Derashah: Naso - Narcissus and the Nazir

Note: This week we are celebrating Graduation Shabbat.

The Greeks told the story of a young man named Narcissus, who was remarkably handsome - so handsome that even one of the gods, Echo, fell in love with him. One day Narcissus was admiring his own reflection in a pond, and he declared to himself, “I love you.” Echo saw him, and repeated, “I love you.” Narcissus thought his reflection had spoken, and he continued to gaze at himself in the water until he died.

In contrast, our sages also reported a story about a young man staring at himself in water, but with a very different ending:
A young man of beautiful eyes, a handsome appearance and long, braided hair came to the sage Shimon haTzaddik and told him that he had just completed a term as a Nazir, and was now going to shave off all of the hair on his head, following the laws of nezirut outlined in our parshah.
Shimon haTzaddik asked him, “What made you decide to take this vow and destroy this beautiful hair?”
The anonymous young man replied, “I worked for my father as a shepherd, and I went to draw water from a spring. I began to gaze at my [beautiful] reflection, and my evil inclination asserted itself and urged me to abandon the laws of the Torah. I rebuked myself, saying, ‘Empty one, you arrogantly claim the pleasures of this world, which is not yours - you will end up rotting in the grave! Instead, I will shave off all of your hair for the sake of heaven!’” And so he became a Nazir, and earned the praise of Shimon haTzaddik.


Narcissus and the Nazir, two stories with very different endings. This story of a Nazir portrays him as a spiritual superhero, an UberJew wresting control of himself, burying his earthly urges in pursuit of a higher righteousness.

But the gemara didn’t admire the Nazir, in general. Instead, the gemara noted that a Nazir brings a חטאת, a sin-offering, upon completing his nezirut - and the sage R’ Elazar haKappar explained that the Nazir sinned in swearing off wine, denying himself a permitted pleasure!

Indeed, the gemara and its commentaries come down heavily on the side of R’ Elazar haKappar. Even though, from a technical perspective, the Nazir’s offering is not really atonement for sin, numerous commentators echo the words of R’ Elazar haKappar, writing that a Jew is not supposed to add chumrot/stringencies indiscriminately, that mitzvot are not intended to cause deprivation!


The answer, it seems to me, is to distinguish between two types of deprivation: There is suffered pain, and there is chosen sacrifice.

Much pain is simply an experience of suffering. There is neither clear meaning nor explicit higher purpose; it is an experience of bereavement, of loss, of paying a high price without goods to show for it. Pain is a hurricane, an earthquake, a tsunami, a buffeting by great and impersonal and devastating forces. There is no nobility in suffering pain.

Sacrifice, on the other hand, is part of a goal-oriented, constructive, act of human self-engineering. Sacrifice is a statement of our capacity to stimulate and direct our own growth, to paint a picture of the person we wish to become and then to chart a path toward that goal. There is a meaning, a plan, a purpose.

This is our anonymous Nazir’s initiative, the anti-Narcissus, forsaking an obsession with personal beauty and thereby fortifying his own righteousness. He knew the person he wished to become, and single-handedly transformed himself into that person.


Shimshon, the most famous Nazir, did the same: HaShem told Hatzlelponit that she was going to have a son, and that her son should become a Nazir. As we said a few weeks ago, Shimshon needed to develop self-control, so that he might lead the Jewish people - and so he was taught to sacrifice, abandoning pleasure for the sake of discipline.

There is little dignity in suffering unbidden pain, but there is awesome nobility in choosing to sacrifice, to build.

But construction requires a plan, schematics, architectural design; sacrifice is not a carte blanche ideal, in which we abandon randomly selected pleasures in order to emerge as better people on the other side. The Torah condemns the practice of freely taking vows; this self-engineering requires careful consideration.

To do this properly requires cheshbon hanefesh, self-accounting, in which we analyze our lives and find our weaknesses, and determine what will lead us in a better direction.

