Podcasts about parasha

Parashat Pinhas tells the story of Benot Selofhad – the five daughters of a man named Selofhad, who died in the wilderness leaving behind only these five daughters, without any sons. As Beneh Yisrael were preparing to enter the Land of Israel, these women approached Moshe and asked that they inherit the portion in the land that had been earmarked for Selofhad. Moshe consulted with Hashem, who informed him that indeed, when there are no sons, a person's daughters inherit his estate. The Torah introduces this story by identifying Selofhad as "Selofhad, the son of Hefer, the son of Gilad, the son of Machir, the son of Menashe, from among the families of Menashe, the son of Yosef" (27:1). Rashi raises the question of why the Torah found it necessary to mention Yosef in this context. We are, quite obviously, already well-aware of the fact that Menashe was one of the two sons of Yosef. Why are we reminded about Yosef in the introduction to the story of Benot Selofhad? Rashi answers that the Torah wanted to draw an association between these five women and their righteous ancestor, Yosef, whose legacy their carried through their love for the Land of Israel. Yosef made his brothers promise before his passing that they would bring his remains to Eretz Yisrael for burial, out of his deep love for Eretz Yisrael. And his descendants – Benot Selofhad – similarly displayed their commitment to Eretz Yisrael by approaching Moshe and imploring him to give them their father's portion of the land. Later commentators questioned how Rashi saw in Benot Selofhad's request an expression of love for the Land of Israel. Seemingly, they just wanted property; they give no indication that they longed specifically for a portion of Eretz Yisrael. Imagine a youngster is participating in a program and the people running the program are serving pizza and nothing else. If the youngster comes forward and asks for a slice of pizza, does this necessarily show his love for pizza? Of course not. He's hungry and wants food, and pizza is the food that's being served. By the same token, it seems, Benot Selofhad simply wanted property. How did Rashi know that Selofhad's daughters felt special love for Eretz Yisrael? One answer given is that Rashi inferred this from the timing of the request. Selofhad died many years earlier, yet his daughters came forward to claim their inheritance rights only now, as the nation prepared to cross into the Land of Israel. They did not ask for any of Selofhad's possessions throughout all the years after his passing. He undoubtedly had valuable assets, but this did not concern them. The fact that they approached Moshe only now, on the cusp of Beneh Yisrael's arrival in the land, shows that they felt a special connection to Eretz Yisrael, following the legacy of their illustrious ancestor, Yosef. The Netziv (Rav Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin of Volozhin, 1816-1893) offers a different explanation. As mentioned earlier, Selofhad was a grandson of Gilad, the son of Machir. Later (Bamidbar 32:40), we read that the family of Machir was given a portion in Eber Ha'Yarden – the territory east of the Jordan River – as their permanent area of residence. Selofhad, as a member of this family, should thus have had rights to a piece of land in this region, and not in Eretz Yisrael. His daughters, however, asked that they be given a share not in Eber Ha'Yarden, but in the Land of Israel. They would not have been satisfied with territory in the region settled by the Machir family. Due to their great love for the Land of Israel, they insisted on receiving land in Eretz Yisrael instead of the region settled by their father's family – and Rashi thus understood that they, as loyal heirs of Yosef, shared his special love and commitment to the sacred land that Hashem has given us.

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A fellow who works with a certain hesed organization in Lakewood told me that they were once helping the family of a woman who was gravely ill. Her friends and neighbors wanted to know which mitzvot they could do as a merit for her recovery, so people from the organization traveled with the woman and her husband to South Fallsburg, to consult with Rav Elya Ber Wachtfogel, one of the great Rosheh Yeshiva in America today. Rav Wachtfogel's answer was very surprising. He didn't mention things like Shabbat, kashrut , modesty, or lashon ha'ra (though it goes without saying that these are all exceedingly important). Instead, he noted that everyone – without exception – has a little bit of " nebuch " within them. This means that everyone feels insecure or "messed up" in some way. For some people it's their appearance. For others it's some religious struggle that they just can't seem to overcome and they're embarrassed about. For some it's finances, having less than the people around them. For some it's a child, several children, or some other issue going on in the family. We all have something that makes us feel uneasy about ourselves, that makes us feel like a " hazit ," like we're a failure. "What you should be working on," the Rosh Yeshiva said, "is encouraging people, lifting them up, emphasizing their strengths, letting them know how much goodness they have inside them." This was his suggestion for a zechut (merit) for the ill patient. Parashat Pinhas continues the story that began to be told in the previous parashah , about the time when the men of Beneh Yisrael became involved with the women of other nations. At one point, a man named Zimri, who led the tribe of Shimon, publicly took a non-Jewish woman into a private place. The Torah says that the people felt helpless, and just cried. Then Pinhas arose and killed the violators, bringing an abrupt end to the deadly plague that Hashem had sent to punish the people. In the beginning of our parashah , Hashem tells Moshe that He would be rewarding Pinhas בקנאו את קנאתי בתוכם – because he acted zealously for Hashem בתוכם – "among them," in the midst of the nation (25:11). Different explanations have been given for why Hashem emphasized that Pinhas performed this act בתוכם , among the people. But one particularly meaningful answer is offered by Rav Moshe Sternbuch. He writes that before Pinhas acted, he was just בתוכם , one of the people. He did not stand out in any way. There was nothing exceptional about him. He was just another Jew. But this did not deter him. He saw a need – and so he arose to fill that need. He wasn't discouraged by his "ordinariness." He didn't say to himself, "I'm a nobody, there's nothing I can do." He knew what had to be done, and he did it. Of course, Pinhas' situation was unique, and this kind of zealotry is not an example that we are supposed to follow. But the lesson of בתוכם is timeless and extremely important. Baruch Hashem , our community has grown over the years, and may it continue to do so. Like all great blessings, this blessing of growth presents some challenges – one of which is the challenge of בתוכם . As our community has grown, individuals become in their eyes smaller and less significant. In the past, it was relatively easy to sense that each of us made a difference, that each of us was needed in some way. But now, with the community so large, many people – especially youngsters – feel בתוכם , that they're just ordinary folks with nothing special to offer, with no special role to fill. As Rav Wachtfogel said, we need to encourage and uplift one another. Parents need to impress upon their children that they have exceptional gifts and talents that our community, and the Jewish world, need. Spouses should be encouraging one another to excel and achieve. But perhaps most importantly, we need to encourage ourselves and to stop putting ourselves down. We have to stop feeling " nebuch " and ordinary. Yes, we have our issues, our struggles, our flaws and our faults, and yes, we've all made mistakes. But this does not mean that we don't have the potential for greatness. We need to recognize our potential and, like Pinhas, seize the opportunities to shine. Let's stop being afraid, being embarrassed, and being insecure – and let's start living with self-confidence and with the firm belief that we are capable of doing great things, and that we have been brought here into the world to do great things.

