, Rashi instead cites the Torah's vague description of Yishak "conversing" in the field (Bereshit 24:63), which the Sages interpret as a reference to prayer. And instead of mentioning Yaakob's plea for help when Esav was approaching with an army, Rashi brings the verse that tells of Yaakob's evening "encounter" ("Va'yifga" – 28:11), which is understood to mean that he prayed. Why did Rashi not cite the clearest references to the patriarchs' prayers? More generally, why did Rashi need to bring textual proof to the fact that our righteous Abot (patriarchs) prayed? Do we not already know this? The Lubavitcher Rebbe (Rav Menachem Mendel Schneerson, 1902-1994) answered all these questions by establishing that Beneh Yisrael's cries were not actual cries for help. We must remember that these events transpired after G-d had brought the powerful Egyptian Empire to its knees with ten miraculous plagues, after Moshe had informed the people that G-d was bringing them to their homeland, and after they had taken the Egyptians' possessions with them to bring to the Holy Land. They knew that G-d would help them and save them from the pursuing Egyptian army. They did not have a doubt. (Although the Torah relates that the people turned to Moshe in panic, asking why he had taken them out of Egypt to perish, Rashi explains that this was a different group than the group who responded by praying.) They had complete faith in G-d. This was the point that Rashi wished to clarify – that the people prayed even though they were confident that they would be saved. These prayers were not a prayer for help, for rather "Umanut Abotam" – the "craft" taught to them by their forebears. A person with a profession goes to work every day. He doesn't show up only when he runs out of money; he knows that he needs to tend to his profession consistently. The same is true of our connection to Hashem. We cannot build this connection only by turning to him when we face some kind of problem. We need to practice the "craft," or "profession," of prayer each and every day, even when we have no particular, pressing issue that concerns us. This is what Rashi is teaching us. Beneh Yisrael turned to Hashem in prayer not because they were frightened, but rather because prayer was an "Umanut" – a "profession," something that they knew they must consistently do. And they learned this "profession" from the patriarchs. Abraham prayed even after Sedom was destroyed, when he could no longer save the city. Yishak prayed in the field regularly. And Yaakob prayed before going to sleep. These weren't prayers for help, but rather part of the Abot's ongoing, persistent efforts to build their relationship with Hashem. This is the "profession" that they taught us, and that we must follow. The Lubavitcher Rebbe applied this idea to the Misva of Torah study. This obligation is not limited to practical knowledge. It goes without saying that in order to practice Judaism properly, we must learn and familiarize ourselves with Halacha, and practical Halacha must certainly take priority in our Torah curricula. However, this is not the sole objective of Torah study. We are required to learn as much as we can even about subjects that are not practically applicable. Torah learning is not only about knowledge, but also about our connection to Hashem who gave us the Torah. When we pray and learn Torah not only in moments of need, but with constancy and devotion, we cultivate a living, daily bond with Hashem – and this is the lifelong, sacred "profession" which we've inherited from our righteous forebears.

The Torah in Parashat Bo (12:40) states that Beneh Yisrael spent a total of 430 years in Egypt. Already Rashi notes the seeming contradiction between this verse and G-d's prophecy to Abraham Abinu that his descendants would endure a 400-year period of exile and oppression (Bereshit 15:13). Why did G-d predict a period of 400 years, if Beneh Yisrael were going to spend 430 years in exile? Rashi explains that the number depends on the starting point. The period from the birth of Yishak until the Exodus was 400 years, but Abraham received this prophecy thirty years prior to Yishak's birth, for a total of 430 years. The Shela Ha'kadosh (Rav Yeshaya Horowitz, d. 1630) offered a different answer, boldly asserting that G-d added thirty years to the period of exile. G-d informed Abraham that his descendants would live as foreigners for 400 years – but as a result of Mechirat Yosef, the sale of Yosef as a slave by his brothers, thirty years were added. The Shela explains that Yosef was brought out of the dungeon in Egypt and appointed the country's vizier at the age of thirty (Bereshit 41:46). In a sense, then, his first thirty years were stolen from him because of his brothers' cruelty. Therefore, it was decreed that Beneh Yisrael would endure an additional thirty years of oppression. The Shela's theory sheds light on the Gemara's comments in Masechet Sanhedrin (92) regarding the mistake made by the tribe of Efrayim. The Gemara says about the people of Efrayim, "Manu Le'ketz Ve'ta'u" – they miscalculated the end of the Egyptian exile. When they erroneously thought that the time for redemption had arrived, they left Egypt. But when they reached the Philistine region of Gat, they were attacked by the Philistines, and many were killed, while some managed to escape back to Egypt. The Gemara says that the remains of those people from Efrayim were the "dry bones" that were miraculously brought back to life in Yehezkel's famous prophecy. On the basis of the Shela's analysis, we can understand more