Again, our Nazir is a perfect example; according to the gemara, the Nazir decides that wine has led him to immorality, and so he shuns wine. He determines that he is too caught up in his own beauty, and so he temporarily ruins that beauty.

In our own day, Sacrifice might be a person identifying a weakness for lashon hara, harmful speech, and deciding to abandon all speech for a day, or a period of days, to get himself under control.

In our own day, Sacrifice might be a frugal person recognizing his unwillingness to give, and contributing extra cash to tzedakah in order to defy his wallet-tightening impulses.

Sacrifice is not impulsive; it is calculated, rational, dedicated to developing a better self. We strip away some diseased or destructive or dysfunctional part of our lives in order to build up what remains.


In Graduation Weeks past, I’ve spoken about Vision, Gratitude, Growth, Relationships, about daring to be different, about trusting Gd. All of these are good themes to think about, when leaving one lifestage and embarking upon another.

Sacrifice, too, is a critical theme - a critical skill, really - as you enter high school or college or yeshiva in Israel or graduate school or (shudder!) a world beyond grades and papers and classroom instruction. With each new phase of life we need to declare a Vision, to evaluate our selves, our talents, our accomplishments and our weaknesses, and then have the strength to tear down that which needs tearing down in order to bolster ourselves for the challenges ahead.

Mazal Tov on your Graduation, and may you, like the Nazir rather than Narcissus, have the greatest success in tearing down that which needs tearing down and building up that which needs building up, and so go מחיל אל חיל, from strength to strength to strength.


You know, one of the main reasons people don’t work on themselves is that it’s very easy to decide that the rest of the world is wrong, and we’re perfect:

They tell the story of a Swiss man who was in London and needed directions, so he stopped two kids and asked them, “Koennen sie Deutsch sprechen?” The kids just stared at him.
He tried again, “Excusez-moi, parlez vous Francais?” Again, they just stared.
“Parlare Italiano?” Nothing.
“Hablas Espanol?” No reaction.
Finally, the Swiss man walks away, disgusted.
One of the kids turns to the other and says, “You know, maybe we should learn a foreign language!”
To which the other replies, “Why? That guy knew four languages, and it didn’t do him any good!”

But all kidding aside, we will be much better off when we do look at ourselves, when we do understand and take seriously the importance of self-engineering, and - through learning and sacrifice - grow into our better selves.

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A few notes here:
1. The story of the anonymous Nazir appears on Nazir 4b. One gemara that states the Nazir's sin offering is not really for sin - but also cites R' Elazar haKappar's view - is on Sotah 15a. See Tosafot there as well.

2. On the theme of constructive sacrifice, see also the gemara's sentiment, "סתירת זקנים בנין היא," that the construction wrought by youth is often destructive, and the destruction wrought by elders is often constructive.

3. My esteemed Rebbetzin noted the similarity to this derashah, but I still think this one adds something. And besides, what's a little review between friends?

4. For another example of sacrifice, see our rabbinically decreed fast days. There is a biblical source for mourning the destruction of the Beis haMikdash (ציון היא דורש אין לה - מכלל דבעי דרישה), but we have other fasts on the calendar, like the 20th of Sivan, days when we spurn food in the name of donating our food budget to tzedakah and motivating ourselves in repentance.

A World Without Gifts?

This, unlike much of the other material posted so far on this blog, was not a derashah; it’s just a thought which may, one day, make it into a speech…or not.

I plead guilty to the charge of humbuggery.

Presents beget the expectation of more presents; the more gifts my children receive from our relatives, the more they expect to receive tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. And so I have soured on the whole gift-giving phenomenon; I feel it spoils kids (and adults!), conditioning them to expect such favors incessantly.

Obviously, this is inspired somewhat by the just-past Chanukah celebration, but it applies year-round – birthdays, random visits from family, even lollipops in shul.

Still, I can’t go too far along those lines without remembering that Judaism revolves around gift-giving.

