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תבנה חומות ירושלים?

 

בכותרת המזמור נכתב כי מזמור זה נאמר: "בבוא אליו נתן הנביא כאשר בא אל בת שבע" (ב). ואכן המזמור שלפנינו הוא מזמור יחיד שבו דוד מודה על חטאו. אמנם במזמור כולו אין רמז לחטא דוד ובת שבע, אבל מזמורי תהילים בדרך כלל כלליים שכן הם משמשים לתפילות עתידיות.

יחד עם זאת, משני הפסוקים החותמים את המזמור נראה לכאורה שמדובר בתקופת שיבת ציון, בזמן שהחומות והמקדש עדיין לא בנויות: "היטיבה ברצונך את ציון תבנה חומות ירושלים" (כ). כיצד ניתן לגשר על הפער שבין כותרת המזמור המעידה על המזמור שהוא נאמר על ידי דוד ובין חתימת המזמור שלכאורה מתאימה לימי שיבת ציון?

רש"י פירש שאת הבקשה שבסוף המזמור אכן אמר דוד: "לבנות בית מקדשך בתוכה בימי שלמה בני". לעומתו רד"ק מבין שדוד מדבר כאן ברוח הקודש על בית המקדש השלישי: "היטיבה ברצונך. בשני הפסוקים האלה האחרונים נראה ששבה אליו רוח הקודש... כי ראה ברוח הקודש שעתיד בית המקדש להחרב, ראשון ושני, על העוונות... ובימי המשיח יהיו הקרבנות רצויים שיהיו כל ישראל בלב אחד לעבוד את ה', לפיכך אמר: היטיבה ברצונך את ציון". אבן עזרא מביא בפירושו פירוש בשם 'אחד מחכמי ספרד': "כי אלה השנים פסוקים הוסיפם אחד מהחסידים שהיה בבבל שהיה מתנפל לפני השם ומתפלל המזמור הזה והצריכו לדבר זה בעבור שלא נודע כי ציון הוא המקום הנבחר רק בעת זקנות דוד". כלומר שני הפסוקים האחרונים שבמזמור לא היו חלק מהמזמור שנכתב בימי דוד, ובימי גלות בבל נוספו שני פסוקים אלה למזמור.

עמוס חכם ב'דעת מקרא' מביא את פירוש הראב"ע ואף נותן סיוע לפירוש זה: "שמצינו שכן דרך המתפללים לקחת תפלות שנאמרו בימי קדם, ולחדש בהן דברים כפי צרך שעתם... האחרונים מבקשים כשם שענית לקדמונים שהתפללו לפניך כן תענה לנו". 

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Tzav: The Place of Sin

"This is the law of the sin offering (chatat): at the place where the elevation offering (olah) is slaughtered shall the sin offering be slaughtered before G-d, it is holy of holies" (6:18).

The korban chatat and korban olah are polar opposites. Sefer Vayikra opens with the olah, which represents our total dedication to G-d. No part of the sacrifice is to be consumed by humans. It is, literally, an elevation sacrifice, representing our striving to come closer unto G-d. It is usually brought voluntarily, when one wishes to go beyond the call of duty to reach G-d.

On the other hand, the korban chatat represents distance from G-d.  It is brought because—and only because—we have sinned. And here we are dealing with the most major of sins; those sins that carry the consequence of karet, being cut off from the Jewish people and their future. These include eating on Yom Kippur, eating chametz on Pesach, violation of Shabbat, and various types of sexual transgressions. One cannot volunteer to bring a chatat; it is an imposed obligation.

Whereas the olah is a conscious attempt to come closer to G-d, the chatat represents our forgetting of G-d. The chatat is brought only when sins are committed "inadvertently," when we were not thinking about our relationship with the Almighty. While a chatat is, in theory, based on a mistake, most mistakes are the result of carelessness. Why, then, does the Torah insist that the chatat must be offered at the same place—the northern part of the altar—as the olah?

