The Torah in Parashat Shoftim (18:15) introduces the command to obey the instructions of a prophet. Once someone has been confirmed as an authentic prophet, the Torah commands, "Elav Tishma'un" – we must heed everything he tells us to do. The Rambam discusses this command in Hilchot Yesodeh Ha'Torah (9:3), and he explains that it includes an obligation to obey a prophet in the exceptional case where he instructs doing something that the Torah forbids. Even when the prophet tells the people to transgress a Torah law – we are required to comply. However, the Rambam adds, this depends on several conditions. Firstly, and most obviously, the prophet must have previously established his credentials and been recognized as an authentic prophet of G-d. Secondly, this requirement applies only if the prophet calls for a temporary suspension of a Torah command. If, the Rambam writes, a prophet announces the permanent abolition of a Torah law, then not only should he be disobeyed – he is determined to be a false prophet, and must be put to death. The final condition is that the prophet calls for suspending a Torah law other than the prohibition against idol-worship. A prophet who calls upon the people to worship a foreign deity, even as a temporary measure, must not be obeyed. The Rambam draws our attention to a classic example of a prophet who called for a temporary suspension of a Torah command – the story of Eliyahu's confrontation with the prophets of the idol Ba'al. As we read in the Book of Melachim I (chapter 18), Eliyahu assembled the people at Mount Carmel for a "showdown" with the pagan prophets. He invited the prophets of Ba'al to offer a sacrifice to Ba'al, after which he would offer a sacrifice to Hashem, so that the sacrifice which received a response would prove who the true Deity is. The prophets of Ba'al offered their sacrifice, which of course elicited no response, whereupon Eliyahu offered a sacrifice which was miraculously consumed by a fire that descended from the heavens. The people then realized the fallacy of paganism, and the truth of Hashem's existence. Now offering a sacrifice outside the Bet Ha'mikdash constitutes a grave Torah violation, punishable by "Karet." Nevertheless, the people were required to accept Eliyahu's decision to offer a sacrifice on Mount Carmel as a temporary measure necessary for the purpose of opposing the pagan prophets. Rav Meir Simha Ha'kohen of Dvinsk (1843-1926), in his Meshech Hochma (Parashat Re'eh), offers an insight into why the Rambam pointed to this specific incident as an example of a prophet calling for the suspension of a Torah law. He notes that when the Torah introduces the prohibition against offering sacrifices outside the Bet Ha'mikdash, it explains the reason for this command – so that people will not sacrifice to foreign deities ("Ve'lo Yizbehu Od Et Zivhehem La'se'iriim Asher Hem Zonim Aharehem" – Vayikra 17:7). By requiring that all sacrifices must be brought to the Bet Ha'mikdash, the Torah helps ensure that people will not offer sacrifices to false gods. It thus emerges that this prohibition – which Eliyahu temporarily suspended at Mount Carmel – is associated with the prohibition against idolatry, as it is intended as a safeguard against foreign worship. Hence, the Meshech Hochma writes, a prophet does not actually have the authority to suspend this command. As we saw earlier, a prophet must be disobeyed if he orders the people to worship foreign deities – and presumably, this should extend also to commands intended to distance the people from idol worship, such as the prohibition against sacrificing outside the Bet Ha'mikdash. Nevertheless, the Meshech Hochma explains, Eliyahu was allowed to suspend this prohibition, because he did so for the specific purpose of leading the people away from idolatry. Seeing how the worship of Ba'al had become rampant among the nation, Eliyahu realized he needed to resort to drastic measures to convince the people to worship G-d, instead – and this necessitated offering a sacrifice outside the Bet Ha'mikdash. Therefore, although a prophet may not suspend a prohibition associated with the prohibition of idolatry, this is allowed when it serves to distance the people from idolatry. The Meshech Hochma explains on this basis why the Rambam chose specifically this example of a prophet temporarily suspending a Torah law – because this is the most extreme case of a prophet's legitimate suspension of a Torah command, a situation that we would have assumed would require the people's disobedience. Specifically this story exemplifies the extent of the prophet's authority, how he must be obeyed even when he calls for the temporary suspension of a law associated with the prohibition of idolatry when he deems this necessary to lead the people away from idolatry.

