Derashah: A Judaism of Fire (Terumah)

This Shabbos I'm speaking at a Shabbaton; you can find the flyer here. The theme of the Shabbos morning derashah is "A Judaism of Fire". The writing is not terribly complex or deep; it's not that kind of occasion. Still, I think it may resonate with some readers, so here it is:

Every time I visit this shul I take note of the beautiful drawings of the new building you're raising, and that reminds me of the old story of a visitor to Israel who attends a concert in the brand new Soloveitchik Hall.

The visitor admires the remarkable acoustics, the magnificent architectural detail, the fine furnishings. He asks one of the ushers, "Is this hall named for Joseph Soloveitchik, the great rabbi?" The usher responds, "No, it's named for Harold Soloveitchik, the writer."

The visitor thinks for a moment, but the name is unfamiliar. He asks, "What did he write?"

To which the usher responds, "A check."

This morning we read about the construction of the first magnificent synagogue, the Mishkan, the portable Temple in which the Jews connected with Gd during their 39-year journey from Mount Sinai into Israel, and then for another 440 years in the land of Israel itself. The construction was a remarkable feat, product of a collaboration of men and women who were expert in crafts ranging from weaving to leatherwork to woodwork to metalwork. The first director of the project was none other than Moshe Rabbeinu, our master Moses, who brought us the Divine command, "They shall build for Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them."

This morning's parshah, and the one we read next week, include more than 200 verses of instructions for creating the mishkan and populating it with ritual furnishings. But Gd did more than tell Moshe, "Build this," "Make  that."

• The Talmud[1] notes that Gd told Moshe, "This is the form of the menorah." The sages suggest that Moshe at first experienced difficulty understanding the Divine instructions regarding the menorah he was to build, until Gd showed him a menorah of fire. "This is what you shall make."
• More: A verse in our Torah portion[2] says that Gd showed Moshe the Mishkan's vessels at Mount Sinai. According to the Talmud,[3] Gd displayed to Moshe fiery images of the Ark that would hold the two tablets, the Table on which special bread would be placed, and the aforementioned menorah.
• A midrash[4] goes even further, citing an additional verse and saying הכל הראה לו דמות אש, Gd displayed to Moshe everything, in fire.

In addition to presenting verbal instructions, Gd showed Moshe images of everything he was to create, and here we learn a pedagogic lesson that extends beyond the instructions for a building: Don't just tell them, show them. Demonstrate it.

As our topic this morning is how we raise Jewish children, one lesson here is that we need to do more than tell our community's children about our ideals; we need to live these ideals, visibly. I know this is likely obvious, but I state it as a first important step for parents, and for all of us, as adults; we are role models by dint of our simple presence.

Last night we highlighted the problems of a Jewish generation some 2700 years ago, a generation that lacked a clear vision of Judaism. Looking for a vision which would not be too narrow or divisive, I proposed a broad, ground-level ideology of "Just Jewish". The idea is simple enough to transmit – but the education Gd gave to Moshe reminds us that if our children are to adopt this or any other ideology, they need more than just to hear about it; they need to see it lived in front of them, in our daily actions.

But that's just Step One; for Step Two, I refer you to the words of the playwright Franz Kafka, in a letter he dedicated to his father:[5]

"Four days a year you went to the synagogue, where you were, to say the least, closer to the indifferent than to those who took it seriously, patiently went through the prayers as a formality, sometimes amazed me by being able to show me in the prayer book the passage that was being said at the moment, and for the rest, so long as I was present in the synagogue (and this was the main thing) I was allowed to hang around wherever I liked. And so I yawned and dozed through the many hours (I don't think I was ever again so bored, except later at dancing lessons) and did my best to enjoy the few little bits of variety … How one could do anything better with that material than get rid of it as fast as possible, I could not understand; precisely the getting rid of it seemed to me to be the devoutest action."

