Insight of the Week

The Torah in Parashat Ki-Tabo describes the great rewards that G-d promises to bestow upon our nation if we faithfully observe the Misvot. The Or Ha'haim (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743) explains that the first series of blessings mentioned in this section are promised as rewards specifically for the Misva of Torah study. The first reward promised is, "U'netancha Hashem Elokecha Elyon Al Kol Goyeh Ha'aretz" – "Hashem your G-d will make you elevated above all nations in the land" (28:1). The Or Ha'haim explains that through the study of Torah, "Yishtanu Le'ma'ala Mi'kol Ha'umot She'enam Beneh Torah" – we are positively impacted, and lifted above those who do not learn Torah. Learning Torah spiritually refines us, making us better people. When we learn Torah, we do not only gain knowledge, but we also experience spiritual elevation, and are transformed. Two verses later, the Torah promises, "You will be blessed in the city, and you will be blessed in the field." This promise, of course, refers to material success. Whether one works "in the city," in commerce, or if he works "in the field," in agriculture, he earns success and prosperity through the merit of Torah learning. The Or Ha'haim cites the Gemara's teaching in Masechet Aboda Zara (19b), "Kol Ha'osek Be'Talmud Torah, Nechasav Muslahim" – anyone who learns Torah is blessed with material success. The next promise is the blessing of children – "Baruch Peri Bitnecha" ("Blessed will be the fruit of your belly"). The Or Ha'haim draws our attention to the story of Obed Edom Ha'Gitti, who, as we read in the Book of Shemuel II (6:10), housed the Aron (ark) in his home for a brief period, before King David brought it to its permanent site. The Gemara (Berachot 63b) teaches that the Aron's presence brought great blessing to the family, and Obed Edom Ha'Gitti's wife and daughters-in-law all delivered sextuplets. Certainly, then, one who studies Torah, bringing the Torah not only into his home, but into his being, will likewise be blessed with fertility. We are then promised, "Baruch Ata Be'bo'echa, U'baruch Ata Be'setecha" – "You will be blessed when you come, and you will be blessed when you leave." The Gemara (Baba Mesia 107a) explains this to mean that we will leave this world free of sin just as we entered the world free of sin. The Or Ha'haim writes that this, too, is a reward for Torah learning – that we are protected from sin. Torah learning brings us spiritual protection, helping us overcome our negative inclinations and resist temptation. By allocating time to immerse ourselves in the study of the sacred Torah, we empower ourselves to overcome the spiritual obstacles that we encounter, and to remain on the path of faithful devotion to Hashem throughout our lives.

The Torah in Parashat Ki-Teseh introduces the obligation of "Malkut" – the lashes given to sinners who are found guilty of certain transgressions. In the times of the Sanhedrin (highest Rabbinical court in Jerusalem), there were courts with the authority to administer corporal punishment, and those who were convicted of certain Biblical violations were given "Malkut." The Torah states explicitly that an individual deserving of this punishment receives forty lashes – "Arba'im Yakenu" (25:3). The Sages, however, understood that the Torah's intent is that the sinner receives thirty-nine lashes, and not forty. The Gemara (Makkot 22b) inferred this reduction from the juxtaposition between this verse and the preceding verse, which concludes with the words "Be'mispar" (literally, "in the number"). This word, together with the words "Arba'im Yakenu," form the phrase "Be'mispar Arba'im Yakenu," which can be read to mean "he shall strike him in the number that leads to forty," referring to thirty-nine. The question, however, obviously arises as to why the Torah did not simply write that the sinner receives thirty-nine lashes. Why did it formulate this law in a manner which clearly indicates forty lashes, and only through a subtle allusion instructs reducing this number to thirty-nine? An insightful answer to this question is given by the Maharal of Prague (d. 1609), in his Gur Aryeh. He explains that it is appropriate for a sinner to receive forty lashes, because sin contaminates a person's being, which was formed in forty days. The fetus takes form over the course of the forty-day period following conception, and thus forty is associated with the human being's creation. As sin undermines the very purpose for why we were created, a sinner must be punished once for each day of his formation, for a total of forty lashes. However, the Maharal writes, a person's essence is comprised of two elements – the body and the soul. A person's physical properties take form during the thirty-nine days after conception, whereas the soul enters at the very end of this process, on the fortieth day. Now each morning, in the "Elokai Neshama" blessing, we proclaim that the soul which Hashem has given us is pristinely pure ("…Neshama She'natata Bi Tehora Hi"). Even if a person commits the gravest sins, his soul remains perfectly pure. It is the body that commits the sin; the soul is merely an unwilling participant, so-to-speak, "dragged" into the act of sin due to its being bound together