The Torah in Parashat Re'eh commands us to give charity. It instructs that when there is a person in need, "you shall surely give to him, and your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him, because on account of this matter G-d shall bless you…" (15:10). The plain meaning of the word "Biglal" ("on account of") in this verse is that Hashem rewards those who generously give charity with great material blessings. The Gemara (Shabbat 151b), however, teaches that this word can be read as an allusion to a "Galgal" – "wheel." The "wheel of fortune," the Gemara states, is always turning. Those who enjoy financial success today can lose their fortunes in an instant, and those who currently struggle can suddenly see great blessing. The Torah therefore urges us to show compassion to the needy and lend them the assistance that they so desperately need, because we never know when the tables might be turned and we will come to them for assistance. The Kabbalists add yet another interpretation of this verse, reading the word "Biglal" as an allusion to "Gilgul" – the reincarnation of souls. As we saw, this verse begins by urging us to not only give charity, but to do so wholeheartedly, with pure intentions – "and your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him." We should give not begrudgingly, because of pressure, or for the sake of our reputations, but rather because we sincerely wish to help our fellow Jew in need. The Torah thus warns that if we give with the wrong intentions, then "Biglal Ha'dabar Ha'zeh" – we will be forced to return to the world in a different "Gilgul." The Kabbalists develop this concept further based on the Mishna's teaching in Pirkeh Abot (4:11) that each Misva that a person performs creates for him a "Praklit" – an angel that advocates for him before the Heavenly Tribunal. The best thing we can do to earn G-d's protection is perform more Misvot. However, just as a human being has both a body and a soul, angels likewise have two components – a physical component and an inner, spiritual component. Kabbalah teaches that the Misva act that we perform creates the angel's physical being, whereas our pure intentions when performing the Misva create its "soul." In order for our Misva to have the effect of creating a "Praklit," it must be complete; the action must be performed properly, and with the right intention. When we perform a Misva for ulterior motives, although we are credited with the fulfillment of a Misva, it does not create a "Praklit" that can advocate on our behalf. The Kabbalists thus teach that if a person gives charity for the wrong reasons, he will return to the world in another life as a pauper. Poor people genuinely wish they had the ability to give charity and help those in need. And thus in this second "Gilgul," the person will have the thought and the desire to give Sedaka. This yearning to give charity will supply the sincere intention that was lacking during his first sojourn in this world, and will combine with the charity he gave to comprise a complete Misva that will create a complete angel who will advocate on his behalf. We now begin the month of Elul, when we prepare for the judgment of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. As we know, charity is one of the most effective means we have to ensure a favorable judgment, and it is therefore customary to increase our charitable contributions during Elul and during the days in between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This is among the best things we can do to bring "Praklitim" – "defense lawyers" – with us to the "trial" so they could plead on our behalf. However, in order for this to work, our motives must be sincere. We need to put aside our ego, our preoccupation with fame and prestige, our concern for our reputation, our obsession with the way other people see us – and do the right thing precisely because it is the right thing. When we give Sedaka for impure motives, we fulfill a Misva – but a deficient Misva. For our charity to be whole, we need to give with sincerity, without trying to impress or be noticed. Our Sedaka will then create perfect angels who will stand before G-d and plead our case, so that we will be blessed with a year filled with joy, happiness, peace and good fortune, Amen.

Parashat Ekeb includes the second paragraph of our daily Shema recitation ("Ve'haya Im Shamo'a"), in which the Torah promises that G-d would reward our observance of the Misvot with material prosperity. Hashem says that if we observe His commands, "I will provide the rain of your land in its time" ("Ve'natati Metar Arsechem Be'ito" – 11:14). Rashi comments: "You did what is incumbent upon you, so I, too, will do what is incumbent upon Me." The question arises as to what prompted Rashi to make this remark, and how this enhances our understanding of the verse. Is it not obvious that Hashem here is promising adequate rainfall as a reward for our compliance with His commands? What does Rashi seek to clarify? A brilliant explanation of Rashi's comment was offered by the late Rebbe of Lubavitch. He suggested that Rashi was addressing a question that arises from a comparison between this verse and an earlier verse which similarly promises rainfall as a reward for Misva observance. In the beginning of Parashat Behukotai (Vayikra 26:4), G-d pronounces that if we obey His commands, "I shall grant your rainfall in its time" ("Ve'natati Gishmechem Be'ito"). There, Hashem promises to provide "Gishmechem" – "your rainfall," whereas here, in Parashat Ekeb, He promises "Metar Arsechem" – "the rain of your land." In other words, Parashat Behukotai speaks of "our rainfall," as though we are given some kind of special rain, while Parashat Ekeb speaks of the land's rain, the rain that the land naturally requires. The clue to understanding this discrepancy, the Rebbe explains, is found in Rashi's opening comments to Parashat Behukotai. There Rashi writes that the blessings described in that section are promised if "Tiheyu Amelim Ba'Torah" – the people "toil" and invest intensive efforts in Torah study. Here in Parashat Ekeb, by contrast, the Torah speaks of a time when Beneh Yisrael simply obey the Torah, but are not necessarily striving for more, applying themselves diligently to Torah learning. In Parashat Behukotai, then, the Torah refers to an exceptionally high spiritual level, in reward for which G-d promises not just rainfall, but "your rain" – a supernatural rain that is especially catered to our needs, that falls at precisely the right time and precisely the right manner that works the best for us. The rainfall promised in Parashat Ekeb, however, is a natural rainfall that will suffice to provide the food we need, but not beyond that. The Rebbe explained that this is Rashi's intent in making the comment, "You did what is incumbent upon you, so I, too, will do what is incumbent upon Me." Rashi anticipates the question of why this verse uses the expression "Metar Arsechem," as opposed to the verse in Parashat Behukotai, which uses the verse "Gishmechem." The answer, Rashi is telling us, is that the Torah speaks here of Beneh Yisrael doing "what is incumbent" upon them – without striving for more. In Parashat Behukotai, the Torah promises the special, supernatural rain that Beneh Yisrael deserve when they not only fulfill their basic obligations, but passionately pursue spiritual greatness by devoting their time and efforts to the intensive study of Torah. In Parashat Ekeb, Beneh Yisrael are described as merely satisfying their requirements, and so although they are of course worthy of significant rewards, they do not earn the special reward of "Gishmechem." In this brief remark, then, Rashi teaches us to always strive for more, to reach beyond the simple fulfillment of our religious obligations, and to pursue excellence in our service of Hashem.