Parasha Chughat 1 by Rabbi Benjamin Lavian

Parasha Chughat 2 by Rabbi Benjamin Lavian

HEBREW CONGREGATION OF HOUSTON1. Awakening2. Identity3. How to Move Forward

Num. 22:2 – 25:9 , Micha 5:6(7)–6:8Support the show

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We are Different Parashat Balak tells of how Balak, the king of Moab, summoned Bilam and hired him to place a curse on Beneh Yisrael so they would be annihilated. The plan backfired, as G-d repeatedly forced Balak to bless Beneh Yisrael, instead. Bilam began his first blessing by noting that Balak brought him from his homeland, Aram, for the purpose of cursing Beneh Yisrael (23:7). We must ask, why is this detail important? Of what significance is it that Bilam was brought to Moab specifically from the region of Aram? A deep answer to this question was suggested by Rav David Tevel of Minsk (1794-1861), in his work Nahalat David. He explains that Balak's scheme was not at all rash or haphazard; it was very carefully devised and crafted. Balak explored the origins of this nation – Beneh Yisrael – by whom he felt so threatened, and he discovered that they originated from Aram Naharayim. It was there where Abraham Abinu was raised, and from where the family later journeyed toward the Land of Israel. Balak figured that his best chance to destroy Am Yisrael would be by finding someone with the same origins, another person from Aram. As we know, the greatest pain that can inflicted upon someone is from somebody close to him. (Thus, for example, an insult from an immediate family member hurts far more than an insult from somebody who is not part of the family. And an insult from a community member hurts far more than an insult from a total stranger.) Balak thought that if he could bring somebody from Aram to oppose and inflict harm upon Beneh Yisrael, this would be their undoing. His strategy was to bring someone from Aram, an "insider," who could bring Beneh Yisrael down. However, the Nahalat David explains, Balak made a grave mistake. He did not realize that although Abraham indeed grew up in Aram, he had since been completely detached from his background. When G-d first spoke to Abraham, He commanded him to leave his country, his birthplace, and his father's home (Bereshit 12:1) – referring to not simply geographical relocation, but to complete dissociation from his past. Abraham's move to Eretz Yisrael constituted a clean break from his family background, the start of something completely new. The Nahalat David explains that this is why Abraham and Sara were naturally unable to beget children, and they produced a child through a miracle. The establishment of Am Yisrael marked the creation of an entirely new line, with no biological connection to Abraham and Sara's family background. This is also why Abraham and Sara's names were changed – from Abram to Abraham, and from Sarai to Sara – to indicate that they underwent a fundamental transformation and rebirths. Indeed, Bilam pronounces in his first blessing, "For from the top of rocks I see them, and I look upon them from the hills" (23:9). Rashi writes that this refers to the Abot (patriarchs) and Imahot (matriarchs). Bilam was saying that Beneh Yisrael are rooted in greatness, stemming from their sacred, righteous ancestors, and thus cannot be cursed. The Nahalat David explains that Bilam was observing that Beneh Yisrael's roots extend no further than the Abot and Imahot. They do not trace their lineage back to Abraham's parents and forebears – because they are a fundamentally new and distinct entity, bearing no connection at all to Abraham's origins in Aram. As the verse continues, "Hen Am Le'badad Yishkon U'ba'goyim Lo Yit'hashab" – "Behold, they are a nation that dwells alone, and is not reckoned among the other nations." The "genes" of Aram, so-to-speak, never made it to Avraham Avinu's descendants. They have no attachment to any other people, and so Balak's plan was doomed to fail already from the outset. The Jewish People are different, and we are meant to be different. Beliefs, values and lifestyles that are accepted and popular among other nations are not necessarily acceptable to us. The things that the surrounding society prioritizes and celebrates are not necessarily for us to prioritize or celebrate. We must always live with a sense of "Am Le'badad Yishkon" – that we dwell alone, with our own traditions, our own beliefs, and our own way of life.

Balak, the man for whom this parashah is named, was very worried. As were the people in his kingdom, Moav. The Torah tells that Balak saw Beneh Yisrael 's conquest of the bordering territories of Sihon and Og. These two kingdoms attacked Beneh Yisrael , who fought back and captured their lands. Balak was scared that Beneh Yisrael would do the same to him. The people of Moav were so frightened, the Torah adds, that ויקץ מואב מפני בני ישראל – they were "disgusted" by Beneh Yisrael (22:3). Rashi explains: קצו בחייהם – they were fed up with their lives because of Beneh Yisrael . The fear was so overwhelming and so debilitating that they hated their lives. The irony is that Beneh Yisrael gave no indication whatsoever that they intended to wage war against Moav. They conquered the territory of Sihon and Og only after these kingdoms attacked them unprovoked; at no point did they express their desire to initiate hostilities. Moreover – Hashem explicitly commanded Beneh Yisrael not to wage war against Moav (Devarim 2:9). They could not have attacked Moav even if they wanted to! Moav's fear, I believe, is an example of the kind of gloom that afflicts so many of us. People walk around with this fear of the unknown, envisioning in their minds all the things that could go wrong. They see and hear things going on in the world, and they can't help but ask themselves, "What's going to be? What's going to be with the economy? What's going to be with our country? What's going to be in Israel? What's going to be with our youth? What's going to be with the spiritual challenges we face in our era of technology? In our personal lives, too, we sometimes can't help but worry about finances, our children, and other questions about our future. Like Moav, people sometimes reach the point of קצו בחייהם , where they are "disgusted" with their lives, because they worry so much about what will happen. But also like Moav, they are worrying and ruining their lives unnecessarily. King Shlomo teaches us in Mishleh (10:16): פעלת צדיק לחיים – "The activity of the righteous person is for life..." The Malbim explains that the word פעולה refers to the work a person does, the process, irrespective of the outcome. When a tzadik acts, the work itself is "life," is valuable and gratifying, regardless of whether it produces the desired result. The righteous person understands that Hashem controls the world, that He and only He determines the outcome, and so our job is the פעולה , to live the right way, to do the right thing, to make our effort. The tzadik does not ask "What's going to be?" – because he trusts that Hashem will take care of everything. The only thing that tzadik asks is "What do I need to do? How do I need to live? What's the best way for me to achieve today?" I once addressed a large group of single girls. I told them that I was not letting them out of the room until they promised me that they would never see a married girl their age or younger and say to themselves, "She's better than me." I made them promise that they would never think that there's anything wrong with them, that they were not yet married because they're not good-looking enough, not smart enough, not rich enough, or not from a good enough family. As long as they're doing their best, and working hard to live the right way, there is nothing at all wrong with them. Hashem decides the outcome; we just do our best. This should be our mindset in all areas of life. We need to live with the confidence that Hashem is running the world, that the outcome depends entirely on Him. We do this by focusing on the פעולה , on the process, on the things we can control –our behavior and our decisions – and leaving the results to Hashem. The opposite of קצו בחייהם is פעולת צדיק לחיים . If we want to feel happy, confident and upbeat, we need to focus on the פעולה , on living the right way, and to stop asking "What's going to be?"

Uma das maiores bençãos do profeta Bilam foi a música e reza tão famosa:Má Tovu Ohalechá Yakov... Quão belas são tuas tendas Jacob.Ele estava se referindo à MODÉSTIA, Privacidade e Recato do povo de Israel, valores esquecidos na vida modernaParashá BALAK Curtiu a aula?Faça um pix RABINOELIPIX@GMAIL.COM , e nos ajude a darmos sequência neste projeto!#chassidut #mistica #judaismo #Parasha #tora #torah #balak #bilam #modestia #matovu #Midrashim #tzniut #tsniut #recato #privacidade #valores #judaismo #judeu #mashiach

Uma das maiores bençãos do profeta Bilam foi a música e reza tão famosa:Má Tovu Ohalechá Yakov... Quão belas são tuas tendas Jacob.Ele estava se referindo à MODÉSTIA, Privacidade e Recato do povo de Israel, valores esquecidos na vida modernaParashá BALAK Curtiu a aula?Faça um pix RABINOELIPIX@GMAIL.COM , e nos ajude a darmos sequência neste projeto!#chassidut #mistica #judaismo #Parasha #tora #torah #balak #bilam #modestia #matovu #Midrashim #tzniut #tsniut #recato #privacidade #valores #judaismo #judeu #mashiach

If we are to overcome and live victoriously, we must submit to G-d's way of doing things. Listen to Rabbi Toby's Shabbat sermon based out of Parasha Chukat at Congregation Mayim Chayim.

Het oude is voorbijgegaan. Zie, alles wordt nieuw. Een nieuwe generatie is in het laatste jaar van de woestijnreis te Kadesh gekomen. Daar sterft de profetes Mirjam. Daar horen Mozes en Aäron dat ze het land Kanaän niet inmogen. Daar vallen er velen door de vurige slangen. En weer moeten ze omlopen. Alles wordt nieuw? Het lijkt er eerder op dat alles tegen zit, dat alles in de dood eindigt. Wat heerlijk is dan het ritueel - de choekat van het reinigingswater tot ontzondiging. Daar begint de parasja Choekat mee en in het licht van het voorschrift voor ontzodiging moeten we deze hele parasja lezen. Want rein en onrein staat altijd in verband met het leven en de dood. Wie in aanraking komt met de dood - en wie komt dat niet? - die wordt onrein. In dit Leerhuis zien we hoe de as van de jonge koe, de rode vaars, de Israëliet ontzondig en we zien hoe het verlossende en plaatsvervangende werk van de Messias heerlijk naar voren komt in deze choekat. Num. 19:1 – 22:1 , Richt.11:1–33Support the show

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Sefer Bamidbar | Chukat | 5785 | Taking Initiative, by Rav Ezra Bick What's the difference between the first generation in the midbar and the second? Three short incidents in the middle of the Parasha define the change in the Jewish people after thirty years.

