Toward the end of Parashat Shelah (15:32-36), we read the disturbing story of the “Mekoshesh Esim,” the man who publicly desecrated Shabbat by collecting wood. The Torah tells that it was not known what punishment this man deserved for violating Shabbat, and so he was detained until G-d informed Moshe that he should be killed through stoning. Rashi, commenting on this section (15:32), writes that this story is told as criticism of Beneh Yisrael, who observed only one Shabbat properly in the desert before neglecting Shabbat. Already on the second Shabbat, the “Mekoshesh Esim” publicly desecrated Shabbat. The Torah tells of this incident to bemoan the fact that already on the second Shabbat in the wilderness, Beneh Yisrael failed to preserve the sanctity of this special day. The Maharal of Prague (Rav Yehuda Loew, d. 1609), in his Gur Aryeh, explains that Rashi refers here to the first and second Shabbatot after the manna began to fall. As we read in Parashat Beshalah, G-d commanded Beneh Yisrael at that time to observe Shabbat. The Torah there relates, “Va’yishbetu Ha’am Ba’yom Ha’shebi’i” – the people observed the command to rest on Shabbat (Shemot 16:30). Already on the next Shabbat, the Maharal writes, the “Mekosheh Esim” desecrated Shabbat by gathering wood. It emerges, then, that, according to Rashi, the story of the “Mekoshesh Esim” occurred even before Beneh Yisrael arrived at Mount Sinai to receive the Torah, shortly after the manna began falling. Rashi’s comments here seem difficult to explain in light of his remarks elsewhere, toward the end of Parashat Emor (Vayikra 24:12). There Rashi writes that the “Mekoshesh Esim” was imprisoned at the same time as the “Megadef” – the public blasphemer, who was likewise kept in custody until G-d informed Moshe how he should be punished. Now several verses earlier (Vayikra 24:10), Rashi cites a view that the “Megadef’ blasphemed G-d in response to the law of the “Lehem Ha’panim” – the showbread in the Mishkan. He did not understand how G-d could command that the bread should remain on the table in the Mishkan for an entire week before being eaten, as the “Megadef” deemed it disrespectful for there to be stale bread in Hashem’s abode. It is clear, then, that the story of the “Megadef” occurred only after the commands regarding the Mishkan – which of course included the Misva of the “Lehem Ha’panim” – were given, meaning, at Mount Sinai, after Matan Torah. We need to understand, then, how it was possible for the “Megadef” and the “Mekosesh Esim” to be imprisoned at the same time. The “Mekoshesh Esim” committed his offense much earlier, before Beneh Yisrael arrived at Mount Sinai, whereas the “Megadef” blasphemed only after Matan Torah! The Maharal (Gur Aryeh, Parashat Emor) answers that the “Mekoshesh Esim” was not put to death immediately, because G-d did not want him killed during Beneh Yisrael’s encampment at Sinai. The period from Beneh Yisrael’s departure from Egypt through their stay at Mount Sinai, the Maharal explains, was a time of joy, and it was thus inappropriate to, in the Maharal’s words, “be involved in death.” The Maharal draws a comparison to the Misva of “Shana Rishona,” which requires a groom to remain home and not travel during the first year of marriage, in order to bring joy to his new wife. Similarly, during this period of Hashem’s “wedding” with Beneh Yisrael, they were not to put violators to death. Hence, the “Mekoshesh Esim” was still in prison when the “Megadef” was detained. We might add a deeper insight. The Gemara in Masechet Ta’anit (5b) famously states, “Yaakob Abinu Lo Met” – Yaakob Abinu never died. The Hatam Sofer (Rav Moshe Sofer, 1762-1839) explains that “death” signifies transience, the impermanence of this world. The teaching “Yaakob Abinu Lo Met” means that Yaakob Abinu paid no attention to “death,” to that which is temporary. He was focused entirely on Torah and Misvot, which yield everlasting rewards. By saying that Yaakob “never died,” the Sages are teaching us that Yaakob did not involve himself in matters that “die,” which bring temporary benefit, as he was invested solely in the pursuit of the eternal blessings of Torah and Misvot. On the basis of the Hatam Sofer’s comment, we might arrive at a deeper understanding of why Hashem did not want Beneh Yisrael, in the Maharal’s words, to “involve themselves in death” at Sinai. The purpose of Matan Torah was precisely to draw our attention to eternity, to allow us the opportunity to transcend the transience of this world and achieve immortality through our engagement in Torah. Our ancestors’ encampment at Sinai was all about the antithesis of “death,” of impermanence, as it gave us the key to immortality. And for this reason, G-d did not want the people to put violators to death – because this period was all about eternal life through the study and observance of Torah. Our world is full of lures and enticements. Wherever we turn, we are misled to think that physical pleasures and material luxuries are what matter most, that we should devote our lives to the pursuit of these delights. We must remember that whereas all material assets and worldly pleasures are temporary, our spiritual achievements are everlasting. The Torah we learn and the Misvot we perform remain with us for all eternity. These, then, should be our primary points of focus. Like Yaakob Abinu, we should direct our attention not to “death” – to that which is fleeting and temporary – but rather to “life,” to the eternal benefits of Torah and Misvot.