The Torah in Parashat Vaet'hanan (4:2) introduces the prohibitions known as "Bal Tosif" and "Bal Tigra" – adding onto the Torah's laws, and detracting from the Torah's laws. Rashi explains that this refers to adding onto or detracting from a particular Misva. He gives the examples of wearing Tefillin with parchment containing more or fewer Parashiyot (sections of text) than the Torah requires. There are four Parashiyot which are to be inserted in the Tefillin, and if a person adds a fifth Parasha, then he transgresses the prohibition of "Bal Tosif," and if he includes only three Parashiyot, then he violates "Bal Tigra." Another example given by Rashi is waving more than four species on Sukkot, or fewer than four. The Ramban comments that the prohibition of "Bal Tosif" includes also introducing a new Misva to the Torah. If a person comes along and makes up a new law, claiming that this should be part of the Torah, he violates the prohibition of "Bal Tosif." Conversely, one who decides that a certain Biblical command is no longer part of the Torah transgresses "Bal Tigra." The Ramban clarifies that this applies only to one who introduces a new law and claims that it is obligatory as a Biblical imperative. The Sages enacted numerous obligations and prohibitions, but they made it very clear that these are not included in Torah, but are rather provisions that they saw fit to legislate to meet a particular need. And, they stipulated that the laws they enacted are treated differently than the laws of the Torah, with greater leniency. Thus, they do not violate the prohibition of "Bal Tosif." The Gaon of Vilna (1720-1797) brilliantly noted that both interpretations are correct, and rooted in the text of the Torah. The prohibition of "Bal Tosif" appears not only here, in Parashat Vaet'hanan, but also later, in Parashat Re'eh (13:1). However, the contexts of these verses reveals that they address two different commands. Here in Parashat Vaet'hanan, the command of "Bal Tosif" appears after Moshe tells the people, "Listen to the statutes and laws which I am teaching you to observe" (4:1). Moshe is telling Beneh Yisrael that he was going to present to them the Misvot, and he then warns them not to add more laws or to reject any of the laws that he was teaching them. In Parashat Re'eh, however, Moshe says, "Each thing that I am commanding you – you shall ensure to observe; do not add onto it, and do not detract from it." It seems clear that in this verse, Moshe speaks of each particular Misva, urging the people to observe every Misva precisely as he commands, without adding onto the Misva or taking anything away from it. The Ha'ketab Ve'ha'kabbala (Rav Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenberg, 1785-1865) follows this general approach of the Vilna Gaon, but he notes a different distinction between the two verses. The command here in Parashat Vaet'hanan is formulated in the plural form – "Lo Tosifu…Ve'lo Tigre'u" – whereas the command in Parashat Re'ei appears in the singular form – "Lo Tosef…Ve'lo Tigra." The Ha'ketab Ve'ha'kabbala thus suggests that here in Parashat Vaet'hanan, the Torah is addressing not an individual, but rather the Sanhedrin, the highest rabbinic body, which represents the entire nation. These scholars, the leading Sages of Israel, are the ones who need the warning not to change the Torah by introducing new laws or doing away with existing laws. In Parashat Re'eh, by contrast, the Torah is addressing the individual, who has no authority and would thus never think to introduce a new Misva, or eliminate a Misva. He needs the warning not to add onto or detract from specific Misvot, such as by adding an additional Parasha to the Tefillin or removing a Parasha. This command reminds us of the timelessness of the Torah, that at no point does it become "outdated" or in need of modification. Already from the outset, when the Torah was given, we are told that it and all its commands are eternal and eternally binding. Today's world is, of course, very different from the world at the time of Matan Torah, and the changing circumstances may affect the practical application of certain Misvot, based on the details of each Misva's requirements as determined by our oral halachic tradition. But never can we say that a Misva is no longer binding simply by virtue of the fact that many centuries have passed since the Torah was given. Each and every Misva is eternally relevant, and we are bound to all the Misvot no less now than our ancestors were millennia ago.