Judaism has long recognized that sin is necessary in order to grow closer to G-d.  If we do not fall and fail, we cannot rise higher. The Torah does not hide the faults of our great leaders. Avraham, Yaakov or Moshe would not have been quite as great had they not sinned at various points in their life. The yetzer hara, our evil inclination, is a gift from G-d; enabling us, as our rabbis point out, to have children or to engage in commerce. "I created a yetzer hara, G-d declares, and created the Torah as a spice (tavlin) to it" (Kiddushin 30b). We must channel the yetzer hara to positive purpose, but we need it working hard within us.  It is not to be eradicated, only spiced up, so that it has a good taste. In fact, the greater the yetzer hara and the greater the sin, the greater the potential for growth, for more mitzvoth.  It is not by chance that our rabbis assert the birth of the mashiach began on Tisha B'av; only when one hits rock bottom can one begin the climb to the top.

While sin itself is evil, sinners are not. A sinner can transform a sin into a mitzvah. Perhaps this helps to explain the ambivalent attitude we sometimes have towards those who have yet to make this transformation. Yet, when one accepts sin as normal and proper, without using it as an impetus to grow, sin can become contagious and spread within us and beyond. We run the risk that those exposed to sin without protection may, too, become sick.

Without welcoming sinners into our midst, there is no way they can begin the process of spiritual growth. Thus, on the two holiest nights of the year, we invite all—including the greatest of sinners—to join us. We begin Yom Kippur with a pronouncement that we "allow" ourselves to pray with the sinners. On Pesach night we invite the rasha, the evil one who "removes himself from the community", to join with his brothers and sisters as we appreciate our past, enjoy the present and look forward to a glorious future.

The korban olah and korban chatat must be offered from the same place. Often, it is only after bringing a chatat that we can hope to achieve an olah.  The transformation of a chatat into an olah brings us even closer to G-d. Both those who bring a sin offering and those offering an olah must continually nurture and evolve their relationship with G-d. It is the merging of the chatat and the olah that allows us to "enter" the Holy of Holies.  Therefore, the korban olah and the korban chatat must be offered from the same place.

Courtesy of Torah in Motion - www.torahinmotion.org

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המשורר הצדיק

 

המזמור נחלק לשלושה חלקים מלבד כותרת המזמור (א-ב): בחלק הראשון (ג-ז) ישנה תוכחה על מעשי הרשע ותיאור עונשו; בחלק השני (ח-ט) תגובת הצדיקים לעונשו של הרשע, ובחלק השלישי (י-יא) המשורר מדבר על עצמו ועל הבטחון שהוא בוטח בה'.

המזמור עוסק ביחס שבין הצדיק והרשע. במקרה שלנו המשורר הוא עצמו הצדיק, ולמעשה כל המזמור כולו מביע את השקפתו של הצדיק. מעשי הרשע אינם מוצגים כרשימת מעשים שליליים אלא מעשיו של הרשע נאמרים תוך כדי הוכחת הצדיק אותו.

המשורר הצדיק לא רק בטוח בה', כפי שראינו בהרבה מהמזמורים, אלא הוא גם בטוח בגזר דינו של הרשע ובגמול הטוב שהוא עצמו יקבל. כלומר למשורר אין היסוס בנוגע לגמול הרשע והוא מכריז כי הרשע יקבל את עונשו: "גם א-ל יתצך לנצח... ושרשך מארץ חיים!" (ז).

המשורר מודיע בסוף המזמור כי הוא יודה לה' כאשר הוא יפגע ברשע: "אודך לעולם כי עשית" (יא). הצדיק מעוניין שהרשעים ייעלמו מן העולם משום שעצם הימצאותם בעולם פוגעת בעולם ובחברה.

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Tzav: Please Take Out the Garbage

One of the ideological revolutions of the Zionist movement was the notion of the inherent value of physical labour. Jews traditionally like to think of themselves as pursuing intellectual wisdom; earning their livelihood with their brains, not their hands. Zionism preached the concept of the holiness of manual labour, and through it succeeded in turning a barren wasteland into a land flowing with milk and honey.

The importance of "blue collar work" is, of course, not a new notion and was well accepted by our Sages. "Flee carcasses in the marketplace, and do not take from charity" (Pesachim 113a), they said. No honest work is menial or “beneath us”. It is thus no coincidence that some of our greatest sages were not only doctors but blacksmiths, winemakers, and carpenters.