clearly why the tribe of Efrayim made this mistake. If, indeed, an extra thirty years were added on account of the sin of Mechirat Yosef, then it stands to reason that the tribe of Efrayim – who descended from Yosef – assumed that they did not need to wait the additional thirty years. Since this period was a punishment for the crime committed against Yosef, they figured, it did not affect them, the descendants of Yosef. They therefore left Egypt thirty years early, at the end of the period of exile that was initially decreed. The question then becomes, why were the people of Efrayim wrong? Why were they killed for leaving Egypt early? The answer emerges from a passage in the Zohar regarding another consequence of Mechirat Yosef. Each year, on Tisha B'Ab, we recite a special Kinna (dirge) about the "Asara Harugeh Malchut" – the ten great Rabbis who were brutally murdered by the Romans. The Zohar teaches that these great Rabbis were Gilgulim (reincarnations) of the brothers, and they were killed to atone for the sin of Mechirat Yosef. Now in truth, only nine of the twelve brothers participated in Mechirat Yosef: Yosef, of course, was the victim; Binyamin, the youngest, was home and not involved; and Reuben was not present when the other brothers decided to sell Yosef, and in fact tried to rescue him. Why, then, were ten Rabbis killed to atone for the sin committed by only nine brothers? The answer is that Yosef himself bore a degree of guilt. While his brothers of course acted wrongly by selling him as a slave, he was partially responsible for their hostility. He reported to Yaakob about their alleged wrongdoing, and provoked them, arousing their hatred. Therefore, he, too, was accountable. This, then, was the tribe of Efrayim's mistake. The additional thirty years were decreed also for them, the descendants of Yosef, because he was partially responsible for what happened. Their decision to leave Egypt was thus a mistake, as they, too, were required to spend an additional thirty years in Egypt.

The Torah in Parashat Vaera traces the lineage of Moshe Rabbenu, informing us that he was son of Amram and Yochebed. Amram was a grandson of Yakaob Abinu's third son, Levi – specifically, he was the son of Levi's son, Kehat. Astonishingly, the Torah relates, Yochebed was Amram's aunt – she was the daughter of Levi, the sister of Kehat. The commentaries explain that Yochebed and Kehat had different mothers, and thus they were half-siblings. As such, the marriage between Amram and Yochebed was not forbidden by the Noachide laws, which apply to all mankind. These laws forbid marrying one's parent's full sister, but not a parent's half-sister. This union would, however, be proscribed by the Torah given to Beneh Yisrael. It turns out, then, that Moshe – the greatest leader and prophet in our nation's history, who brought us the Torah – was the product of a marriage that Torah law forbids. Moshe is not the only great leader with less-than-pristine origins. The Davidic line, which began with David and Shlomo and will – we pray very soon – culminate with Mashiah, also has its origins in problematic relationships. David descended from Peretz – the product of the relationship between Yehuda and his daughter-in-law, Tamar. David's great-grandmother was Rut, a convert from the nation of Moab, and although it was ultimately concluded that this marriage was permissible, there was considerable controversy as to whether a man may marry a woman from Moab. And the founder of the nation of Moab, Rut's ancestor, was conceived when Lot's daughter gave her father wine and had a relationship with him, thinking they this was needed in order to maintain the earth's population. Rav Menahem Recanti (Italy, 1223-1290) offers an explanation for this phenomenon, for why the great leaders emerged from less-than-ideal origins. The Satan, he writes, is always seeking to sabotage the rise of these righteous figures, to block these holy souls from descending into the world. Moshe brought us the Torah, which is the "antidote" to the Yeser Ha'ra (evil inclination), the greatest weapon we have in our struggle to overcome the Satan's efforts to lure us away from the service of G-d. And the Gemara teaches that when Mashiah arrives, he will destroy the Satan so it could no longer hurt the Jewish People. Therefore, the Satan will do everything in its power to obstruct the transmission of Torah, and to prevent the arrival of Mashiah. For this reason, Hashem arranged that Moshe and David would be produced from unions that the Satan would never bother to disrupt. The Satan welcomes problematic relationships such as those of Lot and his daughters, Yehuda and Tamar, and Amram and Yochebed. He would never try to interfere with them, because this is precisely what he wants – relationships that are from the Torah's ideal marriage. Moshe and David needed to be produced this way for the purpose of avoiding the Satan's interference. This reminds us never to be discouraged by the challenges that we face in the pursuit of greatness. Whenever we try to achieve something significant, we are going to confront obstacles. Whether it's in the process of finding a spouse and raising a family, the process of learning Torah and spiritual growth, starting a new organization or project – the Satan is always going to try to interfere. Rather than be surprised and discouraged by the problems that arise, we should expect them, stay strong, and proceed with confidence, trusting that Hashem is always helping us in our efforts to defeat the Satan and achieve to the very best of our ability.