Love Can Make Us Do Crazy Things

As part of the punishment for the sin of the spies, that generation of Bnai Yisrael was barred entry into the Promised Land. As Hashem told Moshe (14:31) only the next generation would enter Eretz Yisrael “they shall know the land that you have despised.” This notion that the Jews of that time despised the Land is a sentiment repeated in Tehllim 106: וַיִּֽמְאֲסוּ בְּאֶ֣רֶץ חֶמְדָּ֑ה “they despised the desirable Land.” Rav Avraham Pam asked: How do we know that the Jews despised the Land of Israel? Perhaps they really loved the land but had no faith in Hashem, or maybe they had no faith in their ability to conquer the land. Maybe they were just afraid or unsure. Why does the Torah accuse them of despising the land? Rav Pam answered this question by citing a Halacha regarding gifting objects to a fetus that has not yet been born. The Talmud in Baba Batra states that even though we normally say Zachin L’Adam Shelo B’fanav that one can act on behalf of another entity for their benefit, even without their knowledge, that is not the case regarding a yet-unborn fetus. We say that the gift-giver is not sincere in his intentions to give, since the child is not yet born and there are plausible scenarios in which the child will not be born nor be able to receive the gift. A transaction under dubious circumstances is not binding. However the Talmud goes on to state that if a father gives a gift to his yet unborn biological child, such a gift is binding- even before birth. This is because a father has real love for his child even in utero. The possibility of something, God forbid, going wrong does not enter into his mind nor his calculations at all when it comes to his own child. Rav Pam goes on to explain that if the Jews had a deep relationship with the land then that love would have blinded them to the possibility of something bad happening. The fact that they were fixated on the possible problems is an indication that they were lacking in their love for Eretz Yisrael. King Solomon said (Mishlei 10:12) that love makes us do crazy things. Love also allows us to focus on the positive and gloss over the challenges and the problems, even when the problems are objectively obvious. There is certainly such a thing as constructive criticism. If we love someone or something then there may be ways and times when we must point out these shortcomings or these problems. But if we find ourselves focusing on problems then we must ask ourselves where is the love that would allow us to approach the problems from a different perspective? Israel is in the midst of a war with Iran. This war is of supreme, even existential, significance. Talking to people in Israel I hear their pride more than their fear. Rav Pam’s lesson about love struck me when watching a video clip of one of the first flights to land in Israel with Israelis who were desperate to return home. First it is important to take a moment to realize that in the midst of a war, thousands of people are desperate to return home and enter into a war zone. The video clip showed a flight attendant wrapped in an Israeli flag singing with the passengers with joy and determination. Love can make us do some crazy things. Love allows us to overlook many issues and problems. In this critical moment we each must ask ourselves whether there’s enough love in our lives- towards each other and towards Medinat Yisrael. 

No One Said it’s Supposed to be Easy

 Some people love IKEA furniture. I’ve had my issues with the desk we bought there. Admittedly, I am partly the cause of the problem. The desk came in a flat box in 25 pieces, I am sure that I did not properly construct it from the outset.. And if it’s not properly built initially, then you are bound to have subsequent. Full disclosure: 23 years later we still use that desk. The lesson is that things don’t have to be perfect in order to be sturdy. Nevertheless, it is true that the more pieces an object comes in, the less sturdy and impressive that object will be. In this morning’s Parsha we read about two objects that were impressively made from one single piece. The Parsha opens with the command directed towards Aharon to light the Menorah. Thereafter, the Torah provides a one-pasuk description of the menorah’s construction: “This is the workmanship of the Menorah: hammered out (Miksha) of one piece of gold; from its base to its flowers it is hammered out.” The fact that the Menorah was sculpted out of one piece of gold was a feat so impressive that even Moshe was stumped as to how the menorah was to be constructed. Later in the Parsha, we read about the Chatzotzrot. Moshe was commanded to make two silver trumpets. Here again the Torah specifies that the trumpets must be “miksha”, shaped out of a single piece of silver. And though not mentioned in our Parsha, there is one additional ritual object that had to be shaped from one piece: the Keruvim, which sat on top of the Aron had to also be Miksha. The word Miksha comes from the word Kasha, which means hard or difficult. To sculpt these elaborate objects can certainly be considered difficult. But why were these three items singled out for Miksha treatment? Is there any common thread between the Menorah, the trumpets and the Keruvim that can help shed light on this shared construction requirement? The key to understanding the Miksha factor is by seeking the symbolism inherent in each of the aforementioned items. The Menorah symbolizes Torah knowledge. The Talmud in Baba Batra learns from the position of the Menorah in the mishkan that Harotzeh Sheyachkim Yadrim: one who wants to become learned must orient towards the Menorah, on the southern wall of the Mikdash. The Gemara in Sukah (5b) states that the Keruvim resembled children. The chatzotzrot symbolize happiness. In this morning’s Torah reading, the last pasuk relating to the trumpets sums up the instances in which they were blown (10: 10). The sound of the chatzotzrot was supposed to both foster and express our feelings of joy. Torah, children and happiness: three of the most fundamental and essential aspects of our lives. Each stands on its own as an important pursuit, and yet they are inextricably entwined one with the other. One might think that as fundamentals, success in these areas should be easy. The Torah makes the point to tell us each instance: “Miksha Hi.” They’re hard to accomplish and hard to maintain. These three values seem to pull us in three different directions. Spending time learning Torah versus time spent with our families. The financial stress of paying for a Jewish education for our children, and how much happier we imagine we could be without that burden. Some people believe that such tensions and questions are symptoms of a lack faith and that the Torah has a clear answer for every situation. By examining the menorah, the chatzotzrot and the keruvim, we are better equipped to appreciate that at times the Torah’s lesson is to embrace the challenge and the tension. By specifying these three objects the Torah teaches us that even with goals as essential as Torah, family and joy, it’s OK to say “Miksha Hi.” By appreciating the inherent difficulties, may we merit to enjoy the full measure of Hashem’s blessing in all of these important facets of our life.