Parashat Hukat tells the famous story of Meh Meriba – Moshe Rabbenu's sin of striking the rock to produce water after G-d had instructed him to speak to the rock. Hashem punished Moshe, decreeing that he would not have the privilege of entering the Land of Israel along with the rest of the nation. Numerous different approaches have been taken to explain the nature of Moshe Rabbenu's mistake, and to answer the question of how Moshe, the greatest prophet who ever lived, a man of such towering spiritual stature, could have disobeyed G-d's explicit command to speak to the rock. A particularly fascinating explanation is offered by the Hatam Sofer (Rav Moshe Sofer of Pressburg, 1762-1839), who notes a mysterious nuance in G-d's command to produce water by speaking to the rock. Hashem said to Moshe, "You shall speak to the rock and it shall give forth its water, and you shall bring water for them out of the rock…" (20:8). Surprisingly, Hashem here twice mentions the production of water: 1) "and it shall give forth its water"; 2) "and you shall bring water for them out of the rock." It seems that Moshe was to extract water from the rock in two different stages through his speech. The Hatam Sofer solves this mystery based on the conclusion of this verse: "Ve'hishkita Et Ha'eda U'be'iram" – "you shall give water to drink for the congregation and their animals." The rock was to produce two streams of water – one for the people, and one of their animals. The Hatam Sofer explains that throughout the forty years which Beneh Yisrael spent in the wilderness, they ate heavenly food – the manna – but drank ordinary water. This water was provided through supernatural means – a well which miraculously traveled with them, in the merit of Miriam, Moshe's righteous sister – but the water was ordinary water. The manna originated from the heavens, and was spiritual food, whereas the water itself was no different from regular water that the people were accustomed to drinking. But now, as Beneh Yisrael were entering the final stage of their sojourn through the wilderness, they were ready to be brought to an especially high spiritual level. To this end, Moshe was to speak special words of Torah and prayers to the rock so it would produce a special kind of water – spiritual water, the liquid equivalent of the manna, that would uplift the people to great heights. This explains why the Torah speaks of two kinds of water. Moshe's words were to cause the rock to pour forth a stream of spiritual water for the people, and a second stream of regular water for their animals. Moshe, however, was afraid of producing this special spiritual water for the people. He feared that if they would then sin after having ingested this water, this would be unforgivable. Once they would reach such lofty spiritual heights, any failure would be deemed an especially grave transgression, and they might, Heaven forbid, be severely punished. It was thus out of compassion that Moshe struck the rock instead of speaking to it. He exclaimed, "Listen, O rebellious ones – shall I bring water for you out of this rock?!" (20:10). He was, in essence, telling the people, "I know you will in the future be rebellious – I therefore cannot produce the spiritual water for you." He instead struck the rock and produced regular water, which both the people and their animals drank, as implied by the verse, "Va'tesht Ha'eda U'be'iram" ("The congregation and their animals drank" – 20:11). When the Torah tells of Hashem informing Moshe and Aharon of their punishment for disobeying, it refers to Hashem with the Name of "Havaya," which is associated with G-d's attribute of compassion. This indicates that G-d's anger was tempered by compassion – because Moshe acted as he did out of genuine love and concern for Beneh Yisrael. He did not, Heaven forbid, intend to disrespect G-d's authority by disregarding His command. Rather, he was overcome by sincere love for the people, and wanted to protect them. For a towering Sadik of Moshe Rabbenu's stature, this was considered a sin. For us, though, the story of Meh Meriba provides us with an example of unbridled Ahabat Yisrael – love for our fellow Jews. In this specific instance, Moshe's love for His people resulted in his doing something which G-d disapproved of. But we can only wish to have the same level of Ahabat Yisrael as Moshe Rabbenu. We are to follow this example of genuine, heartfelt concern for each and every one of our fellow Jews, to the point where we are willing to do whatever we can to help them.

I recall once seeing a couple, whom I had married, on the street several months after their wedding, and I was struck by how exuberant they looked. They were so happy with each other; they were both glowing, exuding genuine joy and exhiliration. In my mind I expressed the wish that all married couples should enjoy the bliss that this young newlywed couple enjoyed. Just a couple of months later, the father of one of them informed me that the couple was divorcing. It didn't work out. There is a couple out-of-town whom I had gotten to know well over the years. They are wealthy and successful, and have beautiful children. They seem to have everything in life that a person could ever want. But then, at one point, out of the blue, the wife called me – and then the husband, separately – both expressing to me that they're wondering if it's worth staying together. They said they were so miserable in their marriage. These stories are just two examples of a basic truth that we need to know: everyone, without exception, is struggling with something, even if it seems like their lives are perfect. And most people are struggling with several things. We don't realize it, because everyone is putting on a show. Everybody wants to make it appear that his or her life is perfectly in order, and everything is fine. But the truth is that there nobody who can say that everything is fine. We all have problems. It's part of life. Countless studies have shown the damage being caused by social media, as people – especially youngsters – spend hours a day looking at others who seem to be perfect. They see Instagram pictures and videos of their peers having a great time, and they feel that only they're struggling, only they have problems. And this causes a great deal of pain and anxiety. This phenomenon might help explain an episode in Parashat Hukat. Beneh Yisrael find themselves without water, and they complain. They come to Moshe and Aharon and ask why they had brought them into the desert, which is "not a place of seeds, of figs or grapes or pomegranates, and there is no water to drink" (20:5). The people don't have water – but they're complaining also about not having figs, grapes and pomegranates. Why? If a person doesn't have water, does it matter to him that he doesn't have nice fruits to eat? The answer might be that Beneh Yisrael weren't just complaining about the water situation. They were bothered that other nations lived "normal" lives, planting and growing food, while they have been spending forty years in the desert. They wanted to be like everyone else. Their running out of water highlighted the fact that they were not living a normal existence like other people. And this is what bothered them. The first human being, as we know, was called אדם , a name derived from the word אדמה – ground – which is where he originated from. If we punctuate the word אדמה (" adama ") differently, we arrive at " adameh " – "I will resemble." Because there are two ways a person can live his life – he can live a life of " adameh ," of trying to be like other people, trying to have what they have, or he can live a life of " adama ," like the ground, where seeds grow into beautiful plants, trees, flowers and produce. Meaning, we have a choice to make: we can either be bogged down comparing ourselves to other people, or we can grow. Comparing ourselves to other people stifles us. It creates insecurity and anxiety, and causes us to waste our time and energy pursuing things which we don't need and which aren't right for us. Once we stop comparing, we can start growing. We can focus on what we need to do, on who we are supposed to be, on achieving all that we are meant to achieve. And once we live this way, with our focus on growth instead of comparing, life becomes so much more beautiful, so much more productive, and so much more fulfilling.

Os Segredos da Parasha CHUKAT CURTIU A AULA? FAÇA UM PIX RABINOELIPIX@GMAIL.COM E NOS AJUDE A DARMOS SEQUÊNCIA! #chassidut #mistica#judaismo #torah #Moises #Moshe #Salomão #vacavermelha #chukat #kabala #cabala #tora #chucat #parasha #mistica

True spiritual authority isn't claimed through pride or position, but is confirmed by God alone through humility, obedience, and divine appointment. Listen to Rabbi David's Shabbat sermon based out of Parasha Korach at Congregation Mayim Chayim.

KorachDe lezingen van parshat Korach zijn Numeri 16:1 – 18:32 en 1 Samuël 11:14 – 12:22. Vandaag focussen we in het bijzonder op Numeri 17:9-15 (16:44-50). In dit gedeelte is God zo boos op de Israëlieten dat Hij hen allemaal om wil brengen door een plaag. Op bevel van Mozes neemt Aäron snel een vuurschaal met reukwerk en bewerkt daarmee verzoening midden in het kamp. De plaag wordt gestopt en Aäron staat tussen de levenden en de doden in. Wat heeft dit te maken met voorbede, aanbidding en Woord verkondiging? Kunnen wij ook nog (geestelijke) plagen stoppen vandaag de dag? En hoe dan…?!Support the show