I want to come back to Kafka's scathing words in a few minutes, but first I'd like to read you another passage. This is a text from the more famous Soloveitchik – not Harold – describing how he learned about Judaism. In a eulogy [for his son-in-law's mother], Rabbi Soloveitchik said of his own mother,

"I used to watch her arranging the house in honor of a holiday. I used to see her recite prayers; I used to watch her recite the Torah portion every Friday night and I still remember the nostalgic tune. I learned from her very much. Most of all I learned that Judaism expresses itself not only in formal compliance with the law but also in a living experience. She taught me that there is a flavor, a scent and warmth to mitzvot. I learned from her the most important thing in life - to feel the presence of the Almighty and the gentle pressure of His hand resting upon my frail shoulders. Without her teachings, which quite often were transmitted to me in silence, I would have grown up a soulless being, dry and insensitive.[6]"

Let us be clear: The central difference between Franz Kafka's experience and that of Rabbi Soloveitchik is not about level of observance, it's not about "formal compliance with the law". It's not about Kafka attending synagogue four days each year, and Rabbi Soloveitchik's mother praying daily. Rather, the point is inspiration! Visiting the synagogue just four days each year can be inspiring, and living a halachic lifestyle can be dull and dry. But Kafka's father was indifferent, and Rabbi Soloveitchik's mother conveyed a Judaism that had a flavor, a scent, a warmth – a heartfelt inspiration.

This message is displayed in the way Gd showed Moshe how to construct the Mishkan. He did not simply show Moshe a diagram of an Ark, a model of a Menorah. It was של אש, it was of fire! Indeed, the Torah describes Judaism as אשדת, a religion of fire![7] Our Judaism must crackle with energy, radiating heat, shining with brilliant light, this is an entity we wish to create, to perpetuate, to convey from generation to generation!

Of course, this presupposes that the adult feels that fire. We can't fake it; kids will detect that in less than the time it took me to state this sentence. So what does a parent do if he doesn't feel the flavor, the scent, the warmth? If shul is as dull for him as it was for Kafka's father, if cooking a Shabbos meal is boring, if she feels a duty to pass along Judaism to her children but opening up a chumash makes her feel like she's back in the worst part of her Hebrew school experience, how can she achieve inspiration? Where will the fire come from?

Some suggest that we store up our strongest emotions from various experiences, and call them to mind when we need to be moved.[8] Others suggest that we meditate. Others suggest that we look at the world with wide, reverent eyes, and recognize the beauty of Gd's Creation. All of these are valuable recommendations.

Personally, though, my favorite route is the advice of Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin, the last head of the Volozhin yeshiva. In his commentary to the Torah,[9] Rabbi Berlin wrote, "Gardens have many kinds of seeds. Still, each garden has one central variety, and small quantities of other varieties are planted around it. So, too, each Jew is filled with the mitzvot of Gd, but each has one special mitzvah in which he is extra careful."

In other words: The Torah has many, many mitzvos – 613, and then some! There are mitzvos of prayer. There are mitzvos of generosity. There are mitzvos of study. There are mitzvos of ritual. There are mitzvos of gardening and mitzvos of construction and mitzvos of calligraphy and mitzvos of medicine and mitzvos of creativity and mitzvos of music. There are mitzvos of sacrifice and asceticism, and there are mitzvos of indulgence and pleasure. There is mysticism and there is rationalism, there are chasidim and there are misnagdim, there are farmers and entertainers and social workers and scholars and writers. Torah presents a landscape of religious activity as broad and varied as humanity itself, and although we are expected to work toward achieving the whole of it, different aspects of that landscape will resonate with different people.

When we find a mitzvah to which our nature responds, which moves our heart to sing, which brings us fulfillment and a sense of, "Yes, that's what I wanted to do," then we will be inspired – and that inspiration can spill over into the rest of our Judaism.

The same applies to helping our community's children find their own inspiration.