with the body. Fundamentally, the soul needs to be punished, too, because of its involvement in the process of wrongdoing, by virtue of its connection to the body. However, after the sinner receives thirty-nine lashes, his entire physical being is cleansed. These thirty-nine lashes atone for the contamination of his body which was formed during the thirty-nine days after conception. And thus, at this point, there is no reason for the soul to be punished. The soul deserved punishment only due to its association with the body that had committed the wrongful act, and so once the body has been renewed through the thirty-nine lashes, there is no longer a need for the fortieth lash, which would serve to atone for the soul. This is why, the Maharal explains, the Torah writes that the sinner receives forty lashes, whereas in truth he receives only thirty-nine. At the outset, he requires forty lashes, because even the soul deserves punishment due to its connection to the body, which committed the act. But in practice, once the sinner receives thirty-nine lashes, there is no longer any reason to administer the fortieth, which corresponds to the soul, since the thirty-nine lashes had cleansed the body, and it was only on account of the body's guilt that the fortieth lash was needed. I believe there is a critical message being conveyed by this Halacha, as understood by the Maharal. When the sinner is brought to the court to receive his punishment, he is shown that his soul remains pure despite his wrongdoing. His sentence is reduced by one because his pure, sacred soul was not tainted by his mistake. The purpose of the Torah's punishments is not to destroy the sinner, but to the contrary – to motivate him to grow and change. To this end, he is told that he will not receive any lashes corresponding to his soul, because no matter what he did wrong, his soul remains holy and untarnished. Knowing that he still possesses a sacred soul, the sinner will be encouraged to change and refrain from wrongdoing in the future. One of the greatest obstacles to Teshuba is the feeling that it's too late, that we're too tainted, that we've fallen too low to recover. The thirty-nine lashes show us that there's a part of us that can never be tainted, a spark of goodness and holiness within our beings that will always remain pristinely pure no matter what mistakes we have made. Although we at times fail, we must feel confident in our inherent G-dliness, in the element of Kedusha within our beings that assures our ability to improve and return to Hashem.

Toward the beginning of Parashat Shoftim, the Torah famously commands, "Sedek Sedek Tirdof" – "Justice, justice shall you pursue" (16:20). The plain meaning of this verse is that the Torah commands judges to reach their decisions honestly and fairly, with the objective of pursuing justice for all litigants who come before them. The Midrash Tanhuma, however, adds a deeper layer of meaning, explaining that the Torah here commands leaders to advocate on behalf of the Jewish Nation. In the Midrash's words, "She'yiheyu…Melamdin Alehem Zechut Lifneh Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu" – "That they should speak of their merits before the Almighty." According to this reading, "Sedek Sedek Tirdof" means that leaders should "pursue" the piety of Am Yisrael, searching for their merits, and then plead on their behalf before Hashem. Interestingly enough, the Midrash proceeds to state that the greatest example of this quality is Gidon, one of the judges, who led Beneh Yisrael to victory over the nation of Midyan, as we read in the Book of Shoftim (6). During Gidon's time, the Midrash comments, the people had few Misvot to their credit, through which they could earn G-d's salvation from the nation of Midyan which was oppressing them. Gidon, however, advocated on their behalf before G-d, and for this reason, an angel appeared to him and appointed him leader. The Midrash adds that, as we read in the Book of Shoftim (6:14), the angel assigned Gidon his mission by charging, "Lech Be'chohacha Zeh" – "Go forth with this strength." Gidon's "strength," the Midrash explains, was the power of his finding merit in Am Yisrael during that time. Despite the people's low spiritual stature, and their failure to observe the Misvot, Gidon nevertheless saw their inner goodness and advocated on their behalf before G-d. It was in this merit that he succeeded in leading Beneh Yisrael to victory over the nation of Midyan. This was the "Koah" – the strength – with which he was able to save the people. The question arises, however, as to where and how Gidon advocated on Beneh Yisrael's behalf. Nowhere in the text of the Book of Shoftim do we find Gidon speaking of the people's merits. To what, then, does the Midrash refer? The answer is found in Rashi's commentary to the Book of Shoftim (6:13), where he explains Gidon's response to the angel. The angel's first words to Gidon were "Hashem Imecha" – "G-d is with you!" Gidon then asked, "If, indeed, G-d is with us, then why has all this befallen us? And where are all His wonders which our forefathers told us about…" Based on the Midrash, Rashi writes that the angel appeared to Gidon on the first day of Pesach, and Gidon was referring to the story of Yesiat Misrayim (the