The final section of Parashat Behaalotecha tells the story of the inappropriate remarks made by Miriam and Aharon about their brother, Moshe Rabbenu. They criticized Moshe’s decision to separate from his wife, claiming that this was unnecessary, as they, too, were prophets, and yet did not find it necessary to separate from their spouses. The Torah relates that as punishment for this Lashon Ha’ra (negative speech), Miriam was stricken with Sara’at (leprosy). The Midrash teaches that Aharon, too, received Sara’at because of this misdeed. We read that Aharon turned to Moshe and pleaded, “Al Na Tashet Alenu Hatat Asher Noa’lnu Va’asher Hatanu” – “Please, do not cast upon us the sin which we foolishly committed, and which we transgressed” (12:11). Moshe immediately turned to G-d and prayed. The Or Ha’haim (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743) notes that Aharon begged Moshe to forgive him and Miriam for the wrong that they committed – implying that Moshe felt offended and was angered by their words. In truth, however, Moshe was not affected at all by what Aharon and Miriam said. Immediately after telling us about the Lashon Ha’ra spoken about Moshe, the Torah adds, “And the man Moshe was exceedingly humble, more so than any other man on the face of the earth” (12:3). The Or Ha’haim explains this verse as informing us that Moshe paid no attention whatsoever to his siblings’ disparaging remarks about him. In his extraordinary humility, their words did not affect him in any way. He simply ignored it; he did not feel hurt or angered. The Or Ha’haim thus understood that Aharon mistakenly concluded that he and Miriam were punished because they angered Moshe. He assumed that he and his sister were stricken with Sara’at because of the anguish they caused Moshe with their words, and so to cure the Sara’at, they needed Moshe’s forgiveness. But Moshe in truth did not feel upset by what they said. The reason why they were punished, the Or Ha’haim explains, is because Moshe had the Halachic status of a king, and there is a rule that a king does not have the authority to waive the honor owed to him (“Melech She’mahal Al Kebodo En Kebodo Mahul”). Even though Moshe did not mind that Aharon and Miriam spoke about him disrespectfully, they were nevertheless guilty of the sin of dishonoring a king. The Or Ha’haim adds a second explanation for why Aharon and Miriam were punished despite not having offended Moshe, noting that their remarks were also disrespectful to Hashem, who had approved of Moshe’s decision to separate from his wife. The Or Ha’haim proves this point from the fact that Moshe responded to Aharon’s plea by turning to G-d in prayer. Rather than simply announcing that he forgave Miriam and Aharon, he petitioned G-d on Miriam’s behalf (Aharon had already been cured). Had Miriam been punished because she offended Moshe, he could have simply forgiven her. But since she was punished for a different reason, Moshe turned to G-d and begged that He cure his sister. Additionally, the Or Ha’haim notes, if Miriam were punished for the anguish caused to Moshe, she would have been cured immediately after Moshe forgave her. But as Moshe was not hurt by her remarks, and she was punished for a different reason, Miriam’s Sara’at lasted for seven days, and did not disappear right when Moshe forgave her. Let us learn from the example set for us by Moshe Rabbenu – the example of true humility, of the strength and self-confidence to disregard and ignore people’s insults, to avoid anger and grudges, and to forgive rather than resent and fight back.