Torah is too broad to expect that a child, unsophisticated and narrow in his experience, is going to find all of it to be beautiful and motivating. There are mitzvos that require sitting still and concentrating, a challenge at any age but certainly in adolescence. Some mitzvos are tough until one gets to the age when hormones settle down. Understanding certain mitzvos requires a great deal of contemplation. Appreciating other mitzvos requires life experience. And some mitzvos, let's face it, will never be appealing within today's world.

But again, Torah is so big and broad that everyone can find the spark from which the entire Torah, in its variegated beauty and multifarious colours, will catch fire. If children see adults living an inspired Judaism, with what resonates for us; if we offer our children a range of Jewish opportunities, to help them find what resonates for them and use it as an anchor; then we will have a much greater chance of succeeding in passing along our Judaism.

The ideas I have expressed here are not complex, perhaps the midrash, the Netziv, Kafka and Rav Soloveitchik are unfamiliar, but really, passing along Judaism is not the exclusive province of scholars of esoteric text, or deep mystical thought. Exposing our ideals, demonstrating that they inspire us, displaying the fiery image of the mishkan and its vessels, are activities each of us can do.

Of course, we have no guarantees. A parent can do everything by the book, and children will still grow up and become independent and chart their own paths, and who can guess where that will lead? Many, many fine parents have lived their ideals with enthusiasm, raising children who then said, "I'm glad that works for you, but it's not for me."

Nonetheless, when we invest the time to think about and define our ideals; when we invest the effort to live those ideals; and when we invest the heart to do it with fiery enthusiasm, then we, like Moshe, will build a mishkan, and we will see fulfillment of that Divine promise, "ועשו לי מקדש ושכנתי בתוכם – When you build a sanctuary for Me, I will dwell in your midst."

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[1] Menachot 29a, based on Bamidbar 8:4

[2] Shemot 26:30

[3] Menachot 29a

[4] Psikta Zutrita Shemot 25:9, based on Shemot 25:9

[5] http://www.writersmugs.com/books/books.php?book=87&name=Kafka&title=Letter_to_His_Father

[6] http://www.traditiononline.org/news/originals/Volume%2017/No.%202/A%20Tribute%20to%20the.pdf

[7] Devarim 33:2

[8] Bnei Machshavah Tovah

[9] Haamek Davar to Bamidbar 24:6

The Challenge of Religious Conspicuous Consumption

Surely you have heard about the February 8th Wall Street Journal article, "After These Jewish Prayer Services, Things Come 'To Life' at Open Bar". Its depiction of synagogues desperately seeking to attract attendees by advertising expensive liquor and high-end food is perfect for the Jewish chain e-mail circuit, inviting people to tsk tsk self-righteously, add a note about a person they know at one of the mentioned synagogues or about the kiddush at their own house of worship, and pass it along to hundreds of their closest friends.

Herewith an excerpt:
As early as January, Rabbi Marc Schneier was already well into planning his synagogue's summer worship in New York's posh Hamptons community. He is lining up guest speakers, interviewing assistant rabbis—and considering ways to improve on the martini bar.
The "L'chaim" table of high-price spirits is the most popular feature of The Hampton Synagogue's Saturday summer service. "There is always vodka, an assortment of single malts, tequila," says Robert Fisher, a friend of the rabbi who serves as adviser on food and drink.
Rabbi Schneier notes that the fetes don't get overly boisterous. It is all about the "M-word," he insists—not martinis, but "moderation." The same might not be said about the food. One weekend the entrees included pan-seared sesame salmon and sliced steak with horseradish cream. There is always seafood salad—the rabbi's favorite dish—albeit made with pollock and whiting since the congregation adheres to kosher laws banning shellfish. The "herring bar" features 12 different variations named after each of the Twelve Tribes of Israel.


