A thought on Parshas Nitzavim

"...l'man sfos ha'rova es ha'tz'mae'a...""...in order to connect the moist with the dry..." (29:18)

In describing the schemes of the wicked person, the Torah adds this poetic-sounding clause. It's meaning is a matter of debate among the great commentaries and how it relates to the earlier words in this verse is a part of that discussion.

What do the schemes of the wicked have to do with moisture and thirst?

The Recanati offers an original interpretation unlike those of the other Rishonim. He uses one of his familiar themes, that of the parallelism which is present on earth in humanity's dance with the higher realm.

When we misbehave, we are defying justice. This leads to chaos below, as we know upon looking at lawless societies and corrupt communities. The mortal soul longs to connect with all that is holy. When we reject those dinim, those essential standards for healthy living which are given us by HaShem, then the world below thirsts, parched by the spiritual drought and the evaporation of the sacred from our midst.

When there is such a thirst for din below, this resonates Above. When the Divine response is to bring judgment down to earth, we begin to experience a saturation with Middas HaDin. This is known as the "connecting of the moist (abundant Din) with the dry (dinim-dried mortal life.) This is a bad sign for us. This is what our verse's "poetry" is telling us.

The verses that follow (19-23) describe such abject tragedy befalling the wicked and the Recanati closes with a most ominous thought: when the thirst for dinim is met with a Din response from Above, with no admixture of Rachamim, this means world-wide churban and all is lost.........

As we near the Days of Judgment and beseech HaShem to shower us with Rachamim, we must assure ourselves that we are already moist with a life of din-adherence and have watered the earth with acts of mercy ourselves. This will open up the fountains of love and kindness from Above. The alternative is the dreaded dryness of being callous and uncaring towards others, which our verse warns against. Right now, we do not need the weeks ahead to be "Dry vochen."

Good Shabbos. D Fox

A thought on פרשת כי תבא

"...u'baruch atoh ba'sadeh...""...and blessed are you in the field..." (28:3)

This lovely verse, promising us HaShem's benediction whether we find ourselves in the city or in the field, has been interpreted by many commentaries in many ways. Even in my own parsha emails, in years past, I have offered some of these interpretations. Most of them ponder the meaning of "city" and "field" and find one symbolic thought or another.

The Recanati takes us back to a thought which I introduced in Parshas Chayei Sara almost a year ago. Some of you may remember the words "chakal tapuchin" or "field of apples." We sing about that field in the Askinu Se'udasa hymn on Shabbos. The Recanati has explained that this "field" is on the outskirts of the Garden of Eden, gan eden. It is the place which Adam and Chava entered as they left the Garden and began their exile. In kabbalistic writing, the field of apples is also a euphemism for our own exile. Our nation is meant to feel at peace and whole when we are safely within the Garden. This means when we are living in a manner which promotes an enduring consciousness of the Divine. When we sense HaShem's closeness, this spiritual attainment means that we are "back in the Garden."

The Field of Apples is when our spiritual consciousness is no longer acute. When we have wandered and strayed out of the Garden, we have entered the Field. This is exile. This is where we sense HaShem's Presence, but only in faint manifestations. This is a result of our diminished spiritual state, something which is the consequence of straying. This is when we are more likely to experience those events, that ennui of exile, which we perceive as middas din.

Can anything good happen in golus? Can anything good come of golus?

The Recanati writes that this is the promise of our parsha. HaShem pledges that even when our nation has strayed, even when our spirit has dimmed and we feel so distant from the Above, our efforts and our deeds will not go unrecognized by HaShem. His bracha will still reach us. This is the promise of "blessed are you in the Field!"

The "field" refers to the Field of Apples. With bracha, middas din can be transposed into middas rachamim.

May we taste that blessing as we head towards a sweet New Year. Good Shabbos. D Fox

A thought on פרשת כי תצא

"...ki yi'pol ha'nofel mi'menu...""...when someone falls from it..." (22:8)

The Torah commands us to avoid danger, including danger to others. The mitzva of placing a guard-rail around a roof, or another spot which poses a precarious drop, assures that one not put others at risk should they ascend to an unguarded, unprotected place.

The above verse emphasizes that we must avoid these situations, causing harm "when someone falls." There are two curious nuances to the actual words here. "...ki yi'pol ha'nofel..." The verse does not say "lest" someone fall, but when someone falls. Moreover, the words say, "when the one who falls will fall." Here we are being commanded to build a rail to prevent an accident, and not bring about death "when the falling one falls." Surely, if we build a rail, the falling one is not going to be a falling one, and even if there is no rail, there is not necessarily going to be a "falling one."