Avraham gives presents to the children of his concubines, and Yaakov gives Yosef a special tunic. Granted the tunic didn’t work out so well, it’s the thought that counts, right?

We give gifts of food on Purim, as prescribed in Megilat Esther. All year round we give gifts of tzedakah to those in need, and we also have a special mitzvah of tzedakah gifts on Purim.

Farmers are expected to provide מתנות עניים, gifts for the needy, from their fields – the Peah corner of the field, the gleanings, etc. All of us are expected to provide מתנות כהונה, gifts for Kohanim, from produce as well as from animals.

The gemara says one ought to give his family members gifts for each Yom Tov, to increase their holiday joy. The gemara even offers gift ideas – toys for kids, new clothes for women, and wine for men (but please, give non-alcoholic grape juice for those who are sensitive to wine!).

Part of our emphasis on gifts relates to social bonding – people feel close to those whom they have helped, and, per Rav Dessler in Michtav meiEliyahu, people feel close to those whom they have helped. (I believe strongly in this latter idea; this seems to me to be a function of a degree of cognitive dissonance. I helped them, they must be worthy of help and they must be close to me.)

But I think part of it is also a way to build up generosity toward HaShem. The korban is the ultimate gift, a way to “give to Gd,” if such a thing were possible. We offer something of our own to Gd, as a way to demonstrate love – and the more familiar we are with giving away something of our own, the more readily this act will come to us. This is somewhat reminiscent of the practice of honoring parents as a means to sensitize ourselves to honoring our Creator.

So I’ll live with the whole gift phenomenon, and muddle through it. But I really would be happier if my kids would learn to give – to friends and to Gd - rather than to receive.

Derashah: Vayyetze 5768: The Selfless Mikdash

The Derashah:

The story of the site of the Beit haMikdash
Thousands of years ago, they say, two brothers lived on either side of a hill. One brother had a wife and many children, the other brother lived alone. Each brother brought home an excellent harvest. The brother with the large family said to himself, “My brother lives alone, he should at least have wealth,” and so he decided to secretly bring his brother grain, in the middle of the night. The brother who lived alone said to himself, “My brother has to support an entire family,” and decided to secretly bring him grain, in the middle of the night. The two were surprised to meet each other in the middle. They embraced, and Gd declared that on the spot of their selflessness, the Beis haMikdash would be built.
Of course, there’s also a second version of that story, in which the brother with the large family said to himself, “My brother has no one to support, he doesn’t need all that grain.” The brother who lived alone said to himself, “My brother has a huge family, his kids can work for him; I need the grain more.” And so each set out for the other side, to steal the other’s grain for himself. The two met in the middle and fought, and Gd declared that on that spot, the Kenesset would be built.

The flaws of the story
But all kidding aside, the story of the brothers is obviously not consistent with Torah.
The Torah tells us how the spot of the Beis haMikdash was selected - it was the spot at which Avraham offered his son, Yitzchak, as a gift to Gd! According to the midrash, this was also the spot at which Yaakov declared, in this morning’s parshah, that he would give Gd 1/10 of everything Gd would provide him! Apparently, this spot was selected for the relationship between Man and Gd, not for the relationship between people!
And, of course, from a historical perspective, the story seems to have started as an Arab legend about Al-Aqsa, not a Jewish story about the Beis haMikdash.

The point that resonates: Selflessness
We know this - and yet the story resonates with us. We like it, we tell it to our children. Not because we are suckers for a good story, but because the story captures the central element of both the Akeidah of Yitzchak, and Yaakov’s offer to Gd. The Akeidah, and Yaakov’s vow, sound like they are about Man and Gd, but they are really about selflessness.
Avraham is so driven to give that he will tear down his life’s work and offer it up on the altar.
Yitzchak is so driven to give that he will give up his life on that altar.
Yaakov is so driven to give that in a moment of bleak poverty and hopelessness he is willing to pledge away the wealth that will come to him in the future.
On that site of selflessness, we can have a Beis haMikdash - a place where we will selflessly bring our Korbanot, and a place where Gd will selflessly overlook our sins and forgive us.