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The Torah begins the story of Korah's brazen uprising against Moshe Rabbenu by introducing him as "Korah, son of Yitzhar, son of Kehat, son of Levi." Rashi notes that the Torah traces Korah's genealogy back to Levi, but it stopped there, without going one generation further, mentioning "the son of Yaakob." This was done, Rashi explains, in fulfillment of Yaakob Abinu's request before his passing. In Yaakob's parting words to his sons, when he addressed Shimon and Levi, he proclaimed, "Bi'khalam Al Tehad Kebodi" – that his honor should not be associated with their "congregation" (Bereshit 49:6). This refers to the "congregation" assembled by Korah for the purpose of challenging the authority of Moshe Rabbenu. Yaakob did not want his name mentioned in the context of this sinful uprising, and so the Torah identified Korah only as "son of Yitzhar, son of Kehat, son of Levi," without adding, "son of Yaakob." Several later scholars addressed the obvious problem with Rashi's comments – his assumption that the Torah should have traced Korah's lineage all the way back to Yaakob. Rashi says that the Torah would have mentioned also "son of Yaakob" if not for Yaakob's request that his name be omitted – but why would Yaakob's name have needed to be mentioned? For that matter, why did the Torah bother tracing Korah's lineage even back to Levi? The Torah already presented the genealogy of the tribe of Levi, back in the Book of Shemot (6), and Korah's family background is included there. Why did the Torah go through the trouble of telling us that Korah was the "son of Yitzhar, the son of Kehat, the son of Levi," and why would it have added also "son of Yaakob" if Yaakob hadn't asked not to be mentioned? A fascinating answer is given by the Maharal of Prague (Rav Yehuda Loew, 1512-1609), in his Gur Aryeh. He explains that the Torah wanted to emphasize the extent of Korah's evil in launching this uprising against Moshe, by noting his distinguished lineage. Korah himself was a prominent member of the nation, among those who carried the ark during travel, but also descended from outstanding Sadikim – Yitzhar, Kehat, Levi, and the patriarchs. Of course, Korah's revolt would have been a grievous sin no matter who he was, but his prominent family background made it particularly severe. This is why the Torah made a point of mentioning his distinguished, righteous predecessors – and would have gone as far as mentioning also Yaakob Abinu, except that Yaakob asked that his name be omitted from this context. The Maharal's explanation brings to mind an insight of the Maggid of Dubna (1741-1804) regarding a verse in Parashat Behukotai (26:42). This verse appears in the section known as the "Tocheha," where G-d warns of the dreadful calamities that He would bring upon Beneh Yisrael as punishment for their misdeeds. G-d in this verse proclaims that He would remember the covenant He made with the patriarchs. It seems that He is now offering consolation, emphasizing that despite His anger, and although He would be punishing the people, He would nevertheless have compassion due to His covenant with the Abot. However, the next verse then continues the description of the exile that the Jewish People would suffer on account of their sins – indicating that the comforting conclusion of the Tocheha has not yet begun. The Maggid of Dubna thus explains that in this verse, G-d warns the people that their wrongdoing is exceptionally severe because of whom they descend from – the sacred patriarchs, with whom Hashem made a special covenant. As heirs of this covenant, and members of this special nation, their misdeeds are considered graver. The Maggid draws an analogy to two people who committed the same minor misdemeanor – a prince, and a poor peasant. The peasant is sentenced to several weeks of prison, whereas the prince is handed a ten-year jail sentence. The reason is that the prince's offense is far more grievous due to his family background, because he is the king's son, a member of the royal family. We, Am Yisrael, must live with this awareness, that we are royalty, that we are "princes," the children of Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob. As members of the "royal family," who have received and studied the Torah, which instructs us how to live a "regal" lifestyle, more is expected of us than of other people. We are bidden to maintain the high standards demanded of Hashem's special nation who represent Him to the rest of the world, and always strive to be worthy of this unique privilege.

You Might Not Be Right… Korach was so sure he was right. Rashi (16:7) writes that what led Korach to foolishly challenge Moshe Rabbenu, to start a fight that resulted in his death and many other deaths, was, ironically enough, his רוח הקודש – his prophetic vision. He saw – correctly – that he would have prominent descendants, such as the prophet Shmuel. And so he decided that he must be the rightful leader already now, in the desert, in place of Moshe. Korach backed up his claims with arguments that sounded pretty convincing. The Midrash teaches that Korach won support for his cause by telling the story of a poor widow with two young daughters, who had a small field from which to make a living. She started plowing the field with her ox and donkey, but then Moshe told her about the command forbidding plowing with two different species of animal. When she started planting, Moshe told her about the command forbidding planting different species together. When she started harvesting the field, Moshe told her about the command to leave certain portions for the poor and to give certain portions to the kohanim and leviyim . Exasperated, she decided to sell her field and purchase sheep, instead. Aharon later came to take the sheep's firstborn, as well the first portion of wool sheared from it, as required by the Torah. The woman and her daughters stood there and cried. If I was told this story at a Shabbat table, I would have probably been convinced that Korach was right and Moshe was wrong. This sounds so just, so noble, a cause that is truly לשם שמיים , for the sake of Hashem. But of course it wasn't. This was all about jealousy. If Korach had been honest with himself, he would have acknowledged that this fight was not about fairness, and not about his righteous descendants. This was about himself, his ego, his lust for honor and prestige. He fooled himself – and his supporters – into thinking that he was waging a noble battle, that he was doing the right thing, that he was fighting against injustice. But in truth, he was fighting for his selfish, egotistical concerns. Let us all ask ourselves honestly: have we ever made this same mistake? Have we ever gotten involved in a fight or controversy, thinking with certainty that we were right, that we were fighting for a noble, holy cause? And if we have, did we stop to think clearly and objectively about our true motives? Did we consider that maybe we weren't really right, that we were being selfish and petty? The Gemara tells that one of the leading participants in Korach's uprising – a man named On ben Pelet – ended up backing out, thanks to his wife. She told him that this idea was silly. Even if Korach's side wins, she said, he – On ben Pelet – would be under Korach's authority instead of Moshe's. What would he gain from that? We all need people in our lives like On ben Pelet's wife – somebody who could help us think objectively and rationally. When we find ourselves in a fight, or part of a controversy, it helps to have somebody who can tell us that we're wrong, that we're being foolish, that this fight is not worth it – and we have to be willing to listen. Next time we feel like fighting, like joining some campaign against somebody, let's stop and think clearly and honestly. Let's ask ourselves if we are really being sincere, if this fight is really the right thing to do, and if this fight is really worth it. If we do this, we will spare ourselves a lot of heartache and a lot of wasted emotional energy, and we will be able to focus on the things that really matter, on being productive, on working hard to achieve to the best of our ability.

INVEJA MATA! Lições da inveja de KORACHKorach invejou a liderança de Moyses, criou rebelião de 250 pessoas, mas no final todos foram punidos pelos céus.CURTIU A AULA?FAÇA UM PIX RABINOELIPIX@GMAIL.COM E NOS AJUDE A DARMOS SEQUÊNCIA!#chassidut #mistica #judaismo #baalshemtov #kabala #cabala #tora #torah #alterrebbe #kabalah #almajudaica #tania #Torá #Talmud #estudotora #alma #Rebe #parasha #vergonha #lider #liderança #korah #judeus #shiur #moshe #moyses #torah #tora #inveja

True victory in life can only come from surrender to G-d. Listen to Rabbi Toby's Shabbat sermon based out of Parasha Sh'lach L'cha at Congregation Mayim Chayim.

We lezen: Numeri 13:1-15:41, Galaten 2:3 en de Haftarah Jozua 2:1-24Verspieders verkennen een land , een stad en haar inwoners om na te speuren hoe de stad is te veroveren en het land is in te nemen. Verkennen in het Hebreeuws is – רָגַל ragal doorwandelen, doorzoeken, indrukken opdoen.Het zelfstandig naamwoord is רֶגֶל regel – voet(-zoo), voetstap. Zoals in Jozua 1:3 Elke plaats die uw voetzool betreden zal, geef Ik u.De HEERE Zelf ging in de woestijn drie dagreizen vooruit om de volgende pleisterplaats voor Zijn volk na te speuren –  תּוּר tuwr – Numeri 10:33.In de parashat zendt Mozes op het bevel van de Heilige Israëls 12 verspieders uit met eenzelfde opdracht: “Mozes dan zond hen uit om het land Kanaän te verspieden en zei tot hen: Trekt hier het Zuiderland in en trekt op naar het bergland – עָלָה `alah –, en ziet, hoe het land is, Numeri 13:17. Van dit werkwoord zijn afgeleid Alija la Regel “opgaan naar de voet –  dat is de stad van David en het Heiligdom” en Olim – degenen die opgaan.Je zet je voet op het land (en op de nek van je vijanden) als teken dat je het erfelijk in bezit neemt. Dat gaat niet zonder slag of stoot, maar de HEERE gaat hen met Zijn legerscharen voor in de strijd. Het land is goed naar het oordeel van alle 12 verspieders. De reuzen, Enakieten zijn groot, voor 10 verspieders te groot, omdat zij de HEERE niet volkomen volgen in Zijn voetstappen. Wanneer je hart verdeeld is ben je geen betrouwbaar verkenner en getuige. Je opdracht was om de weg te vinden die de HEERE al gegeven had tot de overwinning.Want de schrik voor Hem lag op alle volken rondom, zoals Rachab tegen de verspieders in Jericho getuigde. En de Enakieten  waren al eerder verslagen in de omringende landen. Deut.2: 20-22 De Ammonieten noemden de Enakieten, Zamzummieten, een groot en talrijk volk, lang als de Enakieten, maar de HERE had hen verdreven en verdelgd, zodat genen hun gebied in bezit genomen en zich in hun plaats gevestigd hadden; evenals Hij voor de zonen van Esau gedaan had, die in Seïr wonen: vóór wie Hij de Chorieten verdreven en verdelgd had, zodat genen hun gebied in bezit genomen hadden en daar in hun plaats wonen tot op de huidige dag. We zullen reuzen op de weg van de HEER tegen komen, maar in de Naam van de HEERE, treden we hen tegemoet.Support the show