Parashat Naso begins in the middle of the section that tells of the census taken of the tribe of Levi. This tribe was assigned special roles, including the role of transporting the Mishkan when Beneh Yisrael traveled in the wilderness. Last week’s Parasha, Parashat Bamidbar, concluded with the counting of Kehat, one of the three families of Levi. The people of Kehat were assigned the task of carrying the sacred articles of the Mishkan, including the most sacred of the articles – the Aron (ark), which contained the stone tablets upon which G-d engraved the Ten Commandments. Our Parasha continues with the counting of the other two families of Leviyim – Gershon and Merari. G-d begins by commanding Moshe, “Naso Et Rosh Beneh Gershon Gam Hem” – “Conduct a headcount of the people of Gershon, too.” A number of commentators noted the words “Gam Hem” (literally, “them, too”), which imply that G-d had to emphasize that the people of Gershon were indeed to be counted. It seems that Moshe might have intuitively thought to count only the people of Kehat, but not the families of Gershon and Merari, and so G-d clarified that they, too, were worthy of being counted. Rav Moshe Feinstein (1895-1986) explained that Moshe might have assumed that only the people of Kehat, who were given the special privilege of carrying the Aron and other sacred articles, were deemed important enough to be counted. The other two families transported the other parts of the Mishkan, such as the planks, the pillars, the ropes, the cloths, and so on, and not the furnishings which were actually used in the service of Hashem. As such, Moshe might have thought that they did not earn the distinction of a special census like the people of Kehat did, because their job was less important. G-d therefore emphasized that “Gam Hem” – even the other two families were to be counted. Everyone who faithfully and competently fulfills his role, no matter what that role is, deserves respect and admiration. We should not reserve our respect for great Rabbis, prominent lay leaders, or public officials. Every individual has an important job to do, a crucial role to fulfill. Only a small group of people are like “Kehat,” fulfilling prestigious roles. The vast majority of people have roles which do not bring them fame or distinction, but their roles are not one iota less important than anybody else’s. Anyone who does what they need to do is worthy of great respect. We are now in graduation season, when some students are named valedictorian. Certainly, outstanding academic achievements should be recognized, and students who excelled deserve to be recognized for their unique accomplishments. At the same time, however, it is crucial that we convey the message that all students are worthy of admiration for their achievements, however modest they may be. All that is expected of any student – or any adult – is to exert effort, to work hard, to do the best her or she can. As long as we put in the work and do our best, we are doing our job, which is no less important than anybody else’s job.

The Gemara in Masechet Shabbat (88b-89a) famously tells of Moshe Rabbenu’s experiences when he ascended to the heavens to receive the Torah. We can imagine that he expected to be greeted by the heavenly beings with great honor and fanfare, but this is not what happened. The angels vehemently protested Hashem’s decision to give the sacred Torah to human beings. They contended that something as holy and precious as the Torah needed to remain in the pristine environs of the heavens, and not be entrusted with physical, flawed creatures. Hashem instructed Moshe to respond to the angels’ claim, and convince them why Am Yisrael should be given the Torah. Moshe told the angels about the Ten Commandments, and showed that they are entirely irrelevant to the angels. For example, pointing to the prohibition against worshipping idols, Moshe noted that the angels do not live among pagans such that they need to be commanded not to worship foreign deities. Likewise, the Torah forbids swearing falsely – but the angels do not engage in commerce, and thus they would never need to come to court for a case and take an oath. The Torah commands desisting from work on Shabbat – but the angels never work. The Torah commands respecting parents – but the angels have no parents. The Torah forbids murder, but angels do not grow angry, and thus have no reason to kill. And so on. The angels accepted Moshe’s argument, and conceded. Upon reading this story, we must wonder, what were the angels thinking? Did they really think that the Torah was for them? Was it not obvious that the Torah is meant to be studied and observed by Beneh Yisrael here in this world, as it relates entirely to human life? What did the angels think before hearing Moshe’s response? I would suggest that the angels’ argument revolved around not the question of for whom the Torah is intended, but rather the question of who should be entrusted with the job of teaching it. The prophet Malachi (2:7) describes the ideal teacher of Torah, and says, “Ki Malach Hashem Seva-ot Hu” – “for he is an angel of the G-d of Hosts.” The Gemara (Moed Katan 17a) infers from this verse that one may learn Torah from a Rabbi only if the Rabbi “resembles an angel of G-d.” The angels, understandably, wondered, why should Torah be taught by a human being who “resembles” an angel, rather than by an actual angel? They argued that they, as pristine, pure creatures, who have no flaws and never make mistakes, would clearly do the best job as educators. Instead of giving the Torah to Moshe who would then teach it to Beneh Yisrael, the angels felt, G-d should instead have them teach the Torah to Beneh Yisrael, because they are perfect and unflawed. Moshe responded that to the contrary, human beings would make much better teachers than