A track record of selfishness
The problem, though, is that as much as the message of selflessness resonates with us, our historical reality has been one of selfishness.
Yosef’s brothers worried about what they would get for themselves, and so they sold Yosef into slavery.
The Jews in the desert worried about what they would get for themselves, and rebelled against Moshe.
וישמן ישורון ויבעט, even when we have been wealthy we have kicked at Gd and demanded whatever we could get.
The gemara (Bava Metzia 30b) says לא נחרבה ירושלים אלא...מפני שהעמידו דיניהם על דין תורה, ולא עבדו לפנים משורת הדין, Yerushalayim was destroyed as a punishment for the fact that people demanded their due under the law, and refused to forgive their rights.
When we want to know who lost Yerushalayim, when we look at the Annapolis negotiations and see a government prepared to split this city, we should realize that we lost Yerushalayim, whenever we were selfish.

What we can do - the Religious Zionist imperative
There is much we can do for the sake of Yerushalayim.
There are letters to write. Gd-willing I’ll be sending out an email this week listing addresses of powerful people who should hear from us that Yerushalayim should not be on the table.
We should discuss Yerushalayim, learn about Yerushalayim, and - most important - we should make sure that our children understand its importance, because even after this round is over, Yerushalayim will come up again. Four years ago Yossi Beilin tried to put Yerushalayim on the table with the Geneva Accords, and within four years from now someone else will try again, and we need to be ready, our children need to be ready.
But more than that, Religious Zionism teaches that we must eliminate the selfishness. If Religious Zionism simply means “I want Israel because I believe in the religious teachings about its past,” if Religious Zionism means I have a birthright in Israel because the Bible says so, then Religious Zionism is empty and should be discarded. Religious Zionism must also mean a commitment to the basic narrative of merit and sin, of believing that a birthright is only a start, and our righteousness is what earns us the city and the land. And so we must commit ourselves to following the model of Avraham and Yitzchak at the Akeidah, and Yaakov in this morning’s parshah, and giving of ourselves.
Opportunities abound. Whether it means:
coming into the house and first asking how your spouse is, making sure your spouse is all right before launching into your own tale of woe-
or it means joining in some community volunteering effort-
or it means giving of your time to your children-
or it means giving tzedakah-
we must commit to selflessness.
Five weeks ago, on Parshas Noach, I spoke about the need for צדקה ומשפט, righteousness and justice. Both of those begin with our commitment to overlook our own rights, and instead work on behalf of the rights of others.

Tefillas haDerech
At the start of our parshah, Yaakov was promised Divine protection; he saw angels descending a ladder, coming to watch over him during his trip to Charan.
In the middle of our parshah, those angels came to Yaakov and made sure he would not be cheated by his father-in-law, Lavan.
At the end of our parshah, as Yaakov returned to Israel, he again encountered angels; he watched the departure of those who had protected him outside Israel, and the arrival of his Israeli protectors.
We invoke those angels whenever we go on a trip; we say Tfilas haDerech, the Traveler’s Prayer, and we recite the psukim of Yaakov’s arrival at Machanaim and his encounter with those angels. We ask for that protection for ourselves.

Closer
Religious Zionism teaches us not only that the past of Yerushalayim is in our hands, but that the future of Yerushalayim is in our hands. We will write our letters. We will learn about Yerushalayim. We will speak to our children about Yerushalayim. And we will give of ourselves. Yaakov was willing to give of himself, and therefore he was protected. We are promised that if we are willing to give, we will receive the same.


Further thoughts:
1. Should we be bothered by the fact that the opening story is taught to our children in day school as though it were Torah miSinai?
2. At what point are we selflessly foregoing our rights, and at what point are we simply being patsies?
3. When we say Tefilas haDerech we talk about the angels from Yaakov's return to Israel, rather than his return to Israel?