Exodus from Egypt) which he heard his father relate the night before. Gidon noted that G-d brought Beneh Yisrael out of Egypt despite the fact that they were steeped in Egyptian paganism, and were not serving G-d properly. Hashem understood their plight and saw their inner, inherent goodness despite their wrongdoing, and redeemed them. Gidon thus argued that in his time, too, Hashem should save the nation despite their low spiritual level, because their core essence was still pure. He pointed to the generation of the Exodus as an example of how Beneh Yisrael are worthy of Hashem's miraculous assistance even when they act wrongly, because deep in the inner recesses of their hearts. they are devoted to Him. Gidon thus insisted that Hashem assist His beloved nation also then, as they suffered under the oppression of Midyan. The Hafetz Haim taught that the best way to earn a favorable judgment on Rosh Hashanah is to judge our fellow Jews favorably. If we want Hashem to tilt the scales in our favor, despite our many misdeeds and deficiencies, then we should tilt the scales in other people's favor, despite their mistakes, flaws and failings. If we view other people critically, looking to find fault, searching for reasons to complain about them and disrespect them, then, Heaven forbid, we will be viewed the same way as we stand trial on Rosh Hashanah. If we want to be judged favorably, then we must follow the example set by Gidon, who insisted on finding the good in Am Yisrael even in their state of spiritual lowliness. During this month of Elul, in preparation for Rosh Hashanah, let us accustom ourselves to seeing only what is good about all our fellow Jews, and about the Jewish Nation as a whole. Instead of criticizing and complaining about Am Yisrael, let us indulge in the singing of their praises, and focus our attention on the countless merits that Am Yisrael have. We will then, please G-d, be worthy of a favorable judgment for ourselves and for the entire Jewish Nation, Amen.

arashat Re'eh concludes with the command to celebrate the festival of Sukkot. The Torah instructs: "You shall rejoice on your festival… For seven days, you shall celebrate for Hashem your G-d…for Hashem your G-d will bless you with all your grain, and in all your endeavors; and you shall only be joyous" (16:14-15). Twice in these verses the Torah appears to command us to rejoice on Sukkot. It first commands, "Ve'samahta Be'hagecha" ("You shall rejoice on your festival"), and then says, "Ve'hayita Ach Samei'ah" ("you shall only be joyous"). What is the meaning of this dual imperative? Rashi brings two interpretations of these verse. First, he suggests, the Torah adds "Ve'hayita Ach Same'ah" not as a command, but rather as a promise. If we properly fulfill the Misva of Simha (rejoicing) on Sukkot, then we will be assured to experience genuine happiness and joy throughout the coming year. Secondly, Rashi cites the Gemara's understanding of the phrase "Ve'hayita Ach Same'ah," as extending this obligation to the eighth day, the day of Shemini Aseret. The Torah first introduces the Misva to rejoice during the seven days of Sukkot, and then adds that we must joyously celebrate also on the eighth day. Rav Meir Simha of Dvinsk, in his Meshech Hochma, suggests a different explanation of "Ve'hayita Ach Same'ah." He notes that in the first verse, the Torah commands celebrating the year's crop, which is gathered into the warehouses around the time of Sukkot – "You shall rejoice…for Hashem your G-d will bless you with all your grain…" The celebration of Sukkot is integrally linked to the harvest, to the farmer's joy upon completing that year's agricultural cycle, having just now brought all his produce into storage for the winter. However, Rav Meir Simha notes, there are some years when no produce is collected. Every seven years, farmers must observe Shemita, refraining from agricultural work for an entire year, and granting all people free access to their fields. At the end of the Shemita year, the farmer does not harvest anything, because he had not worked the fields, and anything that grew was taken by other people. Rav Meir Simha thus suggests that the additional command "Ve'hayita Ach Same'ah" refers to Sukkot after the Shemita year. The Torah emphasizes that even during this year, when there is no harvest to be thankful for, the farmer must still observe a festive Yom Tob, and celebrate his relationship with Hashem. Baruch Hashem, most of us have "filled warehouses" for which to be grateful to Hashem. The vast majority of us have an income, a home, and the ability to purchase all that we need, and much more. But the Torah here teaches us that even when our "warehouses" are not "filled," even in times of financial uncertainty, we can and must still retain our joy. We must be able to celebrate our relationship with Hashem, and the privilege we have to serve Him, under all conditions, even in times of hardship. No matter what we are going through, we can find comfort and joy in the knowledge that we are Hashem's beloved children, and that He has chosen us as His servants. The command "Ve'hayita Ach Same'ah" calls upon us to experience joy in our connection to Hashem at all times and under all circumstances, even during life's more challenging moments.