It's easy to mock this rather pathetic conduct – but contrarian that I am, I do need to note that we have a long history of righteous leaders who provide extravagant feasts for their company, and particularly on religious occasions.
* Consider Avraham, who is described in Bereishit 18 as slaughtering a bull and preparing bread and cases in order to feed just three guests. Per Bava Metzia 86b, he actually slaughtered three bulls, just to give each guest his own complete tongue in mustard.
* And let us not forget Shemuel II 6:13; during the parade when the aron is returned by the Philistines, King David slaughters two animals with every six steps taken by the bearers of the ark.
* Or consider King Solomon; per Melachim I 5:1-8, his daily toll included thirty oxen and one hundred sheep, with unnumbered other animals thrown in as well.

Of course, there is ample room to differentiate between the 'kiddush' celebrations described in the article and these biblical examples:
* Avraham was taking care of guests. King David brought these as offerings to Gd. How many people King Solomon fed each day is unclear, and it is also not certain that the biblical text approves of his consumption.
* Further, the synagogues, as described in the article, use this to attract worshippers, an image which is wholly unwholesome.
* In addition, the article does not make clear that the underwriters of these bacchanalias also give extravagantly to tzedakah, as we expect Avraham, King David and King Solomon did.
* The article hints at a level of competitiveness, and the possibility that those who cannot afford such expenditures might be embarrassed.
* And, the image of drunkenness and the scourge of addiction is a subtext throughout the article.

Despite those caveats, questions remain with me regarding conspicuous consumption in association with religion:
1. How do we feel about splurging on food for a wedding, bar mitzvah, or kiddush, when one has the means?
2. If we react with disdain, are we disgusted by the actual extravagant feasts, or by external issues like the ones I mention above?
3. Is our reaction a function of traditional Jewish values, or of contemporary values? [And does that matter?]

Jewish parents - How do you feel about these cartoons?

I am a big believer in the message of Rabbi Elazar (Avot 2), "Know how to respond to an apikorus."

To me, this is important not in terms of merely knowing how to counter criticism, but in terms of understanding our flaws, and correcting them. The apikorus, when not caught up in his personal baggage, can be the best "lie detector" for us, keeping us honest. Sometimes, the response to the apikorus is "You're right; I made a mistake."

With that in mind, here is a cartoon from a site called The Oatmeal, originally published as part of a broader piece criticizing the ideals as well as excesses of various western religions. [Some of the other cartoons are stronger examples, but the language isn't really for my blog.] You may need to click on it to get a clear image:

So, Jewish parents: How would you respond?
Is it entirely inapplicable to us, or too much of a caricature to be relevant?
Is it accurate in its depiction, but wrong because this is proper pedagogy?
Is it accurate in its depiction, and correct in its criticism?
None of the above?


My first instinct is that this criticism isn't about religion at all, but about poor parenting. On the other hand, religion can bring out the worst in parents, particularly those who don't have a clear understanding of the religion they are promoting. I can see insecure parents, who know they are supposed to market ideals they don't really understand, falling into the trap of this kind of parenting. So in a sense, it's an on-the-mark critique of the nexus of poor parenting and religious ignorance.

What say you?

Someone is going to hear this derashah (Mishpatim)

I was supposed to speak in a shul in the US this Shabbos, but due to what can only be called a remarkable series of unfortunate events, including:

1. An airliner that was de-iced on Thursday afternoon with a hatch open, so that fluid entered and damaged an electrical panel...

2. A 45-minute trip back through Canadian customs after disembarking, so that we ended up missing any possibility for boarding a new flight before the storm hit...

3. A trip to an airport hotel in which our shuttle was struck by another shuttle; we eventually reached the hotel close to midnight...

4. A fresh attempt early this morning on a flight that boarded on time - but would have missed our connection by over an hour had we actually stayed on board, instead of disembarking when the delay started looking likely...

5. A scary, 90-minute drive home through snowed-in highways and streets...

...we never made it out of Toronto.

In order to get some mileage out of the derashah I was going to give, here it is; enjoy!

Shemitah in the wilderness?