In the beginning of the second chapter of Megilat Echa (2:1), the prophet Yirmiyahu bemoans, "Hishlich Mi'shamayim Eretz Tiferet Yisrael" – "He cast the glory of Israel down from the heavens to the ground." The plain meaning of this verse is that the Hurban (destruction) had the effect of lowering the Jewish People from glory to ruin. They had been in the "heavens"; they were favored, cherished and blessed by the Almighty, who resided among them in the Bet Ha'mikdash. With the Hurban, this lofty stature came crashing down to the ground, and they were now lowly and shattered. Perhaps, however, this verse could be read differently, as describing not what G-d did, but what the Jews did. The "Tiferet Yisrael," the Jews' source of glory and pride, was lowered from the "heavens" to the "ground." Our source of glory is supposed to be the Torah, the Misvot, spirituality, our service of Hashem. This is what we are to regard as our "Tiferet," our greatest source of pride, and our highest priority. But the Jews of the time lowered their "Tiferet" to the "ground" – to the realm of materialism and vanity. The "Tiferet Yisrael" – our source of pride – had been our intensive Torah learning, our devotion to Misvot, our faith and our religious commitment. But it was lowered to the "ground." People no longer took pride in spiritual commitment, and instead glorified wealth, material assets, beautiful homes, fancy clothes, luxury vacations, and their portfolios. Indeed, the Gemara (Nedarim 81a) teaches that the Bet Ha'mikdash was destroyed "She'lo Berchu Ba'Torah Tehila" – because the people of that time did not recite Birkat Ha'Torah, the Beracha before Torah learning. This means that they did not regard their Torah learning as sufficiently important to warrant a Beracha. They learned Torah, but they did not prioritize it, they didn't value it, they didn't accord it the importance it deserves. They directed their focus and the bulk of their attention toward their pursuit of wealth and material luxuries, rather than toward the service of Hashem. We find an allusion to this concept in the Torah, as well. Twice in the Torah we read harsh warnings of "Kelalot" – devastating curses that would befall Am Yisrael because of their misdeeds – once at the end of the Book of Vayikra, in Parashat Behukotai, and once toward the very end of the Torah, in Parashat Ki-Tabo. The Ramban (Rav Moshe Nahmanides, Spain, 1194-1270) posited that the first of these sections – the one in Parashat Behukotai – predicts the destruction of the first Bet Ha'mikdash, whereas the second section – in Parashat Ki-Tabo – predicts the fall of the Second Commonwealth. In Parashat Ki-Tabo, the Torah tells us the reason why G-d would bring these tragedies: "Because you did not serve Hashem your G-d with joy and with a good heart, out of an abundance of everything" (28:47). The final two words of this verse – "Me'rob Kol" ("out of an abundance of everything") – indicates that the people of the Second Temple period were plagued by excessive indulgence, by the pursuit of "an abundance of everything." This was their passion and their primary ambition, and this had the effect of compromising their service of Hashem. As we know, the Gemara (Yoma 9b) attributes the destruction of the second Bet Ha'mikdash to the sin of Sin'at Hinam – baseless hatred among the people. When we prioritize Torah and Misvot, when our attention is directed primarily at serving Hashem properly, we are less prone to jealousy, competition, and pettiness. If our priority is serving Hashem to the best of our ability, then we have relatively few reasons to fight with other people. But when our focus is on the pursuit of wealth, we are far more vulnerable to envy and hostility. We are more triggered by what other people say to us and about us, and we are more embittered by even trivial things. One of the root causes of Sin'at Hinam is "Me'rob Kol," the frantic and obsessive pursuit of wealth. Of course, the Torah does not frown upon making money and enjoying one's money. There is nothing wrong with the desire to live comfortably, or with working hard so one can afford to live comfortably. The Torah does not encourage poverty. The problem is when we turn this pursuit into "Tiferet Yisrael," our source of pride and glory, our highest priority, our primary goal in life, our ultimate objective. We must live every day with the goal of serving Hashem. Even if we devote the majority of our day to our careers or enterprises – which, as mentioned, is perfectly legitimate – our primary ambition must be Abodat Hashem, the devoted service of the Almighty. If we ensure to make this our priority, we will find ourselves living with far less jealousy, far less hostility and resentment toward other people, and far less negativity. And we will then, please G-d, become worthy of the arrival of our final redemption and the rebuilding of the Bet Ha'mikdash, speedily and in our times, Amen.