The Torah in Parashat Ekeb (8:10) introduces the Misva of Birkat Ha'mazon – the obligation to recite a series of special Berachot after eating a certain quantity of bread. The Gemara in Masechet Berachot (48b) teaches us the origin of the four blessings that comprise the text of Birkat Ha'mazon. The first Beracha, the Gemara states, was instituted by Moshe Rabbenu, after the manna began falling in the desert. The second Beracha, which focuses on the gift of Eretz Yisrael, was composed by Yehoshua after he led Beneh Yisrael into the land. The third Beracha, which prays for the building of Jerusalem and the Bet Ha'mikdash, was written by King David and his son, King Shlomo. The recitation of these three Berachot, the Gemara establishes, is required on the level of Torah obligation ("Mi'de'Orayta"). There is, however, a fourth Beracha – called "Ha'tob Ve'ha'metib") – which was introduced later by the Rabbis. The Gemara explains that this Beracha was composed following the Roman government's decision to allow the Jews to bury the remains of the inhabitants of Betar. The city of Betar had been a large, bustling metropolis, home to tens of thousands – and perhaps even hundreds of thousands – of Jews, who enjoyed wealth and prosperity. When the Romans quashed the Jews' revolt led by Shimon Bar-Kochba, the city of Betar was the rebels' final stronghold. The Romans finally captured the city, and massacred all its inhabitants. For a number of years thereafter, the Roman authorities refused to allow the bodies to be buried. When they ultimately granted the surviving Jews permission to bury the people of Betar, those who came to perform the burials were astonished to see that the bodies had not decomposed, and were still intact. To commemorate both the opportunity that had been given to bury these remains, and the miracle of their having been preserved, the Rabbis instituted the recitation of the Beracha of "Ha'tob Ve'ha'metib" in Birkat Ha'mazon. The question that needs to be asked is why the Rabbis chose to commemorate the burial of the people of Betar specifically in Birkat Ha'mazon. Why did they not institute the recitation of this Beracha in some other context? What connection is there between the story of Betar and the recitation of Birkat Ha'mazon? The Meshech Hochma (Rav Meir Simcha of Dvinsk, 1843-1926) offers an explanation based on an analysis of the fundamental concept underlying the Misva of Birkat Ha'mazon. Moshe mentions this Misva in Parashat Ekeb amidst his warning to Beneh Yisrael against feelings of arrogance of self-sufficiency. He says that once the people leave their miraculous existence in the wilderness, and enter the Land of Israel, where they will produce their own food and accumulate wealth, they might begin thinking to themselves, "Kohi Ve'osem Yadi Asa Li Et Ha'hayil Ha'zeh" – "My strength and the power of my hand made for me all this wealth" (8:17). In this context, Moshe relays the Misva of Birkat Ha'mazon, instructing, "You will eat and be satiated, and you will bless Hashem your G-d." The natural tendency after eating and feeling satiated is to pride oneself, to feel confident and secure in one's abilities. We are therefore commanded after eating and experiencing satiation to turn to Hashem, to attribute all our success and all our blessings to Him, recognizing that everything we have, and everything we are able to accomplish, is because of His grace and kindness. With this in mind, the Meshech Hochma writes, we can understand the connection between Birkat Ha'mazon and the story of Betar. The residents of this city, as mentioned, were affluent. They felt secure and confident. Tragically, however, their sense of security proved to be delusional, and they suffered a bitter, devastating fate. We bring to mind this calamity as we recite Birkat Ha'mazon as part of the effort to offset the natural effects of satiation, to protect ourselves from overconfidence in our abilities and our efforts, so that we always remember our absolute dependence on Hashem for all our needs. The story is told of a Rabbi who was at the Kotel (Western Wall in Jerusalem) and heard someone praying to Hashem that he should have a flat tire. The Rabbi turned to the fellow and asked why he wanted a flat tire. "We are all familiar with the 'wheel of fortune' that is always turning," the man explained. "People who are on the bottom eventually rise to the top, and the people on top eventually fall to the bottom. I am enjoying great success right now – so I'm asking Hashem for a 'flat tire,' that the 'wheel' should stop turning…" Of course, this man is incorrect. The "wheel of fortune" never gets "flat," it never stops turning. We must always remain keenly aware of our vulnerability even in times of great prosperity and security. Many stories are told of people who went to bed wealthy and woke up poor. When we are blessed with success, we must never lose sight of our dependence on Hashem, and continually pray to Him for ongoing blessing.