Have you ever asked your children to do something that seemed perfectly normal to you, and had them look at you with an expression of pure incomprehension? I imagine that Moshe received such a reaction in our parshah, when he stood at Sinai and told the Jews about the mitzvah of Shemitah, saying, "Plant your land for six years… In the seventh year, leave it alone. The needy will eat, and that which they leave will go to the animals.[1]"

"Plant your land?" What, the sand outside our tents? The rocks on Mount Sinai? Sure, we're headed to Israel someday, but right now all we see is desert! And by the way, Moshe, why did you insert this among the laws of keeping an honest judicial system and letting non-Jewish workers rest on Shabbos?

Perhaps Shemitah is taught to the Jews at the start of their journey because of a philosophical lesson it conveys, about building community by being people of berachah [blessing].

To be a blessing and so build community

Another agricultural mitzvah is that of Peah, which requires us, at harvest time, to leave the last part of our standing grain for the needy. Writing in the 13^th century, Rabbi Aharon haLevi explained in the Sefer haChinuch that one benefit of this mitzvah is that it trains us to stop short when we could take for ourselves. A person who observes Peah, declining to take his entire field for himself, develops what the Sefer haChinuch calls a נפש ברכה, a spirit of blessing.

The Sefer haChinuch's key words, נפש ברכה [a spirit of blessing], actually come from Mishlei [Proverbs], a book of Tanach attributed to King Solomon. The author praises a נפש ברכה,[2] [a spirit of blessing], and the commentators there explain that term as the Sefer haChinuch uses it – for a person to be וותרן בממונו, forgiving his right to material wealth, leaving it for others.

It's about our own improvement

But the help we give to others is not really the point. As the Sefer haChinuch explained, the point is in the personality we develop, and the way we will be better off, and therefore society will be better off.

It is axiomatic that the hand that grasps the world and all of its riches tightly in youth will one day be compelled to relax its grip and, one by one, release its acquisitions and relinquish its ambitions. Even before that mortal day arrives, the reach of the hand will never encompass everything the heart desires. A human being who feels a compulsion to take hungers perpetually, and is frustrated eternally. And a human being like that is an unreliable neighbour.

On the other hand, a human being who, as the Sefer haChinuch said, is aware that Gd has filled him with goodness, a human being who is a וותרן, forgiving rather than grasping for more, is שמח בחלקו, rejoices in his portion without concern for that which lies beyond its boundaries. This is a person of blessing, because people like these are the foundation stones of community. The strength of the community depends on the strength of these individuals.

Be a blessing upon entering Israel

Our mission of becoming a וותרן, and thereby a piece of a strong society, was of primary importance when our ancestors first entered the land of Israel.

Avraham and Sarah make their way from the familiar eastern portion of the Fertile Crescent, through the way-station of Charan, heeding a Divine call of לך לך, Go. Their caravan is buoyed along by a Divine promise of protection, but also a Divine command: והיה ברכה. Be a berachah. Be a blessing.[3]

We now know what that means: As we saw King Solomon use the term in Mishlei, as we saw the Sefer haChinuch explain: Avraham and Sarah! Be a blessing! Gifted with holy land, do not become people whose identity is defined by that which you hold in your grasp.

Avraham and Sarah heed the call:

• After a war, Avraham is offered spoils, and he declines them;
• Gd personally offers Avraham every material blessing, and Avraham says he is not interested;
• Sarah surrenders her place in the household so that Avraham will have a child through Hagar;
• Avraham parts ways with his greedy cousin Lot – and Avraham, who has been promised the land, offers Lot the chance to choose territory first.[4]

Avraham and Sarah's family are commanded to be a blessing, to be וותרנים, relinquishing claims, and so to become people of blessing within the society they will build.

The lesson of Shemitah in the wilderness

And now, to return to our initial question regarding the value of shemitah in the wilderness: The Jews stand at Sinai, an adolescent nation, newly unshackled beginning to grow into its muscles. They expect to return to that land of Israel of Avraham and Sarah, and there to evolve from families into tribes into a nation. At the inception of this journey, Moshe admonishes them: Do not focus on what you can take.