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Parashat Shelah tells the famous story of the Meragelim – the twelve spies sent by Moshe to see the Land of Israel and report back to the nation. Unfortunately, ten of the twelve spies betrayed their mission, frightening the people and convincing them not to proceed into the land. In telling this story, the Torah makes a point of mentioning that during the spies' excursion through the land, they cut a vine with a cluster of grapes, and they brought it back to the people to show them a sample of the land's fruit (13:23). This appears to have been a very significant act – for in the next verse, the Torah tells that the spies named that location "Nahal Eshkol" – "the Valley of the Cluster," commemorating this cluster of grapes. We must wonder, why was this particular act worthy of such commemoration? Why did the spies consider this such a significant event that they found it necessary to memorialize it by changing the location's name? A closer examination of the text reveals yet another difficulty. The Torah tells that this area was renamed to commemorate "the cluster that Beneh Yisrael cut from there." Curiously, the Torah speaks of "Beneh Yisrael" taking this cluster grapes, when in truth only twelve members of the nation – the twelve spies – performed this act. Why? The answer emerges from the comments of the Seforno (Rav Ovadia Seforno, Italy, 1475-1550) in explaining Moshe's instruction that the spies should bring fruit from Eretz Yisrael (13:20). The Seforno writes that this act functioned as a Halachic "Hazaka" – display of ownership. When a person purchases land, the property Halachically enters his possession in one of three ways – the transfer of money to the seller, receiving from the seller a deed of sale, or performing an act of "Hazaka" whereby he demonstratively establishes ownership over the property. A "Hazaka" can take on several different forms, such as erecting a fence around the property, and performing agricultural work in the land. According to Seforno, this was the purpose of the spies' seizing fruit from Eretz Yisrael. This was intended not simply to bring the people a sample of the land's exceptional, high-quality produce, but also to formally take possession of the Land of Israel. Hashem was giving this land to Beneh Yisrael – but they needed to perform an act of acquisition to establish their ownership. This is the significance of the severing of a vine. Quite understandably, then, this was a very significant act that was worth commemorating, as it marked the point when we formally took possession of our homeland. And, this explains why the Torah speaks of "Beneh Yisrael" cutting the vine – because the spies performed this act as representatives of the entire nation, who thereby collectively became owners over the Land of Israel. This was the moment when the Jewish People established their eternal ownership over our beloved land.

Parashat Shelah is famous for the story of the meraglim – the spies sent by Moshe Rabbenu to scout the land. They returned with a frightening report, insisting that Beneh Yisrael were incapable of capturing the country, and convincing them not to proceed to the land. The nation accepted their report, and wept. Hashem severely punished the people, keeping them in the desert for forty years until that entire generation perished. Interestingly, the first words the meragelim said about the land were very positive, and even sound enthusiastic: באנו אל הארץ אשר שלחתנו, וגם זבת חלב ודבש היא... We came to the land you sent us to, and it is indeed flowing with milk and honey… (13:27) After this brief word of praise for the quality of the land, the spies then told the people that they could not possibly capture it, and that it was not even worth capturing. Rashi explains that the spies began with praising the land because a lie is credible only if it includes some truth. The spies needed to start with the truth – that the land is "flowing with milk and honey" – in order to lay the groundwork for the lies they wanted to spread. But others explain differently. The spies were telling the people that the Land of Israel was so good, so desirable, that they should have expected many surrounding nations to want to take it over. Yet, nobody did. The reason, the spies claimed, is that the nations in Eretz Yisrael were too powerful for anyone to dare launch an attack. Thus, the spies' positive words were actually part of their negativity. They took the great blessing of the Land of Israel and turned it on its head, making a complaint out of it. I'm sorry to say this – but this is something that we're all guilty of. A person is invited to a wedding, and complains about the inconvenient time, the hassle of having to get dressed, find a babysitter, make the trip, buy a gift, and so on. Two weeks later, that same person is talking to a friend who is going to another wedding, and responds, "What? I wasn't invited?!" This sounds silly, but we all do this in one form or another. We all complain about our blessings. We complain about our spouse, our kids, our house, our jobs, our rabbi, our community, etc. etc. etc. These are all wonderful blessings, but we complain, because our lives aren't perfect. What we don't realize is that our lives aren't supposed to be perfect. But they're supposed to be appreciated and enjoyed. And in order to appreciate and enjoy them, we need to stop complaining about our many blessings. Earlier in the parashah (13:26), the Torah says about the spies, וילכו ויבואו – "They went and they came." Rashi, based on the Gemara, comments that this pasuk alludes to the fact that the spies' departure to scout the land was similar to their return from their spy mission. Just as they returned with the intention of convincing the people not to proceed to the Land of Israel, they had initially embarked on their mission with that same intention. What Rashi is saying is that the spies' negativity was not triggered by what they saw during their mission in the land. It's not as though they left with a positive attitude and were then discouraged by the things they observed. They set out with a negative mindset, and so they turned everything they saw into a complaint, into something terrible. This is what we need to stop doing. We need to stop turning our blessings into complaints. So many parents of engaged daughters complain about the hassle and costs of making a wedding. So many people with a summer home in Deal complain about the hassle and costs of moving in for the summer and maintaining their homes. So many people who can afford luxury vacations complain about the hassle and costs of air travel. Do they hear themselves? Do they realize how silly they sound complaining about these wonderful blessings? Let's all stop complaining about our many blessings, so we can, once and for all, fully enjoy them.

 Num. 8:1-12:16 / Zach. 2:14(10)–4:7 Support the show

Behaalotekha | Re'uel, Yitro, Chovav, by Rav Yitzchak Etshalom Who was Moshe's father-in-law? In our Parasha, there is a curious conversation between Moshe and Chovav; does Chovav end up accepting Moshe's invitation to join Am Yisrael? Who is Chovav to Moshe and is he also known by other names? Was Yitro the Kohen Midian or was Reuel - and who was Tzippora's father? All of these are addressed in this shiur. Source sheet >>

We read in Parashat Behaalotecha of the formal consecration of the Leviyim as G-d's special servants who would work in the Mishkan. This process included the offering of sacrifices – specifically, one bull as an Ola (burnt-offering), and a second bull as a Hatat (sin-offering). Rav Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev (1740-1809), in his work Kedushat Levi, notes that pair of sacrifices are listed in two different sequences in this section. When the Torah first mentions the requirement to bring two bulls, it mentions first the Ola, followed by the Hatat (8:8). Later, however, in describing the procedure to be followed for the process of consecration, G-d commands Moshe to offer the Hatat and then the Ola (8:2). Rav Levi Yitzhak explains this discrepancy by citing an insight he heard from his father about the general topic of the sequence required when both an Ola and Hatat are offered. In general, the Hatat offering – which is brought for the purpose of earning atonement – is sacrificed before the Ola, which is sacrificed as a gift to earn Hashem's favor. Quite naturally, as the Gemara (Zebahim 7b) explains, the sinner must first achieve a pardon for his wrongdoing before he can then proceed to win the King's favor and affection. Therefore, the Hatat must be offered before the Ola. However, Rav Levi Yitzchak's father noted, we know that the Ola sacrifice does, in fact, achieve atonement – for sins of Mahashaba (improper thoughts). Although a person who is guilty of having bad intentions is not required to bring a sacrifice, he has the opportunity to achieve atonement through the offering of the optional Ola sacrifice. Seemingly, then, the Ola resembles the Hatat, in that it, too, serves to attain forgiveness, and we must therefore ask why the Hatat is offered before the Ola. Rav Yitzchak Levi's father answered based on the general rule that Hashem does not hold us accountable for our wrongful intentions unless they lead to action. One who harbored wrong intentions does not really need an Ola sacrifice for atonement, since he is not liable to punishment for his sinful thoughts. The exception to this rule is idol-worship. One who harbors thoughts of pagan beliefs is liable to punishment regardless of whether or not he acted upon those thoughts. And therefore, Rav Levi Yitzchak's father asserts, when a sin involving idolatry has been committed, the Ola sacrifice indeed precedes the Hatat, because one must first atone for the thoughts which led to the worship, and then for the worship itself. Returning to the sacrifices of the Leviyim, Rav Levi Yitzhak explains that these offerings were brought on behalf of the entire nation to atone for the grave sin of the golden calf. Fundamentally, as this sin was one of idol-worship, the Ola should have been offered first, before the Hatat, and for this reason, in the initial command, the Ola is mentioned first. However, Rav Levi Yitzhak writes, the truth is that Beneh Yisrael did not truly intend to betray G-d and worship the golden calf. They created a graven image not to replace Hashem, but rather as a means through which they mistakenly thought they could draw close to Hashem. While this was, indeed, a grievous sin, and one which resembled idol-worship, the people did not actually worship a foreign deity. Therefore, when these two sacrifices were actually offered, the Hatat was brought before the Ola, as is done in the case of sins other than idol worship.