The importance of "menial" work is underscored at the opening of this week's parsha. The Torah tells us that the first mitzvah performed each and every day in the Beit Hamikdash was that of Terumath Hadeshen--the cleaning of the ashes that had accumulated due to the constantly burning fires of the altars. "Janitorial work" thus was the fulfillment of the Divine will. Setting up chairs, taking out the garbage, and sweeping the floors in order to beautify our own Mikdashei Me'at (miniature sanctuary, our shuls) is transformed into a mitzvah.

The Mishnah in Yoma records that even though the Terumat Hadeshen was performed at the crack of dawn, the kohanim vied for the privilege of cleaning the altar. In fact, a lottery system was eventually instituted in order to fairly distribute this honour. Unfortunately, on one occasion, a kohen was actually murdered while attempting to perform this mitzvah because of another’s intense jealousy. While it is desirable to be zealous in one’s religious observance, there is no greater danger than that of misplaced religious fervour. 

Sadly, our generation has not applied the lessons of the Terumat Hadeshen in our service of G-d. It is difficult to find individuals willing to perform the "menial" but vital tasks that every organization needs; volunteers are harder and harder to find. While there is no doubt that people are busy, we always do find time for the important things in life. The positions of honour, with their prestigious titles, are often fought over (often to the disservice of all involved); but it is the people in the background who are the lifeblood of organizational work. No task is beneath their dignity as they perform their mitzvoth with pride.
 
Many Chumashim have a note in this week's parsha (8:7) telling us that this verse is the midpoint of all the verses in the Chumash. The Torah here describes how Moshe helped to dress Aaron with the special priestly garments in preparation for his consecration as high priest. But does the Torah really have to tell us how Aaron got dressed? This is the central verse of the entire Chumash! The lesson that the Torah wants to stress is that the essence of Judaism is helping others with the little things in life. Moshe was honoured to have a share in the mitzvah, even though he had no actual role to play in the Temple.

His help was all the more remarkable when we consider the fact that our Sages note that deep down, Moshe wanted the priesthood for himself. The Chumash alludes to this in verse 23, where we have only one of four shalshelets in the Chumash. This liturgical note symbolizes hesitation, as is evident when we hear it. Moshe was not really sure he wanted to continue preparing Aaron for the priesthood. However, he did not let his personal feelings stand in the way of performing his duty.
 
Instead of worrying about what is best for the community, too many base our decisions on political or other considerations. We must strive to act solely with the best interest of the Jewish community at heart; willingly doing our part, however minor it may appear. This is the essence of nation-building, a task upon which we focus on Pesach, and it is the essence of Torah. Shabbat Shalom!
 
Courtesy of Torah in Motion - www.torahinmotion.org
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Vayikra: Salting Our Sacrifices

Modern man finds the notion of sacrifices primitive, archaic and a form of Divine service that is no longer necessary. Yet to ancient man, nothing came more naturally than offering sacrifices to G-d. Cain and Hevel, Noach and Abraham instinctively offered sacrifices to G-d, without being commanded to do so.

A korban is a mechanism for coming closer to G-d, an idea that is alluded to in its very name, coming from the root “karev”, to be close. The korban—whether offered as thanksgiving for our blessings, to revive our bond with G-d after separation caused by sin, or to mark special occasions both personal and national—always linked our physical beings to a transcendent G-d.

The essence of korbanot is the elevation and sanctification of our physical beings. Eating is transformed into a spiritual act, a way of connecting to G-d and our fellow man. A korban is a barbeque with a spiritual angle to it. Wine and bread (nesachim and menachot) were often added to the festive meal. One might celebrate a business deal with friends, good food and drink at the Temple in Jerusalem; we would thereby acknowledge G-d's guiding hand in our material success, and share our bounty with our fellow Jews. Holiday time would bring all Jews together to celebrate with such delicacies as barbequed lamb on seder night. And those parts of the korban which were not to be eaten taught us than there must be limits to our pursuit of physical pleasures.