the angels, because human beings actually observe the Torah, and put it into practice. For students to learn how to observe Shabbat, they need to not just learn the laws and principles of Shabbat from their teacher, but also learn about how the teacher spends Shabbat. They need to not only learn about honoring parents, but also hear about how their teacher honors his or her parents. It is not enough for students to learn about the Torah’s laws and values – they need to see a real-life example of how they are put into practice. And this can be done only by human beings, to whom the Torah’s laws are practically relevant, and not by angels, who do not live a worldly existence that is governed by the Torah. Indeed, human beings are better educators than angels, because they can model the Torah’s teachings for their students, whereas the angels cannot. This might answer a different question that arises from the story of Matan Torah. We read that as G-d spoke to Beneh Yisrael at Mount Sinai, “Ve’chol Ha’am Ro’im Et Ha’kolot” – the people “were seeing the sounds” (Shemot 20:14). The Rabbis explain that miraculously, in a manner that we cannot possibly even begin to understand, Hashem’s “voice” which He sounded at the time of Matan Torah was not only audible, but also visible. The sounds were both heard and seen. As mentioned, we will never fully understand what this means. But regardless, we need to ask ourselves why such a miracle was performed. Tradition teaches us that G-d does not perform miracles for no reason. There must have been some purpose for which the sounds of Sinai were made visible to the people. The answer might be that the Torah must be not only studied, but seen. In order for the Torah to be taught and preserved, youngsters must be shown the Torah. It does not suffice for them to “hear” the words, to learn about what the Torah says. They need to see the Torah come to life through living examples and role models. This is the responsibility borne by every Jewish educator, and, in fact, by every Jewish parent. Nothing we tell our students or children will leave an impact unless they can “see the sounds,” unless we serve as living examples of Torah life for them to emulate. The key for the preservation of Torah is the “visible sounds,” our modelling the Torah’s values and teachings for our children and students, so they will understand what Torah life is, and commit to follow our example and then serve as role models for their own children.

The opening verses of Parashat Behukotai describe the beautiful blessings that G-d promises to bestow upon Beneh Yisrael in reward for their compliance with the Torah’s laws. The Torah introduces this section by saying, “Im Be’hukotai Telechu, Ve’et Misvotai Tishmeru” – literally, “If you follow My statutes, and you observe My commandments…” The Or Ha’haim Ha’kadosh (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743), remarkably, offers forty-two interpretations of this verse, uncovering for us the deeper layers of meaning behind this seemingly straightforward sentence. In presenting one of these explanations, the Or Ha’haim cites the Mishna’s famous teaching in Pirkeh Abot (2:5), “Ve’lo Am Ha’aretz Hasid” – “An ignoramus is not a pious person.” The plain meaning of the Mishna is that one cannot properly observe the Misvot without educating himself, without investing time and effort into the process of learning so he knows what the Torah wants of us. The Or Ha’haim adds a deeper reading of the Mishna, explaining that it refers to acts of piety and measures of stringency beyond the Torah’s strict requirements. The Or Ha’haim writes that a person cannot be a “Hasid,” a devoutly pious person, who observes additional stringencies, without learning Halacha, without properly understanding his basic obligations. If a person decides to adopt stringencies without learning, the Or Ha’haim writes, these stringencies might actually lead him to grievous transgressions, because the person will not know what Halacha allows and what it doesn’t. As an extreme example, the Or Ha’haim writes that there was a person who decided to be “pious” by limiting marital relations to sacred occasions, Shabbat and Yom Tob. In his observance of this practice, this so-called “pious man” had relations on Yom Kippur, when, of course, relations are strictly forbidden. This demonstrates the grave dangers that one exposes himself to by being “pious,” accepting additional stringencies, before being educated about basic Halachic requirements. The Or Ha’haim explains on this basis the opening verse of Parashat Behukotai. The phrase “Im Be’hukotai Telechu,” as Rashi famously writes, refers to the study of Torah. The second phrase, “Ve’et Misvotai Tishmeru,” speaks of additional safeguards and stringencies, as the root of the word “Tishmeru” – “Sh.M.R.” – means “guard” or “protect.” The Torah here teaches us that only “Im Be’hukotai Telechu” – if a person devotes time and effort to the study of Torah – is it then appropriate for him to take on voluntary stringencies (“Ve’et Misvotai Tishmeru”). Piety must be pursued only with knowledge of Torah law. A person who thinks he can decide for himself how to be “pious,” how to be holy and G-d-fearing, he will end up making terrible mistakes and transgressing grave violations. The Or Ha’haim here conveys to us the message that there is no substitute for knowledge. If we want to achieve spiritual greatness – which, of course, we all should – then there are no shortcuts. Our intuition and “gut feelings” are not good enough. We cannot serve Hashem by doing what seems right to us, what we intuitively sense is noble and spiritual. We need to learn, to ask questions, to consult with Torah scholars, to seek guidance, and to make the time to acquire the knowledge we need to act the way the Torah wants us to act.