Bringing Am Yisrael Together We read in Parashat Matot of the request made by the tribes of Reuven and Gad to permanently settle in the region east of the Jordan River. Beneh Yisrael had captured this territory from the kingdoms of Sihon and Og, and Reuven and Gad – who owned lots of livestock – saw that this land had vast amounts of pasture which was well-suited for their herds. They thus approached Moshe and asked permission to make this area their permanent home instead of crossing into the Eretz Yisrael. Moshe granted their request after receiving their promise that they would participate in the battles waged by the other tribes to conquer the Land of Israel. Surprisingly, the Torah tells that when Moshe distributed this territory, he apportioned shares not only to the tribes of Reuben and Gad, but also to part of the tribe of Menashe. This tribe is not mentioned at all previously in this story. From what we can tell, the people of Menashe did not come with Reuben and Gad to Moshe to ask for this land. Why, then, did part of the tribe of Menashe receive a portion in Eber Ha'Yarden (the region to the east of the Jordan River) together with Reuben and Gad? One answer can be suggested based on a mysterious comment by the Midrash, teaching us about the background to the division of the tribe of Menashe. Back in the Book of Bereshit, we read of how Yosef's brothers sold him as a slave to merchants who brought him to Egypt, where he ultimately rose to the position of vizier. When famine struck the Land of Israel, Yosef's brothers came to purchase grain from Yosef – not realizing that this was his brother. Before they made their way back to Eretz Yisrael, Yosef ordered his advisor – whom the Midrash identifies as his son, Menashe – to plant his goblet in the bag of the youngest brother, Binyamin, to frame him as a thief. Later, after the brothers left Egypt, Yosef told Menashe to run after them and charge them with theft. When the goblet was discovered in Binyamin's bag, the brothers tore their garments, as tragedy had now befallen the family. The Midrash comments that since Menashe had caused the brothers to tear their garments into two halves, the tribe that descended from him would similarly be "torn" into two pieces, with part of the tribe residing in Eretz Yisrael, and the other part residing east of the Jordan River. At first glance, the Midrash seems to be saying that Menashe was punished for causing his uncles anguish. But if we probe deeper, we will see that to the contrary, Menashe was actually given a great privilege to split into two halves. A number of commentators explain that Yosef's intention in framing Binyamin was to determine whether his brothers had fully repented for their sin of selling him as a slave – by putting them in a situation where another younger brother would be in trouble. Yosef framed Binyamin to see if the brothers would do everything they could to save him and bring him home – just the opposite of how they treated him, driving him out of the family. As we know, Yehuda stepped forward to offer himself as a slave in Binyamin's stead, showing that the brothers had indeed fully repented and changed. At that point, Yosef revealed himself to his brothers, and the family was reunited. Menashe made the brothers rend their garments – but in so doing, he brought the family back together. This process, unfortunately, entailed the pain of "tearing," but it had the effect of mending the rupture that had plagued the family for many years. With this in mind, we can return to the story of Reuben and Gad. Moshe feared that Reuben and Gad's settlement across the river would cause a rupture in the nation. The Jordan River was a natural border that could have divided the nation into two, resulting in Reuben and Gad's dissociation from the rest of the nation. Moshe therefore devised a plan – he would have half of one of the other tribes live together with Reuben and Gad across the river. Having half of a tribe on one side, and the second half on the other side, would help ensure that the river would not become a border separating between the two regions, that there would be ongoing contact and communication between the tribes in Eretz Yisrael and the tribes in Eber Ha'Yarden. For this crucial purpose, Moshe selected the tribe of Menashe – the tribe whose ancestor is credited with bringing the family together. Menashe had bequeathed this quality to his descendants, and so they were the best choice to ensure that Am Yisrael remains united despite the geographic separation between them. Just as Menashe had united the family by planting the goblet in Binyamin's bag, so would his descendants assure the unity of the Jewish Nation by living on both sides of the Jordan River and connecting all the tribes with each other.

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.

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.

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.

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.