Num. 4:21-7:89 / Richt. 13:2–25Support the show

The Torah in Parashat Naso tells of the special gifts and sacrifices brought by the Nesi'im – the leaders of the tribes – in honor of the inauguration of the Mishkan. To celebrate this event, the Nesi'im donated wagons to be used by the Leviyim to transport the Mishkan during travel, and then each tribal leader offered a series of sacrifices one day. Each day for twelve days, a different Nasi brought these sacrifices. The Torah introduces this account with the words, "Va'yehi Be'yom Moshe Kalot Moshe Le'hakim Et Ha'Mishkan" – "It was on the day when Moshe finished erecting the Mishkan…" (7:1). Rashi observes that the word "Kalot" resembles the word "Kalla" – "bride." This allusion, Rashi explains, indicates to us that on this day, the day when the Mishkan was completed and began functioning, Beneh Yisrael were like a bride entering under the wedding canopy with her groom. This was the day of Beneh Yisrael's "wedding" with G-d. Rashi's comments must be reconciled with the well-established tradition viewing Ma'amad Har Sinai – G-d's revelation to our ancestors at Mount Sinai – as our nation's "wedding" with the Almighty. Indeed, several customs we observe at weddings commemorate aspects of Ma'amad Har Sinai. For example, we adorn the Hupa with flowers, just as Mount Sinai grew beautiful flowers at the time of the Revelation. And it is customary for the groom to leave the Hupa and walk toward the bride to greet her as she makes her way to the Hupa, as G-d is described as coming from Mount Sinai to greet the people as they made their way from the camp to the foot of the mountain ("Hashem Mi'Sinai Ba" – Debarim 33:2). If our "wedding" with the Almighty occurred on Shabuot, the day of Matan Torah, then how can Rashi speak of the day of the Mishkan's inauguration – which happened nearly ten months later – as the "wedding day"? The answer lies in the tragic event that transpired in between Matan Torah and the inauguration of the Mishkan – the sin of the golden calf. We might say that the day of Matan Torah marked the first stage of the wedding process – what we call "Kiddushin" (betrothal). This is the stage when the groom gives the bride a ring and designates her as his wife. The marriage is completed with the stage of "Nisu'in," when the bride and groom go into private for the first time. The "Nisu'in" between Beneh Yisrael and Hashem was to occur forty days after Ma'amad Har Sinai, on the 17 th of Tammuz, when Moshe came down the mountain with the two tablets. This day was to have marked the completion of the "wedding," whereby our nation was fully "married" to the Almighty. In the interim, however, Beneh Yisrael had betrayed G-d – like a bride who was unfaithful to her groom – by worshipping a foreign deity. Under such circumstances, of course, the "wedding" could not continue. Beneh Yisrael needed to repair the relationship through repentance and through the building of the Mishkan. Once the Mishkan was completed, the "wedding" could now be resumed. Therefore, Rashi writes that on the day of the Mishkan's inauguration, Beneh Yisrael resembled a bride going into the Hupa – because this day marked the renewed "wedding" which had been discontinued as a result of the sin of the golden calf. Not coincidentally, Parashat Naso is almost always read shortly after the celebration of Shabuot, the day which celebrates the beginning of our "marriage" with G-d. Parashat Naso tells of the completion of the "wedding," how our nation succeeded in recovering from the tragic failure of the golden calf, in rebuilding our trust and faithfulness, so we could again be worthy of "marrying" Hashem, of entering into a unique, intimate bond with Him. The story of the Mishkan's completion teaches us that we need to earn this special relationship through loyalty and devotion. If we prioritize other interests and concerns over the Torah, if we choose to place our trust in people and forces other than Hashem, then we are betraying Him and thus become unworthy of His special protection and blessings. If we want to benefit from our relationship with G-d, we need to earn it through unbridled fealty to His commands, and by remaining uncompromisingly and unflinchingly committed to the Torah, without being misled by the alluring "golden calves" that threaten to pull us away from our loyalty to Hashem.

En este estudio comentamos la porcion de la Tora segun ha estudiado el More.

Als het zand van de zee.Deze week beginnen we met het boek Numeri – Bamidbar. En zo heet ook de parasha van deze week: in de woestijn. De midbar is de woestijn. Dat komt van het woord dabar: spreken. Dat is de andere kant van doen. In de woestijn wordt er gesproken en gedaan. In dit Leerhuis luisteren naar de woorden van de Eeuwige in de profeet Hosea. Het getal van de kinderen van Israël zal zijn als het zand van de zee. Beeldend vertelt de Ene over Hosea en Gomer, over Jizereël, Lo-Ruchama en Lo-Ammi. Niet ontfermd en niet Mijn volk. En toch... God zaait Support the show

Shavuot- Being G-d's Servants The Mechilta famously tells that before G-d gave the Torah to Beneh Yisrael, He offered it to other nations. He first asked the descendants of Esav if they wanted the Torah, and they replied by questioning what the Torah demanded. G-d said that the Torah forbids murder – whereupon the people of Esav said they could not possibly abide by such a command. G-d then offered the Torah to the nation of Moab, and they, too, asked what it entailed. He said that it forbids immorality, illicit intimate relationships – and the people of Moab refused. G-d then offered the Torah to the nation of Yishmael. When they heard that the Torah forbids stealing, they declined. One of the commentators to the Mishna – the Mirkebet Ha'mishneh (Rav David Moshe Abraham Ashkenazi, 1680-1745) – explains the meaning and significance of this story. The Mechilta here is teaching us that accepting the Torah requires accepting the parts of the Torah that we find difficult, that force us to go against our natural instincts and inclinations. Hashem first told the people of Esav about the prohibition of murder – because they were violent by nature, and in order to accept the Torah, they needed to commit to restraining their violent impulse. This is something they were not prepared to do. And the same is true of Moab and immorality, and Yishmael and theft. The first thing G-d told each of them was the command which they would find most difficult – because this is precisely what accepting the Torah requires: that we be prepared to break our nature, to act in opposition to our instinctive tendencies. Rav Yisrael Salanter, in one of his more famous letters ( Or Yisrael , 17), elaborates on this concept, on the need to observe the Torah even when this is difficult, when this requires struggle. He writes that even if a person observes many Misvot, and generally follows a religious lifestyle, he might still not earn the title "Ebed Hashem" – a servant of Hashem. An "Ebed," a servant, is somebody who works ("Obed"). If a person fulfills Misvot only when he finds it convenient, what it does not entail hardship or difficulty, then he is not working, and so he is not actually serving Hashem. We become Hashem's servants only when we commit to observe even those Misvot which we find challenging, to abide by Hashem's rules even when this demands a great deal of struggle. There is a famous Yiddish expression among Ashkenazi Jews, "Shver tsu zayn a Yid" – "It is difficult to be a Jew." This expression is commonly viewed with disdain, as something one should never say, as it reflects a cynical, negative attitude toward Judaism. We are to be proud of Jewish life and always emphasize – to ourselves, to our children, and to others – the unparalleled joy and beauty of Torah life. I would suggest, however, a different perspective on this expression, that it makes an important and powerful comment about what Judaism is all about. Being a Jew means remaining committed even when this is difficult. Of course, Jewish life is, generally, beautiful. But often, it requires struggling to overcome difficult challenges. And accepting the Torah means committing ourselves to follow the Torah even when this requires struggle. Thus, indeed, "it is difficult to be a Jew" – being a Jew means accepting that it will sometimes be difficult. When Hashem came to Beneh Yisrael to offer them the Torah, they immediately responded with the resounding declaration, "Na'aseh Ve'nishma" – "We will perform and we will hear" (Shemot 24:7). Curiously, however, the Gemara (Shabbat 88a) tells that Hashem suspended the mountain over Beneh Yisrael and threatened to drop it on them if they did not accept the Torah. Many commentators raised the question of why Hashem needed to threaten Beneh Yisrael after they had enthusiastically expressed their commitment by declaring "Na'aseh Ve'nishma." One answer is that Hashem sought to impress upon them the obligation to observe the Torah under all circumstances, even when it is difficult and inconvenient. It was easy to announce "Na'aseh Ve'nishma" – but there would be many times in the future when they would be far less enthusiastic, when Torah observance would be a challenge, when they would need to struggle. G-d therefore held the mountain over them – to make it clear that they were becoming His servants, and this means serving Him even when this requires hard work. We must serve Hashem not only when we are "in the mood," when we feel like it, but even when we don't. Every person has his own set of struggles in Torah observance. What comes easy for one person is a struggle for somebody else. We need to each find our own weaknesses, our own areas of struggle, the parts of Torah observance which pose a special challenge for us. We must then make the commitment to accept this struggle, to work hard, to put in the effort, to do the best we can, to serve Hashem to the very best of our ability even when we find it difficult.