Lag Ba’omer is observed as the “Hilula” of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yohai, following the view that this marks the day of his passing. Already the Arizal (Rav Yishak Luria, 1534-1572) noted the custom to visit Rabbi Shimon’s grave on Mount Meron in northern Israel on this day. The concept underlying the observance of a “Hilula” is that we draw from the Kedusha (sanctity) of the Sadik. A “Hilula” offers us the precious opportunity to receive at least some of the spiritual greatness of the giant whose memory and whose soul we seek to connect to and bond with. On Lag Ba’omer, we try to connect to Rabbi Shimon Bar Yohai in order to absorb some element of his unique, outstanding qualities. It behooves us, then, to learn some of what Rabbi Shimon stands for, the particular Middot (characteristics) that he embodied, so we can gain inspiration and develop these qualities within ourselves. The Gemara in Masechet Berachot (35b) famously brings Rabbi Shimon’s view that one should devote himself entirely to Torah learning, and rely on G-d to provide his needs. This is in contrast to the opinion of Rabbi Yishmael, that the proper approach is “Hanheg Bahem Middat Derech Eretz” – to live normally, to work for a living, while of course setting aside significant amounts of time for Torah study. The Gemara concludes its discussion by noting, “Many acted in accordance with Rabbi Shimon Bar Yohai, and did not succeed.” Meaning, for the vast majority of people, Rabbi Shimon’s approach is not appropriate; devoting oneself exclusively to Torah, without pursuing a livelihood, requires an exalted level of Bitahon – trust in Hashem – that most people never achieve. Rabbi Shimon’s view is not rejected, but rather applicable only to the spiritual elite, to those select individuals with wholehearted, genuine faith in Hashem’s ability to provide. It was this quality of Rabbi Shimon that enabled him to live with his son for thirteen years in a cave, without any food or water. As the Gemara famously tells (Shabbat 33b), Rabbi Shimon fled from the Roman authorities with his son, and they hid inside a cave, where they were miraculously sustained by a carob tree and brook of water. This was Rabbi Shimon’s outstanding quality – absolute faith in Hashem’s ability to provide, the keen awareness that our sustenance depends solely on G-d, and not on our hard work and efforts. Accordingly, Lag Ba’omer is an occasion for us to draw from Rabbi Shimon’s lofty levels of Bitahon. Of course, as mentioned, Rabbi Shimon’s practical prescription for life is not suitable for the vast majority of us. Nevertheless, we can - and must - strive to heighten our trust in Hashem, our firm belief that Hashem provides us with our needs, irrespective of the work we invest. Although we are to meet our obligation of Hishtadlut (effort) by working for a living, we must recognize that the outcome depends solely on G-d, and that He is always caring for us. Fascinatingly enough, this aspect of Lag Ba’omer actually predates Rabbi Shimon, by many generations. The Hatam Sofer (Rav Moshe Sofer of Pressburg, 1762-1839) writes that it was on Lag Ba’omer when the manna fell for the very first time. Beneh Yisrael left Egypt on the 15 th of Nissan, the first day of Pesach, bringing with them a month’s worth of food provisions. These provisions were depleted in the middle of the next month, Iyar, and several days later, on the 18 th of Iyar – Lag Ba’omer – G-d responded to the people’s cries by providing them with manna. Quite appropriately, then, Lag Ba’omer is also the day when we remember, honor, and connect with the figure of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yohai, the bastion of Bitahon, who lived with a keen awareness of how all our food is “manna,” that it is Hashem who gives us everything we need. So much of the anxiety and stress that people live with can be alleviated through Bitahon, by firmly believing in Hashem’s infinite capabilities to provide us, and in His boundless love for us. People worry and fret over their finances because they wrongly assume that they know what needs to happen for their Parnasa (livelihood) to arrive. They think that their Parnasa depends on this job, on that client, that customer, that deal, or that promotion. Once we realize that everything we have is manna, coming to us directly from Hashem, we would no longer worry about any of this. Certainly, we must live responsibly and do our Hishtadlut as required. But once we do, we can put all our worries and concerns to rest, because Hashem is caring for us, often in ways that we never imagined and could never have imagined. His abilities are unlimited, so we never have any reason to worry. Let us take advantage of Lag Ba’omer, this special day of Bitahon, to draw from the great faith of Rabbi Shimon, so we can live with the peace of mind and serenity that we desire.