With the destruction of the Temple, the crucial experiential aspect of celebrating at the Temple was lost. Our Sages tried to recreate the Temple experience through our shuls and our homes, representing both the communal and the private korbanot. Through such activities as the ritual washing of hands, and more importantly, hachnasat orchim (hosting needy guests), our tables are transformed into altars at which taking care of our most basic needs is a way of becoming closer to G-d.

Perhaps the most famous Temple practice that has found its way into our homes is putting salt on our bread. "And every meal offering you shall season with salt. Do not leave out the salt of your covenant with G-d (brit melech) from your meal offerings; on all your sacrifices you shall offer salt" (Vayikra 2:13). The Sefer Hachinuch explains simply that salt adds taste to food, and to offer a sacrifice lacking flavour would be inappropriate.

In addition to the above symbolic meaning of salt, there is a historical lesson regarding salt to which the Torah alludes. "And his [Lot’s] wife looked behind him and she was turned into a pillar of salt" (Breisheet 19:26). Sedom was a city in which it was illegal to help others; the Torah's description of the Sedomite attack on Lot's home because he hosted strangers is indicative of a way of life that had to be destroyed. Sedom was a place where "the people were wicked and sinful to G-d very much" (Breisheet 13:13).

One cannot establish a relationship with G-d without developing one with our fellow man. It is for this reason that our prophets, time and time again, castigated the Jews for bringing meaningless sacrifices: sacrifices accompanied by continued oppression of the poor, corruption and an unwillingness to truly repent. G-d, our prophets tell us, despises such empty ritual and meaningless sacrifices (see, for example, Isaiah Chapter 1).

The salting of our korbanot reminds us of the need to create a society based on the principles of righteousness and justice, the antithesis of Sedom. It was specifically these qualities that served as the basis of G-d's choice of Abraham to establish a great nation. "I have given him special attention so that he will command his children and his household after him and they will keep G-d's ways doing righteousness and justice" (18:19).

Jewish law states that after partaking of a meal and before benching (Grace after Meals) we must wash our hands to rid ourselves of "the salt of Sedom" (Hulin 105b). Our eating is elevated into a seudat mitzvah as we wash away the self-centeredness and smugness of Sedom, replacing it with concern for the welfare of our neighbours.

The bringing of korbanot, paralleled nowadays in our prayers, is meant not to cause us to dwell on the past but to demonstrate our commitment towards working for a better future. As Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch notes, korbanot are described by the Torah as a reaich nichoach, a sweet aroma. Just as a pleasant aroma alerts us to something pleasant ahead, so too must the korbanot foreshadow an improved person. May we merit the bringing of such korbanot.

Courtesy of Torah in Motion - www.torahinmotion.org

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Vayikra: Lasting Impressions

Modern psychological research has shown that infants begin processing information even before they are born, and impressions made on children have an everlasting effect.   It is for this reason that the Mishna in Pirkei Avot (2:11) heaps praise upon the mother of Rav Yehoshua for bringing him to shul as an infant. The Torah itself commands that little children, and even infants, be brought to Jerusalem on certain special occasions; the atmosphere of holiness experienced by these children would stay with them forever. When a child begins to speak, the Talmud rules that we are to teach them, "Moses prescribed the Torah to us, an eternal heritage for the congregation of Jacob" (Devarim 33:4).

Our children are the next link in the chain going back to Moshe Rabbeinu, and it is as young children that they begin the study of Torat Moshe. When children were first introduced to the world of the Chumash, it was traditional to begin with the book of Vayikra. This seems an odd choice. The main theme of the book deals with the rules of sacrifices that are not applicable today, the purpose of which was a major source of philosophical dispute. We, as adults, have difficulty relating to the idea of sacrifices; so it seems inappropriate to begin a child's education with the abstract laws of korbanot. Why not start at the beginning, with Sefer Breisheet?

The midrash, addressing this very issue, states that "Children are pure and sacrifices are pure. Let the pure come and occupy themselves with the pure". And what impressions would a child get from starting with the other books of the chumash?  Sefer Breisheet starts with Adam and Eve disobeying the one and only command they have!  The stories of the generation of the flood, the Tower of Bavel, Sedom; the brotherly friction throughout.  Does this seem like an appropriate introduction to Torah?