arashat Va'et'hanan begins with Moshe's impassioned plea to G-d that he be allowed to enter the Land of Israel. Speaking to Beneh Yisrael before his passing, Moshe recalled how "I beseeched G-d at that time, saying" – how he begged for the privilege of entering the land together with Beneh Yisrael. The Or Ha'haim Ha'kadosh (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743) comments that in this verse, with which Moshe introduces his prayer, he alludes to us four principles regarding prayer, the ways to maximize its effectiveness and help ensure that our prayers are accepted. The first principle is expressed in the word "Va'et'hanan" – "I beseeched." This particular verb refers not simply to prayer, but to prayer with humility and submission, like a poor person begging for charity. The Or Ha'haim cites in this context the verse in the Book of Mishleh (18:23), "Tahanunim Yedaber Rash" – "A pauper speaks words of supplication." The word "Va'e'thanan," then, denotes prayer recited like a pauper who humbly begs for help, recognizing our complete dependence on G-d for our needs. Secondly, the Or Ha'haim continues, Moshe says that he prayed to "Hashem" – referring to G-d with the Name of "Havaya," which signifies G-d's attribute of compassion. While praying, we must intend to appeal to what the Or Ha'haim calls "Mekor Ha'rahamim" – "the source of compassion," G-d's attribute of mercy, trusting in His infinite compassion, that He is prepared to provide us with our needs and grant our requests even if we are undeserving. Moshe then emphasizes that he uttered this prayer "Ba'et Ha'hi" – "at that time." The Or Ha'haim explains that although prayer is, of course, valuable and beneficial at any time, certain occasions are considered an "Et Rason" (literally, "a time of goodwill"), an especially propitious time for having our prayers answered. Moshe Rabbenu, of course, knew precisely which times were an "Et Rason," and so he uttered his prayer then. The Or Ha'haim cites the Sages' interpretation that the phrase "Ba'et Hahi" refers to the time of Beneh Yisrael's successful battle against the kingdoms of Sihon and Og, which effectively began the process of conquering Eretz Yisrael. As Hashem had begun this process, Moshe perhaps felt that this was an auspicious time to pray for the privilege of seeing the completion of this process across the river, in the Land of Israel. The final word in this verse – "L'emor" ("saying") – implies that Moshe chose his words carefully when he prayed. When one prays to G-d, he must ensure to use the right words, to express himself clearly, to articulate very specifically what it is that he requests. Proper and precise formulation of one's words is critical for the efficacy of his prayer. May we follow Moshe's example of prayer, praying in the right way, with the right intentions, and at the right times, so that we will be worthy of having all our prayers answered in full, Amen.