• Maintain an honest judicial system; don't take the property of the vulnerable.
• Let your non-Jewish workers rest on Shabbos; don't take advantage of your right to their service.
• And learn the lessons of the Sabbatical year. In Shemitah we are taught to withdraw our hands. We choose not to take. Shemitah is about staying our hand.

Israel today

Avraham and Sarah are told to be that berachah when they enter Israel, the Jews at Sinai are told likewise by Moshe, and today, when we are again home, in our land, we remain under this command. I speak not of the way we interact with our Arab neighbours, a relationship governed by a complex set of laws and realities, but how we interact with each other.

In our time we have witnessed the realization of our millenia-old dream with the establishment of an autonomous Jewish state in Israel. We have observed the incredible flourishing of a country in which Jews of all ethnicities and all types of observance can thrive, in which the government funds Torah study, in which a Jewish army warns the world, as Rav Soloveitchik said, that Jewish blood is not hefker, to be spilled with abandon. It is a land where every Jew belongs. It is a miracle of incalculable scope, for which we should give thanks every day. But the task of Avraham and Sarah, the charge of Moshe with shemitah, remains relevant: Not to perpetually hunger for more, but to relate to each other without taking and grasping, to develop lives of blessing.

Us

And beyond Israel, in our own personal lives, here in Denver, we are also challenged to be וותרנים, and so to be a blessing.

The idea is simple, but its implementation is not; sociologists around the world, from the US to Europe to the Far East, label our modern era "rights-infatuated" and condemn our society as acquisitive. Scholars of government and philosophy debate the relative value of Aristotelian virtue, the Kantian categorical imperative and lofty Confucian ideals, but at the end of the day many of us live in the unsophisticated fear of losing that to which we have claim. We have difficulty achieving the personal strength to hold back.

I am not naïve; I know that there are times when we must take, and not forgive. Even our matriarch Sarah did not forgive everything, as we know from her battle with Hagar and her eviction of Yishmael. There are rights we must defend; there are times to hold the line, to litigate, even to go to war. But our first choice, our gut reaction, in our daily life and our communal life, is to learn the lesson of shemitah from our parshah, to learn the lesson of Avraham and Sarah, to trust in Gd and to be a berachah.

In our personal lives:

• When a neighbouring driver tries to cut into the lane in front of us, or when someone cuts to the kiddush table in front of us, to respond first with the Berachah reflex;
• When our children come home from school and immediately clamor for first rights to snack or the computer or some toy, to train them in the Berachah reflex.

And in our community as well, our vision ought to include the full ambit of Berachah:

• To create a shul in which individuals are looked after, so that they can safely exercise וותרנות, declining to take;
• To lead Jewish institutions which function in a generous culture of community, not jealously guarding resources but acknowledging that there is a need for, and there is space for, everyone;
• To recognize our citizenship in the broader city, and adopt a policy not of asking, "What are my rights," but instead, "What can I provide?"

This is what it means, on a day-to-day level, to be a blessing for our community, to be a descendant of Avraham and Sarah, to be a practitioner of the mitzvah of shemitah.

Closer

When the Jews returned from Babylon to build the second Beit haMikdash, they were frustrated by the slow pace of their work, by the poverty they suffered, by the foes they faced. But the prophet Zecharyah pledged to them that if they would remain loyal to Gd, then Gd would aid their efforts. "And it will be," he said, "As you were once a curse among the nations, House of Yehudah and House of Yisrael, so now will I rescue you – and you will again be a Berachah.[5]" As Avraham and Sarah were a berachah when they entered the land, so will you be a berachah today.

When we fulfill this, when we are loyal to that mission of Avraham and Sarah and of shemitah, when we learn to relinquish our demands, then we will be a blessing and we will build a strong community, and for us Zecharyah concluded with a promise: "אל תיראו, תחזקנה ידיכם." "Be not afraid – your hands will be strengthened."