The Torah in Parashat Emor introduces the Misva of the Korban Ha’omer – the special sacrifice which was offered on the 16 th of Nissan, the second day of Pesach. This sacrifice included the offering of an “Omer” of the new barley harvest, the first of the freshly-grown spring produce, and it is forbidden to partake of the season’s yield before this sacrifice is offered. This sacrifice was given the name “Korban Ha’omer” – “the Omer sacrifice,” referring to the Omer – a measurement – of new grain that was offered. The Torah then commands that we count forty-nine days from the day this sacrifice is offered, a Misva which is of course known as “Sefirat Ha’omer” – “the counting of the Omer.” We must understand why the word “Omer” features so prominently in the context of these Misvot. The word “Omer” refers to a certain measurement of flour, specifically, one-tenth of an “Efa.” Why would this measurement be so significant, that this became the name of the sacrifice? Moreover, throughout the Humash, the Torah uses the term “Isaron” – “one-tenth” – in reference to this measurement, for, as mentioned, it equals one-tenth of an Efa. But when it comes to the Korban Ha’omer, the word “Omer” is used. Why? We must also understand why we refer to the nightly counting as “Sefirat Ha’omer.” Why is the “Omer” of barley offered on the 16 th of Nissan our point of focus when we count the days from Pesach to Shabuot? The answer, as developed by Rav Yosef Salant (Jerusalem, 1885-1981) in his Be’er Yosef, emerges from the comments of the Zohar here in Parashat Emor regarding the Omer sacrifice. The Zohar draws a connection between this offering and the first time the word “Omer” appears in the Torah – in the context of the manna, the heavenly food which Hashem fed Beneh Yisrael in the desert. We read in Parashat Beshalah (Shemot 16:16) that an Omer of manna was provided for each member of the nation, each day. The Zohar states that G-d commanded Beneh Yisrael to offer an Omer of grain as though they give back the Omer of manna they received in the desert. The purpose of this sacrifice is to recall and express gratitude for the manna which our ancestors received for forty years in the desert. Rav Salant explains that during the years of travel in the desert, Beneh Yisrael lived a supernatural existence, sustained miraculously by G-d. It was perfectly clear to them that their sustenance depended solely on G-d’s grace and kindness. But once Beneh Yisrael entered the Land of Israel, the manna stopped falling, and they needed to till the land to produce food and sustain themselves. As they would be producing food themselves, rather than receiving food directly from the heavens, the people might lose sight of the fact that Hashem provides them with their sustenance. They might come to think that their success depends solely on their hard work and effort. They would then focus their time and energy exclusively on their farming, and neglect spirituality, studying Torah and performing Misvot. Mistakenly thinking that their hard work alone determines the success of their endeavors, they would not make any time for Hashem, for Torah and Misvot. Therefore, Rav Salant explains, the Torah commands that none of the new grain may be eaten before an Omer of new grain – symbolizing the manna – is offered on the altar. Just as an Omer of manna descended from the heavens to the earth each morning, Beneh Yisrael offer the first Omer of the food produced from the earth to Hashem, as though sending it to the heavens. They express their awareness of the fact that the food they produce, too, is like manna, as it – no less than the manna – came from the heavens, as a blessing from Hashem. Even when we work hard and exert effort to earn a livelihood, we must recognize and firmly believe that the sustenance we receive, our income, everything we have, is a blessing granted to us from Hashem. This is why we count “Sefirat Ha’omer” every night until Shabuot. Each night, when we count the Omer, we remind ourselves of the Omer sacrifice – and thus remember that everything we have is “manna” which Hashem sends us from the heavens. This is how we prepare for the holiday of Shabuot, when we celebrate our receiving the Torah. For forty-nine days, we are reminded that it is Hashem who sends us our livelihood – and this assures us that we can and must take time away from our material pursuits for the sake of Torah learning. As ultimately it is the Almighty, and not our efforts, that bring us our livelihood, we will not lose at all – and will, in fact, only gain – by devoting time each day for the service of Hashem, for the study of His Torah. We then begin Shabuot with renewed faith in Hashem’s provision of all our needs – which will lead to a renewed commitment to strike the necessary balance between the work we need to invest in securing a livelihood, and our faith that it is Hashem who grants us our livelihood.