In thos week's episode Rabbi Kohn discusses the Torah's outlook on how diversity can be our strength. With a lesson from the Degalim(banners) of the twelve tribes he shows how different strenghts can complement each other. He also explains how the Aron(Ark) carried its carriers and the lesson we can learn from it. Subscribe to The Practical Parsha Podcast. For questions or comments please email RabbiShlomoKohn@gmail.com.To listen to Rabbi Kohn's other podcasts use these links- positiveperspectives.castos.com/ or the-pirkei-avos-podcast.castos.com/ Chapters (00:00:00) - Practical Parasha(00:01:02) - Parshas Bamidbar(00:04:08) - Parasha 2, The Jewish people(00:06:29) - Digalem(00:12:52) - Dgalim(00:15:00) - The Aron

Este comentario es una continuacion de la serie: La Tora que recibi.

Parashat Behar begins with the Misva of Shemita, which requires farmers to refrain from agricultural activity for an entire year every seven years. The Torah refers to this year as "Shabbat L'Hashem" – "A sabbath to God" (25:2), and as "Shabbat Shabbaton" (25:4), a phrase whose meaning is not, at first glance, clear. The Seforno (Rav Ovadia Seforno, Italy, 1475-1549) explains the first expression, "Shabbat L'Hashem," to mean that this year is to be devoted to Hashem. G-d commands farmers to refrain from agricultural work so that they can spend this year involved in Torah learning and prayer. Just as we refrain from work one day a week, Shabbat, in order to spend a day engrossed in spirituality, similarly, once in seven years, farmers are to spend a year devoted to the nurturing of their soul. As for the term "Shabbat Shabbaton," the Seforno writes that this instructs farmers to refrain also from certain activities related to agriculture that are not technically forbidden by the formal laws of Shemita. To understand the Seforno's intent, we must take a step back and examine the notion of the "Takanot" – the laws enacted by the Sages to safeguard the Torah. It goes without saying that the Torah is perfect, and does not and will never require any amending. The purpose of the Rabbis' "Takanot" was most certainly not to "improve" the already perfect Torah. Rather, they were intended to uphold the spirit of the law. It is possible, for example, for a person to avoid all the activities forbidden by the Torah on Shabbat, while treating the day not much different than a weekday. A businessman can run his business on Shabbat without performing any acts that constitute Biblical acts of Shabbat desecration. He can go to his office with a non-Jewish taxi service, manage his employees, and even write with a "Shinui" – a deviation, like with his weaker hand – such that he has a pretty typical business day without transgressing any Torah violations. A person can also spend Shabbat cleaning his garage and washing his car without desecrating Shabbat on the level of Torah law. Clearly, however, this is not how the Torah wants us to spend Shabbat. In addition to the letter of the law, there is the spirit of the law, the purpose for which the law exists. The Shabbat prohibitions are intended to create a certain atmosphere, an aura of serenity, joy, calm, holiness, and spiritual growth. The Rabbis saw that people were observing the letter of the law without observing the spirit of the law. In many areas, they were able to abide by the strict letter of the Torah's commands, but while missing the entire point of these commands. And so the Sages enacted many laws in order to ensure that we not only technically observe the Torah's commands, but also achieve the goals which these commands are meant to lead us to. According to the Seforno, this is the meaning of "Shabbat Shabbaton." The Torah indicates to us that besides refraining from the specific forms of agricultural activity forbidden by the laws of Shemita, farmers must also maintain a certain aura during this year, an aura of spiritual engagement and holiness. To that end, they are to refrain from even technically permissible forms of work, so that the Shemita year will be spent in a fundamentally different way than the other six years. What is true about Shabbat and Shemita is true also of our relationships. In a good marriage, the husband and wife do not need to be told what to do for one another, and what not to do. They understand what the other wants, and they try to fulfill those wishes to the best of their ability. I am reminded of the time when a fellow called me to ask if it was acceptable to miss his evening Torah study in order to go out with his wife for their anniversary. I told him that I don't have time for questions such as these. This should not even be asked. It should be obvious that one owes it to his wife to spend time with her on their anniversary. One does not need to ask a Rabbi to authorize his going out with his wife on their anniversary. This is something that he should not need to be told. The fellow went home and said, "The Rabbi said we can go out tonight." This is now how it is done. A man does not spend time with his wife because the Rabbi said so. He spends time with his wife because he knows that this is what she wants and what she expects. He should not wait to be told – by her or by a Rabbi – that this is what he should do. In our relationship with Hashem and in our relationships with other people, we are to extend beyond the technical "dos" and "don'ts," the strict letter of the law, and try as much as possible to do what we intuitively know they want us to do.

The famous second Mishna of Pirkeh Abot teaches that the world stands on three "pillars": Torah, Aboda (service of G-d), and Gemilut Hasadim (dispensing kindness). These three "pillars" are embodied by our three patriarchs – Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob. Abraham was the paragon of kindness, devoting his life to helping others. Even after undergoing Berit Mila at an advanced age, he sat outside in the scorching heat looking for people who needed hospitality. He spared no efforts in seeking to help any person who required assistance. Yishak, who was placed on an altar and nearly sacrificed, represents the highest standards of "Aboda," serving Hashem, living one's life in complete subservience to the Almighty and being prepared to make whatever sacrifices He demands. Finally, Yaakob Abinu embodies the quality of diligent Torah study, having spent the first decades of his life fully immersed in Torah learning. In light of this parallel, it seems that the Mishna's list of three "pillars" is presented out of order. We would have perhaps expected the Mishna to list the "pillars" in the order of the three Abot (patriarchs) – beginning with Hesed, followed by Aboda, and culminating with Torah, corresponding to the order of the Abot – Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob. The answer, perhaps, is that the Mishna wanted to emphasize that we need to learn Torah in order to achieve the other two pillars. Without Torah knowledge, we will not have the information we need to serve Hashem. A person who does not learn Torah will decide on his own how to pray, and how to perform Misvot. He will just make up his service of Hashem. We need to learn Torah in order to know how to perform "Aboda," how to serve Hashem in the right way. This is true also of Hesed. We might think that Hesed is instinctive and intuitive, that we can figure out on our own when and how to help other people. But this, too, is mistaken. The Torah guides us not only with regard to our service of Hashem, but also with regard to Hesed, explaining to us the right way to help people. We need to learn what our responsibilities and obligations are, when we are supposed to help, and what kind of help we are to offer. We find an example in the beginning of Parashat Emor, where the Torah presents a series of laws relevant to the Kohanim. A Kohen is not permitted to come in contact with a dead body, except in the case of the death of an immediate family member. Of course, we know that tending to the burial of the deceased is a precious Misva. But without learning Torah, we would not have known that for a Kohen, this is actually a sin, unless he is dealing with the remains of a family member. Moreover, a Kohen Gadol is not permitted to come in contact with a dead body even in the case of a deceased family member – but he is allowed, and even required, to tend to the burial of a Met Misva, a body that has nobody else to bury it. This is just one example of how we need the Torah to give us the guidelines of when and how to perform kindness. Torah knowledge is indispensable for living a life of Aboda and of Hesed. The "pillar" of Torah is therefore mentioned by the Mishna first – because without it, we can never reach the other two "pillars."

Este video es un comenario de la porcion de la Tora estudiado en el Bet Midrash.