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[1] Shemos 23:10-11

[2] Mishlei 11:25

[3] Targum renders it as "and you will be blessed," to make it consistent with the surrounding verses, but this is difficult. Rashi, in his first comment, is sensitive to the problem.

[4] It is most telling, too, that Lot chooses to live in the selfish city of Sdom! And we know how that story ends.

[5] Zecharyah 8:13

It's a yeshiva, not a cigar store

[NOTE: This post is not a response to any particular situation, in any institution. I am writing it now only because I translated the piece I cite below for this week's Toronto Torah, as part of a series of articles I have translated regarding the 19th century Machine Matzah controversy.]

I have heard voiced, over the years, an expectation that a Jewish communal institution will hire people who are in need of work, even if they are less qualified or even unqualified; communities never have enough resources to meet all needs, and this is seen as an efficient way to take care of two problems.

The fallout from this practice, though, can be terrible; staff, teachers and administrators all do important work, and if they are inefficient then the institution suffers, and the community suffers. As a most respected mentor of mine once commented regarding a certain school, "It's a yeshiva, not a cigar store." Operating a community institution comes with great responsibility for the welfare of hundreds or thousands of people, and it must be taken seriously, professionally.

That came to mind when I read the following passage from Rabbi Yosef Shaul Nathanson (Bittul Modaah, pg. 2; you can find the Hebrew here).

Preface: Beginning in ancient times, Jews distributed gifts to the needy at the time of the public reading of Megilat Esther, in order to fulfill the imperative recorded in the megilah and in order to aid the needy in their collection. Also, Jewish communities historically hired needy people to bake matzah, to provide them with respectable economic support. Here, Rabbi Nathanson responded to a rabbi who argued that using machines to bake matzah would damage the livelihood of the needy, and would violate the historic practice of aiding the needy with this employment.

He has noted that we do not read the megilah on Shabbat even when there is an obligation [to read on that date], because the eyes of the needy anticipate the reading of the megilah [and we could not distribute gifts to the needy at a megilah reading on Shabbat]. Similarly, we should halt use of this machine because of the eyes of the needy, for this work provides them with money to purchase wheat [for matzah]. This is one of the precious arguments found in his writings, as well as the writings of others. However, it is empty, easily blown away; it causes us to laugh.

On Purim we read the megilah, and the megilah's central purpose is to remind us to give gifts to the needy, and it would be inappropriate to read the megilah without fulfilling that which is recorded therein. And so they said (Megilah 4) that a community which reads megilah on an earlier day also moves up the gifts to the needy; see Ramban and Rav Zerachyah haLevi there.

Here, though, the essence is to bake matzah in order to fulfill the obligation of matzah. What does this have to do with the needy? If one had many family members [to bake matzah themselves], would he be prohibited from baking personally, without hiring paupers to help?

Further, in our great sins, bitterly poor people come to bake matzah, and those who stand there during the baking can testify to the stumbling blocks that occur in the preparation of matzah. The matzah is prepared by paupers and [non-Jewish] servants, who are frivolous, and every member of my city will testify to this. It has been two years since I was appointed Rabbi and head of the court here, and I enacted that trustworthy people be assigned to each matzah bakery. Despite this practice, we have found many stumbling blocks, including theft of many batches of dough, lying, and baking of their own chametz between sets of matzah. Further, when they work all day and all night their strength is weakened, and there is greater concern for problems. With this machine, though, strong Jews work, and they do their jobs well, and they bake far more in one day than other bakeries do, and their great speed is beyond estimation. 

Chametz between runs? Stolen dough? Supporting our neediest members is a sacred obligation, but it cannot come about this way. And the same is true far beyond matzah baking.

Of course, that doesn't mean we don't help them. It just means we are obligated to find another way.