The Torah in Parashat Kedoshim (20:2) establishes that one who offers a child to “Molech” is liable to death. “Molech” was a pagan ritual whereby a parent would present his child to the priest, who would then pass the child through fire, offering the child as a sacrifice. Already earlier in the Book of Vayikra (18:21), the Torah introduced the command forbidding this ritual. Here, in Parashat Kedoshim, the Torah writes that one who transgresses this command is to be put to death, adding that offering a child to “Molech” has the effect of “defiling My sanctuary” (“Lema’an Tameh Et Mikdashi” – 20:3). The obvious question arises as to how this ritual defiles the Bet Ha’mikdash. We of course readily understand the gravity of this terrible offense, sacrificing a child to a pagan god. But in what way does offering a child to “Molech” constitute an act of desecration of the Bet Ha’mikdash? To answer this question, Rashi advances a much different understanding of the word “Mikdashi” (“My sanctuary”) in this verse. He writes that it refers not to the Bet Ha’mikdash, but rather to the Jewish People, whom G-d regards as sacred. Offering a child to “Molech” has the effect of “defiling” the sanctity of Am Yisrael. The Ramban, in his commentary, explains the concept underlying Rashi’s understanding of this verse. He cites the Gemara’s teaching in Masechet Berachot (35) that if one partakes of food without reciting a Beracha, he is considered to have “stolen” from both the Almighty and from the Nation of Israel. In what way has such a person “stolen” from the Jewish People? We understand that he is guilty of “stealing” from G-d in the sense that everything in this world belongs to the Almighty until we receive His “permission” to partake of it through the recitation of a Beracha. But why is this considered “stealing” from his fellow Jews? The Ramban explains that by reciting Berachot over the food we eat, we reinforce our awareness of G-d’s existence, such that we become worthy of having the Shechina (divine presence) reside among us. We are to utilize everything we have for the sake of glorifying G-d and bringing Him honor here in our world. Thus, when we eat without a Beracha, we cause the Shechina to leave, in the sense that G-d’s glory in this world is diminished. And by causing the Shechina to leave, one who eats without reciting a Beracha in effect denies Am Yisrael the great blessings that the divine presence brings. Hence, a person who partakes of a fruit without reciting a Beracha is considered guilty of “stealing” from the Jewish Nation. The Ramban adds that there is no greater “fruit,” no more valuable asset, then one’s children. Therefore, one who offers his child to “Molech,” rather than raising the child to be a faithful servant of Hashem, a vehicle through which G-d’s glory will be increased, and through which the Shechina will reside among our people, is considered to have “defiled” the Jewish People. The Ramban’s understanding of this verse reminds us of the great responsibility that parents bear to try, as best they can, to raise their children toward a life of Torah devotion. Everything Hashem gives us is to be used for the purpose of serving Him, of bringing Him honor, and this is certainly true of our most precious asset – our children. If Hashem blessed us with offspring, it is so that we can provide them with a Torah education, so we can try to inculcate within them a love for Hashem and a desire to obey His will. While the perverse worship of “Molech,” quite obviously, no longer exists, we have our own modern-day forms of “Molech,” ways in which parents are handing their children to foreign ideas and lifestyles. Parents who fail to properly educate their children, to lead them along the path of Torah study and observance, are, in a sense, “defiling My sanctuary.” Our children are given to us for a purpose – and we are obligated to raise them in a way that fulfills that purpose, to bring glory to the Almighty and that, by extension, maintains the Shechina’s presence among our people.