Opportunity Costs in Avodat Hashem

 In Judaism, the concept of sin is often misunderstood. We tend to think of an Aveira as actively doing something forbidden: violating a Halacha, hurting someone, or disobeying Hashem’s mitzvot. But Jewish tradition encourages us to see that the real tragedy of sin is not only in what we do wrong, but in what we could have done right instead. Every moment we spend on something spiritually negative is a moment we are not building, not learning, not growing, and not giving. The word the Torah uses for sin is "chet", which comes from the root meaning “to miss the mark.” It implies not only a mistake, but a failure to live up to one’s potential. Sin is not just a matter of breaking laws — it’s about misusing the precious, finite time and energy we’ve been given. An aveira is not simply a negative — it’s an absence of a positive. It’s not only that we did something wrong, but that we failed to do something right. This idea is echoed in the writings of the Vilna Gaon, who taught that every moment not used for Torah or mitzvot is a loss that can never truly be recovered. Similarly, Rav Tzadok HaKohen of Lublin taught that a person will be held accountable not just for the sins they committed, but for the Torah they could have learned and the mitzvot they could have performed instead. In a sense, this perspective raises the bar for us. Living a Torah life is not just about avoiding wrongdoing, but about actively pursuing good.  This is what David Hamelech is teaching us in Tehillim Chapter 34: “Who is the man who desires life, who loves days to see goodness? Guard your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking deceitfully. Shun evil and do good, seek peace and pursue it.” Avoiding evil is just the beginning. Life is really about doing good-deeds and seeking peace. It has been suggested that a physician’s first responsibility is “Do No Harm”. Even if that is in fact an important aspect of medicine, everyone agrees that doing no harm is merely the context in which healing and saving lives- the real purpose of medicine- can occur. Towards the beginning of Parshat Naso the Torah mentions the obligation of Viduy, confessing one’s sin as an integral step in the Teshuva process. The obligation is worded as follows (5:7): וְהִתְוַדּ֗וּ אֶת־חַטָּאתָם֘ אֲשֶׁ֣ר עָשׂוּ֒. “They shall confess the sin that they did.” The last two words seem superfluous- if you are confessing a sin, it’s obviously a sin that you did. The Kotzker Rebbe explained that the reason a person should not sin is not because it is forbidden or repulsive to the person. Rather a person should not sin because they have no time to sin. If a person sticks to a schedule of daily activities, Torah and mitzvot, they should have no time to do anything else. If a person sins, they must review their entire schedule and examine where they have been lax in allowing for “idle hands” which allows for the possibility of sin. This is how we should read the pasuk: One must confess their sin, and then they must consider what they could have and should have been doing instead of the sin. When we reflect on our mistakes, we should look beyond guilt and ask a more powerful question: What could I have been doing instead? That shift changes our relationship to sin and to life itself. It reminds us that each moment is an irrecoverable opportunity for kedusha.