Peace through Rav Kook's broadminded Judaism

It's a running joke, I know, that the Talmud's sense of humour is best perceived in the line in Berachot 64a, "Torah scholars bring peace to the world." Presumably Rav Kook was aware of this, too, when he wrote the following lines, which appear in Olat Re'iyyah I, page 330 in the standard Mossad haRav Kook edition [the translation is my own]:

"True peace will come to the world only through an embrace of the value of increasing peace. Increasing peace means that all sides and all opinions will be viewed, and it will be clarified that each has a place, according to its value, place and content. To the contrary [of the views of those who object] – all that appears superfluous or contradictory will be seen as revealing the truth of halachah in all of its aspects. Only by collecting all of the parts and details, and all of the apparently varied views, and all of the opposing camps, specifically in this way will the light of truth and justice be perceived, and the knowledge of Gd and awe and love of Him, and the light of the Torah of truth.

"This is how Torah scholars increase peace. When they expand and explain and produce new words of wisdom, from different points of view, with a variety and even contradiction of content, thus they increase peace, as it is written, 'All of your children are learned of Gd.' All of them will recognize that all of them, even those who appear opposite in their paths and views, are learned of Gd, and in each one an aspect of knowledge of Gd and the light of His truth is revealed."

The embrace of the truth in all views is classic Rav Kook/mystical. Call me a liberal, but I am very taken with this; it resonates.

Here's the original Hebrew:

השלום האמתי אי אפשר שיבוא לעולם כי אם דווקא על ידי הערך של ריבוי השלום. הריבוי של השלום הוא, שיראו כל הצדדים וכל השיטות, ויתבררו איך כולם יש להם מקום, כל אחד לפי ערכו, מקומו ועניינו. ואדרבא גם העניינים הנראים כמיותרים או כסותרים, יראו כשמתגלה אמיתת החכמה לכל צדדיה, שרק על ידי קיבוץ כל החלקים וכל הפרטים, וכל הדעות הנראות שונות, וכל המקצועות החלוקים, דווקא על ידם יראה אור האמת והצדק, ודעת ה' יראתו ואהבתו, ואור תורת אמת.

על כן תלמידי חכמים מרבים שלום - כי במה שהם מרחיבים ומבארים ומולידים דברי חכמה חדשים, בפנים מפנים שונים, שיש בהם ריבוי וחילוק עניינים, בזה הם מרבים שלום, שנאמר וכל בניך למודי ד'. כי כולם יכירו שכולם גם ההפכים בדרכיהם ושיטותיהם כפי הנראה, המה כולם למודי ד', ובכל אחת מהנה יש צד שתתגלה על ידו ידיעת ד' ואור אמתו. 

The Rabbi's Toolbox: Head or Heart?

I know in advance that the answer is טוב אשר תאחוז בזה וגם מזה אל תנח את ידיך (Kohelet 7:18 – "It would be good for you to hold to this, but not to drop the other as well"), but I still find it useful to think about this question: Which is more important for a shul rabbi, the head or the heart?

The head is needed for so many aspects of the rabbi's job, including:

Teaching Torah;

Counseling;

Composing derashos;

Answering halachic questions;

Resolving disputes;

Serving administratively;

Working with committees;

Managing communal needs and guiding institutions.

But the heart is needed for so much of what the rabbi does, too:

Reaching out to people proactively;

Sympathy and empathy for people in need;

Understanding the people who ask halachic questions, or come to shiurim;

Communicating Judaism passionately;

Treating his job as far more than a job, so that he will live it.

I said that I find it "useful" to think about this. Like anyone in any career, a rabbi has his tools, and the one who makes sure to maintain his tools will do his job well. The rabbi ought to check on himself regularly, ensuring that all of the tools of the trade are in good condition, updated as needed, and so on. Thus it's useful for the rabbi to ask himself what his tools are, how he uses them, and whether he is keeping them in a useful state.

But to go back to the question: Which is more important?

As I said at the outset, it would be realistic to say both of these are necessary. Still, I would note that I have seen shul rabbis succeed despite not being of a very intellectual bent. I don't think I have ever seen a shul rabbi succeed without having the heart for it. So I’d have to vote for heart.

What do you think?