Wednesday, April 26, 2006

A thought on Parshas Tazria -Metzora

"...yamim rabim..."
"...for many days..." (15:25)

In describing an interval of time in which a husband and a wife must remain apart, the Torah tells us that this may last for "many days."

The Chezkuni ponders this: the time frame relevant to the laws outlined in this verse is a three day interval. Three is hardly "many." Less than half-a-week is not really a long time at all. Why the "exaggerated" tone to the verse's use of words?He writes, citing a midrash, that any time which is difficult for people is called "a long time." The expression "for many days" depicts the emotion of those moments. In objective reality, they are a few days, a little time. In subjective experience, those few days are really quite a while of waiting.

It is this relativity, where phenomenology (one's private encounter within an event) wrestles with the world of matter and substance, that we have a hard time defining "time." When you enjoy something, it is quickly over and when you suffer, it seems not to end.

When we are with those who matter to us and to whom we matter, those years and decades can rush by like the wind blowing high above the trees, where shadows run from themselves. When someone you love is absent, the wait seems endless.

And here we are in golus. HaShem scattered our people among nations and across oceans. We proclaim our watchful vigil for ge'ula. Does that wait seem long? Is it yamim rabim for us, or do we fail to notice the seasons which tarry and the centuries marching by us?Are we privately attuned to the spiritual reality, which lasts and lasts, or distracted by the temporal joys of mundane monotony?When that shofar gadol resonates across the skies, will we rush to greet the moshiach demanding "what took you so long?", or will we see the grime of golus slipping away, asking, "so soon?" Or will the moshiach have to come over and greet us, reminding us that the time has come today?Refuah sheleima to my son Yosef Ezra who emerged from surgery , with HaShem's loving care, and a bracha to my wife who is on the March of the Living in Poland, helping young people find the spirituality within the ashes, and guiding survivors back to their memories. Good Shabbos. D Fox

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

A thought on Parshas Shmini

"...asher he la'chem...""...which belongs to you..."

The word "he" in the Holy Tongue of Hebrew means "she" or "her", or in the neuter gender "it". The word "hu" means "he" or "him" (or it). The word "he" is spelt hay yud alef, whereas "hu" is spelt hay vav alef. Just look at our verse and you will see that the word "he" is spelt hay yud alef. And that is how it is supposed to be. Right?

The Chezkuni says cryptically "written with a yud." This is puzzling. "Who" does "he" need to tell this to? You'd know it on your own, right? He is spelled with a yud. What is the Chezkuni trying to teach us?The answer seems to lie in Avos D'Rebbi Noson (34:5) and in Mesechta Sofrim (6:4) (also referenced in the Yerushalmi Ta'anis 4:2). We learn there that in reality, there are only eleven times in the Torah where the word he is written with a yud. Every other place where he shows up is written with a vav!

In other words, both the word he (meaning "she") and the word hu (meaning "he") are spelled the same way, with the letters he vov alef. The only way that we can know how those letters are pronounced is by reading it in context. If the subject of the verse is female, or if the "it" in the word is a "feminine gender" word, then we pronounce the word "he", with a grammatical dot (a chirik) beneath the vov. If the context reveals that the subject is male, or "it" of the "masculine gender", then we pronounce it hu with a grammatical dot within the vov (a m'lo'fum.)

So now it turns out that the Chezkuni's tiny comment is quite noteworthy. Anyone who knows the Bible well would likely be astounded upon seeing our verse. Here we have our Chumash containing the word he no fewer than 205 times. It is written with a vov characteristically and yet all of a sudden, here it pops into view with a yud. The astute reader will perk up with a startle! What has happened here? Why is this he different from most other hes? Why is it spelled the way it is supposed to be pronounced? Why isn't spelled like the word hu and pronounced like the word he? This is what the Chezkuni is noting and commenting on.

Which leaves us all with a question to ponder: why do you think the Torah selects the word he to be written hu, as if it were the word hu, and yet it is supposed to be pronounced and read as he which is not how it is written?Let me know what you think. Wishing you a good Shabbos. D Fox

Thursday, April 06, 2006

A Thought On Parshas Tzav

"...v'es kol ha'eida el pesach ohel mo'ed..."
"...and all of the nation at the opening of the Tent of Meeting..." (8:3)

Right after instructing Moshe to anoint the Kohanim at their induction for service in the mishkan, HaShem adds the instruction cited in our verse:
"include everyone, gathering them at the opening of the ohel mo'ed"

The Chezkuni cites a midrash that this instruction was intended in order that everyone, each member of the Jewish nation, should demonstrate an attitude, and conduct, which acknowledged the sanctity of the Kahuna. By assembling to view the inauguration of these kohanim, everyone would signify their recognition that this ceremony was a vital step toward a vital process: everyone turned to and depended upon the kohanim to represent them in the service of the Divine.

It is important to have leaders to whom we turn and upon whom we can depend. Their mission is to promote our mission. We need our leaders. In turn, it is important that we acknowledge that we need them. We must bestow dignity and respect to those who have earned respect and who deserve this display of our reverence. Without that symbiosis, how long could our nation persist?

During my recent visit to Israel, I took a taxi someplace. The Arab driver was listening to a loud station playing "middle Eastern" Arabic music. At one point, I had to take a phone call and motioned to him my request that he turn the volume down. He did. When my call was finished, I thanked him for understanding. He in turn asked if I minded if he put the radio back on, and I replied that it was fine with me. "I enjoy listening to music", I explained to him.

I was lulled back to my very first Jerusalem cab ride years ago, one night as my wife and I sought out my great rebbe Rav Wasserman zt'l. It was a foggy motzaei Shabbos and that Arab driver was playing the haunting music of his people being called to prayer. (I tell the story in my book.) That was long ago. Now, we drove along and I listened along, before suddenly realizing that this music had a different quality to it.

I asked the man where the station was which broadcast this music and he said, "Jordan." I asked if it was in fact Arabic music, and he assured me it was. I then asked if he was a Moslem, and he assured me that he was. So I then asked him if the singer was a woman, and he said she was. "So this isn't the hymn of a muezzin calling for prayer?", I asked, quite certain that it wasn't.

The driver chuckled and said that it was a love song. I asked him, "Doesn't Islam look at a woman's song as an immodest display and doesn't your faith prohibit the public demonstration of romance between the genders?" Again he chuckled and said, "That was in the old places only. In Jordan, they have made progress. They have become civilized about how to be a Moslem."

Setting aside any political rejoinder that should have come to mind, I sat back and felt sad. This man, a professed Moslem, considered the reconstruction of his faith a form of advancement. He looked at the clergy as old fashioned. He rejected the traditional tenets of how his people should orient toward their moral and religious traditions. "They have made progress. They are changing the old ways. They are getting civilized."

There is something important about giving reverence to the reverent. There is something vital about knowing where the holiness comes from, and displaying honor for those who shoulder the yoke of the sacred. Losing sight, moving on... is moving away. Would that we could all assemble at the gates... and maintain honor for that which is Kodesh and to those who exemplify kedusha.

May we never get to that point, where we will look back and feel that our faith was so much stronger then, that we were so much older then.... Good Shabbos. D Fox