Sefer Shemot is not much better. We meet a nameless, faceless people who reject the traditions of their ancestors and are subsequently enslaved. Bamidbar is a book of complaining and more complaining, in which the Jewish people are forced to wander aimlessly for forty years until a new generation arose, free from the slave mentality of their parents. In Sefer Devarim, Moshe exhorts the Jews not to repeat the mistakes of the past that would further delay their entry into the land of Israel. While there are tremendous displays of moral strength in these books, and much to be learned from both the good deeds and the mistakes of the past, an impressionable child might be left with a skewed picture of the lessons of Torah.

Teaching the korbanot properly can instill some of the basic messages of Judaism. First, a korban must be free of all blemishes. While, by definition, human beings are imperfect, we must never cease striving to reach perfection in the moral and ethical spheres. In fact, even an improper thought regarding the consumption of the korban renders it unfit for use. While we are generally concerned with actions, it is the lusting of our hearts that often leads to improper behaviour. Of course, being Jewish often entails sacrifice of the moment for eternal values.

I would suggest that the most important message of the korbanot—especially to children—is the importance of sincerity. Time and time again, the prophets protested the offering of sacrifices by the Jewish people. They emphasized that an empty act of sacrifice was unacceptable, even hated by G-d (Isaiah 1:11-14). Atonement was not possible unless it was accompanied by a genuine desire to improve. Otherwise, it is just a meaningless, unnecessary ritual. A true korban brought one closer to G-d, and had a lasting impact on the giver.

We live in a world full of insincerity; our children must learn to be openhearted. The inculcation of this trait must begin at a tender age, so at least our children can lead the way to the sincere worship of G-d. 

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Shmini: Comforting Cousins

At times of crisis, true leaders often emerge, be they political, military or religious. Their ability to effectively provide inspiration, motivation, hope, and comfort when needed sows seeds of evolutionary growth in the life of a nation. This is equally true on a personal level, especially when a sudden tragedy strikes. It is in these situations that great people reach for strength and ability they did not even know they possessed. 

While the greatness of Moshe is demonstrated time and time again throughout Chumash—in his intolerance of injustice, his fearless challenge of Pharaoh, his spiritual inspiration, his total defense of the Jewish people, his moral refinement—we catch a small glimpse of his noble character in the aftermath of the tragic deaths of Nadav and Avihu. In the midst of the dedication ceremony of the tabernacle, Aaron's two oldest sons, who were among the most righteous in the nation, were killed for reasons that remain unclear. A heavenly fire consumed them; in the blink of an eye, the festive atmosphere came to a screeching halt. 

The first thing Moshe did was to assure the distraught father that they did not die in vain.  Moshe quotes G-d, "I will be sanctified by those close to Me" (Vayikra 10:3). He assured Aaron that their life, and even their death, had great meaning and purpose; thus offering him some degree of comfort. 

The Torah then records that Moshe asked his two youngest first cousins, Mishael and Eltzafan, to remove "their brothers from within the holy" (10:4). Why, of all people, did Moshe ask them?  Why not ask the two remaining brothers, Elazar and Itamar—or at the very least, some of the older cousins—to remove the bodies? 

Moshe, the Netziv explains, was well aware of the latent (and soon to be not-so-latent) jealousy that many felt towards Aharon; they figured he had achieved his high priesthood through nepotism. In addition to words of comfort offered by the nation, there may have been a little smug satisfaction in their condolences to Aharon; just desserts for the power-hungry, they may have thought.  It is for this reason that Jewish law forbids a known foe from paying a shiva visit upon the death of his adversary. Instead of being comforted, the family may interpret the visit as gloating, even if in actuality, that is not the case. 

Moshe, realizing the sensitivity of the moment, chose those younger and humbler cousins, who could have had no feelings of jealousy. As the children of Uziel, the youngest of Kehat's four children, they had no expectations of leadership. They were just young men, living a quiet, dignified life. They could carry out their grim duty filled with pain and sorrow for Aharon, and most important, he would be able to accept their service wholeheartedly. Ironically, it was Moshe's later appointment of Eltzafan as the leader of Kehat that led to Korach's failed rebellion. It is noteworthy that Mishael, though older than Eltzafan, graciously accepted the latter’s appointment. 