n Tisha B'Ab, as we know, we observe a fast and mourn the destruction of the Bet Ha'mikdash. Although this calamity occurred many generations after the Torah was given, nevertheless, the day of Tisha B'Ab – like everything else – has a source in the Torah. This source is revealed to us by the Zohar, in Parashat Vayishlach, where it teaches that the 365 days of the solar year correspond to the 365 Misvot Lo Ta'aseh – prohibitions introduced by the Torah. Each day of the solar calendar is associated with a different Biblical prohibition. And the day of Tisha B'Ab, the Zohar writes, corresponds to the prohibition of "Gid Ha'nasheh," which forbids partaking of a certain sinew of animals. This prohibition commemorates the incident that occurred when Yaakob Abinu was on his way back to Eretz Yisrael after having spent twenty years with his uncle. On the night before he crossed the river into the Land of Israel, he was attacked by a mysterious assailant, identified by the Sages as the Satan, the angel of Esav. Yaakob ultimately prevailed, but suffered an injury in his Gid Ha'nasheh. In commemoration of this struggle, we refrain from eating the Gid Ha'nasheh of animals. The Zohar teaches us that this prohibition corresponds with Tisha B'Ab. Just as this command requires us to refrain from eating something to commemorate a foreigner's attack that caused Yaakob a painful injury, on Tisha B'Ab we refrain from eating to commemorate the pain and suffering caused by our enemies on this day. The Hatam Sofer (Rav Moshe Sofer, Pressburg, 1762-1839) develops the Zohar's teaching further, establishing that this fight between Yaakob and Esav's angel actually took place on the night of Tisha B'Ab. That night set the precedent for what would happen many centuries later, when, like then, our enemy would come and deal a painful blow. If so, then we can perhaps understand an otherwise peculiar aspect of the Torah's description of the events of that night when the angel attacked Yaakob. The Torah relates that on this night, Yaakob brought all his belongings across the river, to the other side ("Va'ya'aber Et Asher Lo" – Bereshit 32:24). Afterward, he was left alone on his side, and he came under attack. Rashi explains this verse to mean, "He made himself like a bridge, taking from here and placing it here." We must wonder, why is this important? Why did the Torah find it necessary to inform us that Yaakob formed a "bridge" over the river, bringing his possessions from one side to the next? The answer is that this "bridge" is the secret for how we defeat "Esav" and recover from the destruction and exile that he brings upon us. In Yaakob's famous dream, he saw a ladder extending from the ground – from the site of the Bet Ha'mikdash – to the heavens. This is what the Bet Ha'mikdash represents – connecting the earth to the heavens, infusing our physical world and our physical reality with sanctity, with spiritual meaning. Offering an animal as a sacrifice means taking a physical entity and making it sacred, which is precisely the way we are supposed to live. This is what the Bet Ha'mikdash represented, and this is the symbolic meaning of Yaakob forming a "bridge" for his material possessions. When he brought his assets across the river to Eretz Yisrael, he was showing us what religious life means – infusing our physical, worldly existence with holiness. This is the significance of Yaakob's "bridge" – bridging the gap between heaven and earth, between the sacred and the mundane, between the spiritual and the physical. On that night of Tisha B'Ab, which established this occasion as a time of exile, suffering and calamity, Yaakob showed us how we can bring an end to our troubles and earn redemption. In order to be worthy of the Bet Ha'mikdash, we need to work to make this connection between heaven and earth, between our physical reality and Kedusha. We need to infuse our mundane activities with spiritual meaning, by directing everything we do toward Torah and Misvot. We do this by going about all our activities in strict adherence to Halacha, and by devoting time and resources for sacred purposes. By elevating our worldly existence, and injecting it with holiness, we form the "bridge" that will lead us to the rebuilding of the Bet Ha'mikdash, speedily and in our times, Amen.

e read in Parashat Matot of the war that G-d commanded Beneh Yisrael to wage against the nation of Midyan to avenge the tragedy of Ba'al Pe'or. Midyan, together Moav, conspired to lure Beneh Yisrael to sins of immorality and idol-worship. The scheme, unfortunately, succeeded, and G-d punished Beneh Yisrael by sending a plague that killed 24,000 members of the nation. Hashem instructed Beneh Yisrael to wage war against Midyan in order to take revenge. The Torah relates that this battle was led by Pinhas, the son of the Kohen Gadol, Elazar (31:6). Rashi gives two reasons for why specifically Pinhas was chosen to lead the war. First, he was the one who saved Beneh Yisrael from annihilation during the calamity of Ba'al Pe'or, by killing a man and woman who committed a public sinful act. Once Pinhas avenged G-d's honor, G-d ended the plague. Rashi writes that since Pinhas began the Misva by killing these two violators, he was chosen to complete the Misva by leading the war against Midyan. But then Rashi adds a second explanation. He writes that Pinhas led the war against Midyan to avenge that nation's role in the sale of his ancestor, Yosef, as a slave. Pinhas' mother was a descendant of Yosef, and merchants from Midyan were the ones who, after purchasing Yosef from his brothers, brought him to Egypt and sold him to Potifar, an Egyptian nobleman. It was thus appropriate for Yosef's descendant, Pinhas, to lead Beneh Yisrael's war against the people of Midyan. Rashi's comments seem puzzling. Why should Midyan be blamed for Mechirat Yosef (the sale of Yosef as a slave)? It was Yosef's brothers who turned on him; the Midyanim simply accepted the offer and paid for Yosef, after which they sold him for a profit. Why did their role in Mechirat Yosef