We find in Parashat Kedoshim (19:17) the command "Hochi'ah Tochi'ah Et Amitecha" – to reprimand one's fellow who acts improperly, so that he will improve his behavior. King Shlomo, in the Book of Mishleh (9:8), offers advice regarding the proper approach to the delicate topic of Tocheha – reprimanding and rebuking. He teaches, "Al Tochah Letz Pen Yisna'eka, Hochah Le'hacham Ve'ye'ehaveka" – "Do not reprimand the scoffer, lest he despise you; reprimand the wise, and he will love you." The simple meaning of this verse is that King Shlomo is telling us whom to criticize and whom not to criticize. The "Letz," the "scoffer," should not be expected to accept criticism, and so it is best not to criticize him. Many people are simply not receptive to criticism, as they assume they are always correct, and have little interest in hearing what others have to say. Their instinctive reaction to criticism is something to the effect of, "Who are you to talk?" "What do you know?" "Don't tell me what to do." The wise person, by contrast, understands that he has something to learn from all people, even those who are not necessarily as smart as he is. With wisdom comes the humility to recognize that all people, even the brightest and most successful, make mistakes and have more to learn. And so the wise person is open to constructive criticism, and willing to accept rebuke. Therefore, Shlomo tells us not to bother reprimanding the "Letz," the arrogant cynic, but to offer criticism to the wise person who is open to being corrected and advised. Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky (1891-1986) offered an additional explanation of this verse – suggesting that King Shlomo here teaches us not whom to reprimand, but how to reprimand. He is telling us that when we offer criticism, we should do so in a manner that makes the person feel like a wise person, and not like an evil "scoffer." Unfortunately, our instinct when giving criticism is to emphasize the severity of the misdeed, and how ashamed the person should feel for having committed such an act. This approach, while instinctive, is not only ineffective, but counterproductive. If we emphasize to the person the gravity of his wrongdoing, he is likely to either reject the criticism altogether, or simply despair. He will either not want to own up to the fact that he did something terrible, and thus dismiss the criticism, or he will acknowledge the severity of his bad behavior and decide that he's just bad and so there is no reason for him to try to improve. King Shlomo thus advises us, "Do not reprimand the scoffer" – do not criticize in a way that makes the person feel lowly. Instead, "…reprimand the wise" – make him feel important, wise and capable. The right way to criticize is by emphasizing to the individual his greatness, his vast potential, how much Hashem loves him and wants him to do the right thing, how much he is capable of achieving. If we criticize in a manner that makes the person feel "wise" and capable of greatness, then he will embrace the criticism, rather than reject it. This perhaps sheds new light on the continuation of the verse here in Parashat Kedoshim. After commanding, "Hochi'ah Tochi'ah Et Amitecha," the Torah adds, "Ve'lo Tisa Alav Het." This is commonly understood to mean, "and do not bear sin on his account," that is to say, if we fail to criticize, then we are held partially accountable for the person's continued misconduct. Alternatively, however, this could be read to mean, "Do not elevate the sin." When we reprimand, we should not emphasize the severity of the act, which will cause the person to despair. Rather than "elevate" the sin, we should instead elevate the person. We should emphasize not how bad the person behaved, but rather how good he is capable of behaving, how great he can become. This is a critical lesson relevant to education. When raising children or teaching students, the focus must be on building the child's self-esteem, making the child feel capable and helping him realize his potential. Rather than "elevate" the child's inevitable mistakes and failings, we must instead "elevate" his sense of self-worth, so he recognizes how great he can be and sets out to achieve that greatness.

En este programa hablamos de la Parasha estudiada en el Bet Midrash y lo conectamos con el relato de leproso en Marcos 1.40.

En este comenatario continuamos hablando de la Tora desde el lente de la sabiduria judia.

Most of Parashiyot Tazria and Mesora deals with the intricate laws of Sara'at – a kind of infection which would surface on people's skin, garments, or homes. The Torah outlines specific requirements that must be obeyed by a person who sees a suspicious discoloration that might signify the presence of Sara'at, as well as the procedures to be followed should a discoloration be confirmed as Sara'at. A person confirmed to be stricken with bodily Sara'at would be banished from his city until he is cured. A garment with Sara'at, in certain situations, needed to be burned, and a home stricken with Sara'at would, in some instances, be dismantled. The Rabbis explained that Sara'at would befall a person as a punishment for certain sins. Even Sara'at on the body was not a medical condition, some sort of dermatological disorder. It was rather a punishment that G-d would bring upon a person on account of his misdeeds. In light of this, Rav Moshe Alshich (Sefat, 1508-1593) raised the question of why the Torah begins its discussion of Sara'at by addressing the situation of "Adam Ki Yiheyeh Be'or Besaro Se'et O Sapahat…" – where an "Adam" has a discoloration on his skin. "Adam" is one of several different words used by the Torah in reference to the human being, and the Alshich writes that this word refers specifically to "Shelomeh Emuneh Yisrael" – the faithfully observant among the Jewish people. It signifies a high level of obedience to Hashem, and is thus reserved for those who are religiously committed. The question naturally arises, then, as to why it is used here, in Parashat Tazria, in reference to a person stricken by Sara'at. If Sara'at would befall somebody who was guilty of grave misdeeds, then why is he called "Adam" – a title of distinction reserved for the spiritually devoted? The Alshich answers that to the contrary, it is only those who are generally righteous and pure whose bodies are impacted by the impurity of sin. If a person is entirely impure, then the sins he commits do not affect him to such an extent that he would be stricken by Sara'at because of them. It is only if a person is otherwise pure that an occasional misdeed would result in a Sara'at infection. A stain is noticeable only on an otherwise clean garment; if a garment is already covered with mud, a drop of food that falls on it will not be discernible. Likewise, it is only in a generally "clean" soul that the "stain" of sin causes a Sara'at infection. For this reason, the Alshich writes, Sara'at does not occur nowadays – because we are not on a high enough level of purity that the contamination of an occasional sin would leave an impression in the form of Sara'at. The Alshich explains on this basis a word used by the Torah later in this introductory verse: "VE'HAYA Be'or Besaro Le'nega Sara'at" ("And it shall be in the skin of his flesh a Sara'at affliction"). Ironically, the word "Ve'haya" is understood by our Sages as an allusion to joy. When this word is used, the Gemara (Megilla 10) teaches, it indicates an element of celebration. Seemingly, then, the word "Ve'haya" has no place here in the context of Sara'at infections. The Alshich explains that while the manifestation of Sara'at is, of course, very unfortunate, a harsh punishment brought upon a sinner, at the same time, it is a cause for joy, as it shows the person's overall stature of greatness. The fact that his "stain" is discernible proves that his soul is otherwise "clean." The onset of Sara'at thus brings the joy of knowing that one is generally pure and can retain his state of pristine purity through the process of Teshuba, by correcting the misdeeds for which he was punished with Sara'at.

The Torah in Parashat Shemini introduces the subject of "Ma'achalot Asurot" – the forbidden foods, outlining the general principles that govern which foods are permissible for consumption and which are not. In its conclusion of this topic, the Torah connects these laws to the concept of Kedusha, the sanctity of Beneh Yisrael: "Ve'hitkadishtem Vi'hyitem Kedoshim Ki Kadosh Ani" – "You shall sanctify yourselves and be sacred, for I am sacred…" (11:44). This association between "Ma'achalot Asurot" and the concept of Kedusha is underscored by the Rambam, who includes these laws in the "Kedusha" section of his halachic code. To explain this connection, Rav Eliyahu Bakshi-Doron (1941-2020), former Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, draws our attention to an important passage in the Midrash Tanhuma (Shemini, 6), which offers an analogy to a doctor who visited two ailing patients. He noticed that the first patient was gravely ill with little chance of surviving, whereas the second was likely to recover. The doctor told the first patient's family member to feed him whichever foods he wanted, whereas the family of the second patient were given very strict instructions regarding the patient's diet. Since the first patient in any event was not likely to live, the doctor explained, he could be allowed to enjoy whichever foods he wished. The second, however, had the potential to live, and so he needed to care for his health so that he could recover. The Midrash explains that the same is true of Am Yisrael and the other nations of the world. While there is no physical difference between us, and our bodies are no different than the bodies of other peoples, we are destined to "live," as the verse says in the Book of Debarim (4:4), "Ve'atem Ha'debekim B'Hashem Elokechem Haim Kulechem" – "And you, who are attached to Hashem your G-d, are living." Rav Bakshi-Doron explains that we are destined to receive a portion in the next world, in the eternal afterlife, where our souls will exist together with Hashem, and this is the "life" to which we are uniquely destined. We are "sacred" in the sense that we are given the potential to build a special connection with the Almighty. Therefore, we are given a special "diet" that we must follow. We of course do not understand the spiritual effects of kosher food and non-kosher food, but Hashem Himself – the greatest "doctor" – informed us of which foods we must abstain from in order to preserve our spiritual health so we can build a unique connection with Him and become the holy people that we are meant to become. Rav Bakshi-Doron adds that this explains why the laws of "Ma'achalot Asurot" appear here in Parashat Shemini, which also tells of the events that took place when the Mishkan was inaugurated. The purpose of the Mishkan, as Hashem famously told Moshe back in Parashat Teruma (Shemot 25:8), is "Ve'shachanti Be'tocham" – that Hashem would reside among His people. Through the Mishkan, Hashem came to live intimately with us, to dwell within each and every member of our nation. The Mishkan, then, signifies the special relationship that we are to build with our Creator, the unique spiritual potential that we have been given. This is the connection between the Mishkan – the most powerful symbol of our unique spiritual potential – and "Ma'achalot Asurot," the laws we must observe in order to bring that potential into fruition. Hashem chose us to become a special nation – and to that end, He equipped us with special potential and abilities. This does not mean we are naturally better than others – rather, it means that we are given the responsibility and the challenge to rise to greater heights, and we are guaranteed the ability to meet this challenge if we truly strive to. Once we recognize our unique spiritual mission, and the unique potential we have to complete this mission, we will feel more confident and more driven to pursue spiritual greatness, to maximize our potential, and become the great people that we are expected to become.

Abarbanel on the Parasha | Tzav | 5785 | Fire on the Mizbe'ach, by Rav Elyakim Krumbein What does this mean? Join us for this exciting new series in the commentary of the Abarbanel.