That one can feel grief mixed with joy is well recognized by our rabbis. In an amazing insight into the human psyche, the halacha requires that one recite the bracha of Shehechiyanu upon inheriting a large sum of money due to the death of a parent, despite the fact that this bracha is usually reserved for moments of rare joy. Our Rabbis understood that even while one mourns, there is joy at one's newfound wealth. 

Moshe’s empathy did not end there. The tragic story of Nadav and Avihu has, as its concluding verse, "and Moshe heard and it was good in his eyes" (10:26). Moshe had mistakenly accused Elazar and Itamar of being remiss by not eating of the sin offering brought; as kohanim leading the Temple service, their public duty must take precedence over personal grief, Moshe thought. When Aharon corrected Moshe, and pointed out that a kohen who is an onen (faced with the death of a relative prior to burial) may not partake of sacrifices—the connection to G-d being temporarily severed—Moshe humbly acknowledged his mistake, with no excuses or mitigation. The last word the Torah leaves us with is Moshe's admission of his mistake in the confusing aftermath of tragedy; “and Moshe heard and he agreed” (10:20). If only we could all learn from this greatest of leaders! 

Courtesy of Torah in Motion - www.torahinmotion.org

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בתאבון!

 

בחלק גדול מהמזמור הדובר הוא ה' בעצמו, ותופעה זו די חריגה בספר תהילים. פסוקים ז-טו עוסקים בקורבנות. בניגוד לתפיסה הרווחת אצל הנביאים כאן אין אמירה שהקורבנות צריכים לבוא יחד עם תשתית מוסרית, אלא המזמור מדגיש שמטרת הקורבנות היא לתת כבוד לה' ולא האכלתו והשבעתו.

המשורר, המדבר בשמו של ה', אומר: "אם ארעב לא אמר לך" (יב) ובהמשך תוהה האם עם ישראל חושב ש"האוכל בשר אבירים?! ודם עתודים אשתה?!" (יג).

בתפיסה הרווחת במזרח הקדום הקורבנות הובאו לאלים כדי להשביע את רעבונם. אחת הדוגמאות המפורסמות בהקשר הזה היא תיאור הקרבת הקורבן לאחר המבול באפוס "אתרח'סיס" (אפוס מסופוטמי על בריאת האדם והמבול): "שבעה ימים, שבעה לילות ירד מטר, סער זלעפות, מבול..." ולאחר שאתרח'סיס מבין כי יבשה האדמה הוא שולח את יושבי הספינה ומקריב קרבנות לאלים: "[הוציאם לארבע] רוחות [ויקרב קרבן]... זן [את האלים]... [הריחו] האלים את הניחוח, נקהלו [כמו זבובים] על הקרבן. אחר אשר אכלו את הקרבן..." (מתוך: ש' שפרה, י' קליין, בימים הרחוקים ההם - אנתולוגיה משירת המזרח הקדום).

כמובן שבתפיסה המקראית ה' לא אוכל את הקרבן. בתיאור המקביל בתורה, נח מקריב קרבנות לה', אך ה' מסתפק רק בהרחת הקורבן ולא באכילתו: "וַיֵּצֵא-נֹחַ וּבָנָיו וְאִשְׁתּוֹ וּנְשֵׁי-בָנָיו אִתּוֹ. כָּל-הַחַיָּה כָּל-הָרֶמֶשׂ וְכָל-הָעוֹף כֹּל רוֹמֵשׂ עַל-הָאָרֶץ לְמִשְׁפְּחֹתֵיהֶם יָצְאוּ מִן-הַתֵּבָה. וַיִּבֶן נֹחַ מִזְבֵּחַ לַה' וַיִּקַּח מִכֹּל הַבְּהֵמָה הַטְּהֹרָה וּמִכֹּל הָעוֹף הַטָּהוֹר וַיַּעַל עֹלֹת בַּמִּזְבֵּחַ. וַיָּרַח ה' אֶת-רֵיחַ הַנִּיחֹחַ וַיֹּאמֶר ה' אֶל-לִבּוֹ לֹא-אֹסִף לְקַלֵּל עוֹד אֶת-הָאֲדָמָה בַּעֲבוּר הָאָדָם" (בראשית ח', יח-כא).