need to be avenged? Yosef excelled particularly in the area of Kedusha, maintaining his sanctity and purity even in the face of overwhelming temptation. As a teenager, he was lured to sin by Potifar's wife, and he resisted. The Midyanim, it appeared, had sinister intentions when they brought Yosef to Egypt, a society which at that time was steeped in decadence and immorality. They wanted to ruin Yosef by compromising his Kedusha, by putting him in a place where – they incorrectly assumed – he would be unable to withstand temptation and would be lured to sin. This is precisely what Midyan did several generations later, at Ba'al Pe'or. They tried destroying Beneh Yisrael by luring them to immorality, which would undermine their spirituality. Appropriately, then, Pinhas – a descendant of Yosef – led the war against Midyan, because this war avenged Midyan's devious scheme both at Ba'al Pe'or and with Mechirat Yosef. Our nation's struggle against Midyan continues to this very day, with greater intensity than ever. Contemporary society champions values that directly oppose the Torah's values of Kedusha and purity, and we are exposed at all times to lures that threaten to divest us of our sanctity. Hashem commanded Beneh Yisrael to wage war against Midyan – because we need to proactively reject and oppose the efforts made to undermine our Kedusha. We must continue waging this vitally important battle that began with Yosef and then proceeded with Pinhas, and work to oppose the sinful influences and lures that we face on a daily basis.

Parashat Pinhas is almost always read on the first Shabbat of the period known as “Ben Ha’mesarim,” the three weeks between Shiba Asar Be’Tammuz and Tisha B’Ab, when we mourn the destruction of the Bet Ha’mikdash. With very rare exceptions, the first Shabbat after the fast of Shiba Asar Be’Tammuz is the Shabbat when we read Parashat Pinhas. We might therefore expect to find some connection between this Parasha and the period of mourning for the loss of our Mikdash and our banishment into exile. I would like to suggest a possible point of connection, by way of a concept that emerges from a halachic discussion in the Gemara concerning our three daily prayers. The Gemara in Masechet Berachot (27b) brings a debate among the Tanna’im regarding the status of the evening Arbit prayer, whether it is obligatory or optional. According to Rabbi Yehoshua, “Tefilat Arbit Reshut” – Arbit is optional. Whereas the recitation of Shaharit in the morning and Minha in the afternoon constitutes an outright Halachic obligation, one is not required to recite Arbit. Halacha actually follows this opinion, in principle, though in practice, the Jewish Nation has accepted the Arbit prayer as an obligation. What is the difference between the Arbit prayer and the other two daily prayers? Why would Arbit be optional, while the others are obligatory? Earlier (26b), the Gemara brings a different dispute, as to the origin of the daily prayers. According to one opinion, “Tefilot Abot Tiknum” – the prayers were instituted already by our patriarchs. Abraham Abinu established the morning Shaharit prayer; Yishak introduced the afternoon Minha prayer; and Yaakob instituted Arbit. It has been suggested that these three symbolize three different sets of circumstances. Abraham Abinu is associated with morning because he enjoyed a great deal of blessing and good fortune. And, like the morning sun, his success grew brighter with time. As he aged, he attained greater wealth and earned greater prestige. Yishak, by contrast, resembled the afternoon, as he, too, enjoyed great wealth and prosperity, but then his “light” of good fortune began declining. As he aged, he endured adversity at the hands of the Pelishtim, and lost his vision. His life thus resembles the waning afternoon sunlight. Yaakob Abinu instituted the evening Arbit prayer because his life was, to a large extent, characterized by “darkness.” He endured numerous travails, as he was pursued by his violent brother, and forced to flee and live with his wily, corrupt uncle. Later, his daughter was abducted and defiled, and one of his sons was sent away as a slave by his other sons. His family then suffered terrible famine. The Arbit prayer, established by Yaakob Abinu, represents the prayers recited during the “night,” in periods of darkness and hardship. And precisely for this reason, some have explained, this prayer is (in principle) optional. We believe that all periods of darkness are temporary and fleeting. Halacha does not, strictly speaking, require reciting the nighttime prayer because “nighttime” does not last; whatever adversity we currently face will soon give way to the light of joy and good fortune. There cannot be a strict obligation to recite Arbit because this prayer will not always be needed; any darkness that we and the world experience is temporary. With this in mind, let us return to Parashat Pinhas. The latter part of this Parasha is devoted to the special sacrifices required during the holidays in the Bet Ha'mikdash. The Torah here goes through all special occasions – Shabbat, Rosh Hodesh, Pesach, Shabuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Shemini Aseret – detailing the sacrifices that are to be offered on each occasion. Of course, the occasion of Tisha B’Ab does not appear in the Torah, because this occasion was not supposed to be established; we were expected to always be worthy of the Bet Ha’mikdash, such that it would never be destroyed. Perhaps, we read this Parasha during the period of Ben Ha’mesarim to remind ourselves that although we observe Tisha B’Ab every year, this observance is temporary. We read this Parasha specifically so we take note of the fact that Tisha B’Ab is “missing,” that this day is not meant to be an annual occasion. This reading thus assures us that the darkness of our current exile will soon give way to light, that the adversity that we and our nation face will end, and we will experience the joy and elation of our final redemption, may it arrive speedily and in our times, Amen.