When we study the words of Chazal (Shabbos 32a), we also find a difficult thought. Our sages say that the meaning of "the falling faller" is that "this one was fit to fall from the six days of creation." Now, if we put up the railing, no one falls, so how could that person be fit to fall from the onset of creation? If he did fall, what does it mean that he was supposed to fall? If he was supposed to fall, then how would building a rail prevent something destined to happen since the dawn of creation from doing just that?

There are a number of theological questions raised by these words, as well as some questions as to the plain meaning of the verse.

The Recanati ponders the verse from another line of inquiry, asking "how can a person be "fit to fall" from the beginning of time if he has not been born yet? How can something which is not yet in existence be destined to anything? How can someone who has never done anything wrong (because he has not been created), be bound to fall off of an unguarded roof? How does that idea fit within our mesora? How can there be a human destiny before there are people?

The Recanati writes that our confusion will be settled when we look back into his teachings on parshas Bereishis. He explained there that the Six Days of Creation were the only days of creation. Everything that would ever exist, would ever occur or ever happen was put into place during genesis. When the Torah tell us, as we recite in Shabbos kiddush, that in six days HaShem created the universe and on the seventh day He "rested", this informs us that from that moment onward, it is the flow of HaShem's "goodness" or shefa bracha which sustains all of life and existence. When Shlomo HaMelech reminds us (Kohelles 1:9) that there is "nothing new under the sun, " he captures the same thought. Ours is not a world of novelty and newness. There is no creation taking place anymore. All that ever was and is and will be has been set into motion during the days of genesis.

There is no way in which we ourselves can shake loose of our mortal reality that we help author our own destiny, and we are at least the ghost-writers of our autobiographical lives. This is true and this is our experience. Nonetheless, the person who will one day walk a path of integrity has had his role set into the chain of universal events from the onset of time. The one who is fit to fall has begun that fall long before there was a place to fall from.

The countdown leading to the end of this year is in motion, and it is sad to think that we will soon be completing this year's study of Rabbeinu Menachem Recanati. It was destined to happen.

Good Shabbos. D Fox

A beautiful thought on פרשת שופטים

"...v'noshal ha'barzel min ha'etz...""...and the metal slips off of the wood..." (19:5)

The Torah reintroduces here the concept of Ir Miklat - the City of Refuge for those who must flee after bringing about accidental death. In this passage, we find an illustration of how that tragedy might occur. The Torah spells out a hypothetical case of someone in the forest chopping wood. As he wields his ax, the metal hatchet tip slips off of the wooden handle and strikes someone else. Accidental death. The metal slipped off the wood.

The example given in the parsha seems so specific. It is well detailed, right down to the description of what happened to the ax and how that resulted in an injury. It is true that Chazal derive important halachic parameters from some of the words used here, yet one might wonder what else lurks beneath these vivid verses. The metal slipped off the wood.

The Recanati helps us here. In our mystical mesora, metal is a symbol. We learn later on (27:5) about the law prohibiting metal on the altar. Metal is a symbol of din and its harshness does not belong in a setting of mercy. Wood is also a symbol. We learned in Shemos (15:25) that a tree represents rachamim, compassion.

Our verse is intended as more than an illustration. It is a profound perspective on how the Torah depicts our experience of accidental tragedy. In HaShem's realm, there is only the midda of rachamim. All of the attributes which mortal man might associate with the Above are in fact embedded in Divine compassion. Even middas ha'din is but a subset of this higher rachamim.

When tragedy strikes r'l, we are confronted, from our perspective, with abject din. That is all that we perceive. That is what we feel and experience. We do not see the mercy. We do not feel the love. We do not sense the compassion nor believe that this is "kindness."

This is the metaphor: the wood symbolizes the compassion Above. The metal symbolizes the harsh justice. From Above, that metal is really attached to and embedded within the wood. The ax is a wooden ax and the metal head is subsumed within that ax. However, when that ax chops, down below in the human experience, sometimes the "metal slips off of the wood". The damage is done by the metal. In the symbolic abstraction, tragedy is when, from our perspective, the din has separated from the rachamim. As the verse hints, the tragedy occurs when "the metal slips off of the wood."

Here in Los Angeles, our community has endured a tragic loss. We have seen the metal slip off of the wood. We have seen and experienced the appearance of din in an accident which overwhelms us, which troubles and confuses us. We do not understand it and we are in pain as we try to absorb the loss of someone dear to so many of us.

The metal slipped off of the wood. May all of those who mourn and ache among our nation find counsel and consolation. May our community serve as a City of Refuge for those who need us and may we soon envision the return of Rachamim.

Naftali ayala sh'lucha (Bereishis 49:21) Naftali is a deer sent away....

Good Shabbos. D Fox