כך גם בהמשך התורה מתואר שה' מריח את ריח הניחוח אך בוודאי שלא אוכל את הקרבן. למעשה אם תיאור ריח הניחוח היה נראה בעינינו כהגשמה של הקב"ה (ראה בהרחבה מורה נבוכים ח"א פרק מ"ז) בהשוואה לקטע מאתרח'סיס ברור כי אין כאן הגשמה אלא ההיפך הגמור. לפנינו חינוך לתפיסה חדשה של הא-ל. ה' אינו רעב והקרבן לא מיועד כדי להשביעו: "אם ארעב לא אמר לך" (יב).

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Tazria-Metzora: Joy in Children

There is no greater joy than having a child. From a religious perspective, bringing new life into this world is the most tangible way of demonstrating that we were created in G-d’s image. The initial biblical portrayal of G-d is that of a Creator. And the first mitzvah given to man is to be fruitful and multiply and to conquer the earth, mandating us to imitate and partner with G-d in the continuing process of creation. The Torah describes the great joy, and the subsequent party, when Yitzchak was born. A primary theme of sefer Breisheet is the yearning for children.

It should then strike us as rather strange that the mitzvot incumbent upon us when a child is born, enumerated at the beginning of parshat Tazria, have a much different feel to them. The Torah describes how birth leads to a state of impurity, with the length of time spent in this state dependent on the sex of the child. The mother must bring a sin offering soon after birth. These laws follow on the heels of a discussion of forbidden foods, specifically those that define the impurity caused by rodents and the like. Immediately thereafter, the Torah describes the laws of tza’arat, involving not only impurity but, at times, quarantine from the community. It sure seems as if childbirth is less than a celebratory event.

The notion of birth causing impurity seems contradictory to the meaning of childbirth. Impurity, by definition, emanates from contact with death—a dead body being avi avot, “the grandfather” of impurity. The various levels of impurity and their myriad details are determined by the closeness to death itself. 

Apparently, the Torah wanted to us to be cognizant of death at the moment we celebrate life. It often takes an awareness of death to motivate one to live a meaningful life. It is a tragic truism that when people are given the diagnosis of only a few months to live, they are motivated to live much differently. And when some defy the odds, they are often most grateful for the mistaken diagnosis; that “mistake” is what allowed them to live a more meaningful life.

This mixing of contradictory themes is woven throughout our tradition, allowing us to put all of life in perspective. Immediately upon returning from burying a loved one, family members must eat, demonstrating their resolve to continue to life. It is the basis of the custom of a bridegroom to wear a kittel, reminiscent of a burial shroud, at his wedding, as well as the custom of the breaking of the glass. It explains why Yom Ha’atzmaut is preceded by Yom Hazikaron, and Yom Hazikaron is followed by Yom Ha’atzmaut. If we do not take advantage of the gift of life, we are not much different than the rodents and swarming creatures who impart impurity.

Our Sages linked tzara’at to the sin of gossip. G-d created the world with ten utterances, and it is the power of speech that, according to many, is the key feature of our divine image. And one can speak loudly without actually saying words. The Talmud (Megillah 21b) notes that in actual fact, the word VaYomer (“and G-d said”), appears only nine times during the story of creation. They assert that breisheet, the act of creation itself, is also a form of speech. Our actions speak louder than words, and serve as our greatest creative tool. 

That we will never speak inappropriately is not possible, and the greatest of our leaders, Moshe and Miriam, were afflicted with tzara’at. They inappropriately criticized the Jewish people and their brother, respectively. Only Aaron, the one who loved peace and sought peace, escaped this disease. There is little more important than teaching our children, from the day they are born, that speech must be a tool to bring people together. It is, after all, G-d’s method for creating us all.

Courtesy of Torah in Motion: www.torahinmotion.org

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זית רענן

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