Many years ago, I was learning with a peer in the Deal Synagogue, and we were having an argument regarding the laws of Mukseh on Shabbat. Suddenly, one of the leading Halachic scholars of our time, Rav Shmuel Pinhasi, walked in. We were thrilled to have the opportunity to approach him to resolve our disagreement. And so we reverently came to the sage, posed our question, and listened attentively to his response. When he finished speaking, we went back to our place, and we both said to one another, “You see, I’m right!” This incident showed me in the clearest possible way how we have a natural tendency to hear what we want hear, to confirm our ideas and biases, rather than allow them to be challenged and questioned. We don’t want to be shown that we’ve been wrong, that our decisions or opinions are incorrect. And so we always hear what we always thought to be correct. A dramatic example of this phenomenon, of hearing what one wants to hear, is Bilam, about whom we read in our Parasha, Parashat Balak. Balak, the king of Moab, sent messengers to Bilam, a gentile prophet, asking him to come to Moab and place a curse upon Beneh Yisrael. After the messengers arrived and submitted their request, G-d appeared to Bilam in a dream and said, “Lo Telech Imahem” – “Do not go with them” (22:12). The next morning, Bilam said to Balak’s men that he could not accept the mission, “because G-d refused to let me go with you” (22:13). Rashi explains that Bilam was telling the messengers, “I cannot go with you – but I can go with more distinguished dignitaries!” Bilam was an arrogant man, who craved honor and prestige. And, he despised Beneh Yisrael even more than Balak did, and very much wanted to place a curse upon them. Therefore, when Hashem told him, “Don’t go with them,” Bilam heard, “Don’t go with these men whom Balak sent to you, but go with more distinguished figures when he sends them to you!” Bilam heard not what Hashem actually told him, but rather what he wanted Hashem to tell him. The Gemara in Masechet Gittin (45a) tells the story of Rabbi Ilish, who was being held captive together with another man. One day, a raven came and began chirping. Rabbi Ilish turned to his fellow captive and asked if he understood the language of the birds. The man answered in the affirmative, and explained that the bird was saying, “Ilish – escape!” Rabbi Ilish realized that the bird was informing him that it was safe for him to run away from captivity. However, he knew that ravens cannot be trusted, and so he did not try to escape. Sometime later, a dove came and began chirping. Once again, the Rabbi’s fellow inmate told him that the bird was urging him to escape. Rabbi Ilish followed the dove’s advice, and safely escaped. A number of commentators noted that undoubtedly, Rabbi Ilish also understood the language of the birds. It is inconceivable, these commentators write, that this random inmate had more wisdom than the great Rabbi Ilish. The question, then, arises, why did Rabbi Ilish ask the other fellow to interpret the birds’ chirping? If he understood what the birds were saying, then why did he consult with his cellmate? Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz (1902-1979) explained that Rabbi Ilish didn’t trust his own interpretation. He very much wanted to hear the bird telling him that this was an auspicious time to escape from captivity. And so he feared that he would hear what he wanted to hear, and not what the bird was actually saying. He therefore consulted with his fellow inmate to get an objective explanation of the bird’s chirping. This is an important lesson about honesty and objectivity. The only way we will grow is if we live with the openness to hear the truth – even when it makes us uncomfortable, when it challenges our previous opinions and beliefs. Refusing to accept the truth is a quality associated with the wicked Bilam, whose passionate hatred for Beneh Yisrael prevented him from properly understanding G-d’s message. We are to do just the opposite – live with the humility and honesty to hear what Hashem tells us and to surrender to His will.