We read in Parashat Ahareh-Mot of the special service that the Kohen Gadol would perform in the Bet Ha’mikdash each year on Yom Kippur. This service included two goats which were sacrificed to atone for the nation’s sins. The Kohen Gadol would cast lots to determine the goats’ fates: one goat would be offered as a sacrifice in the Bet Ha’mikdash, its blood sprinkled in the Kodesh Ha’kodashim (the innermost chamber of the Bet Ha’mikdash), and the other would be sent to “Azazel” – the desert outside Jerusalem, where it was thrown off a cliff, symbolizing the banishment of Beneh Yisrael’s sins. Rav Moshe Alshich (Sefat, 1508-1593) raises the question of why the Torah requires the Kohen Gadol to draw lots. Why couldn’t the Kohen Gadol simply choose on his own which goat should be sacrificed in the Temple, and which should be sent into the wilderness? The Alshich answers this question based on the comments of the Midrash regarding the story told in the Book of Melachim I (chapter 18) about the prophet Eliyahu and the pagan prophets. Eliyahu assembled the nation at Mount Carmel, where he posed a challenge to the prophets of the pagan god Ba’al. He said that they would offer a sacrifice to their deity, after which he would offer a sacrifice to G-d, and the one whose sacrifice received a response would then be proven to be real. (In the end, G-d responded to Eliyahu’s sacrifice with a heavenly fire, proving to all the people that He was the true Creator who governs the universe.) Eliyahu invited the prophets of Ba’al to choose one of two bulls for their offering, and they selected one. The Midrash relates that the bull refused to go along with the pagan prophets, as it did not wish to be offered as a sacrifice to a false deity. Eliyahu then approached the bull and whispered in its ear, urging it to proceed. “You should know,” Eliyahu said to the bull, “that through you, too, the Name of heaven is being sanctified, when they see that no fire will come from the heavens for you, as it will for Hashem.” The bull then went along with the prophets of Ba’al. The Alshich explains that on Yom Kippur, too, if the Kohen Gadol would himself choose which of the two goats would be sent to the desert, this goat would be resentful, envying the other goat, which would have the privilege of being offered a sacrifice in the Bet Ha’mikdash. In order to avoid this resentment and jealousy, the Torah commanded that the Kohen Gadol should cast lots, such that the goat destined to be brought to the desert would not resent the Kohen Gadol for designating it for this purpose. The Alshich adds that for this reason, the Torah writes that after the lottery, the goat designated to be led into the wilderness “shall stand alive before G-d” (“Ya’omad Hai Lifneh Hashem” – 16:10), emphasizing that this goat, too, is special, having been chosen to be brought “before G-d” in order to atone for the people. Of course, the Alshich concludes, it seems very peculiar that the Torah would concern itself with the feelings of a goat. Clearly, the goat knows nothing about the difference between its fate and the fate chosen for the other goat. However, the Alshich explains, the Torah’s intent here is to warn us about the dangers of jealousy. The Torah requires a system that is designed to avoid the goat’s jealousy – even though the goat, quite obviously, would not feel jealous – to teach us that we must do what we can to avoid envy among people. Envy, as we all know, is a very powerful emotion, one which can destroy relationships and inflict great harm. The lots cast by the Kohen Gadol on Yom Kippur teach us about how far we must go to avoid causing people jealousy, so that we avoid the catastrophic consequences of jealousy. This is especially important when it comes to parenting. We need to look no further than the story of Yosef and his brothers to see how preferential treatment toward a child can destroy a family. Parents must be exceedingly careful not to arouse a child’s jealousy by showing special love or preference for their other children. Every effort must be taken to ensure that each and every child feels equally loved, cherished and respected, and never feels inferior to, or less important than, any other child.

Toward the beginning of the Pesach Seder, we break one of the Masot on the table, and then announce, “Ha Lahma Anya Di Achalu Abhatana Be’ar’a De’Misrayim” – “This is the bread of poverty which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt.” For what reason do we break the Masa into two pieces, and why do refer to Masa as “Lehem Oni” – “the bread of poverty”? An insightful explanation of the “Ha Lahma Anya” proclamation was offered by the Berach Moshe (Rav Moshe Teitelbaum of Satmar, 1914-2006). He writes that, as earlier commentators have noted, the Egyptian exile resulted from the sin of the sale of Yosef. Our ancestors first went to Egypt because the brothers turned against their brother and sold him into slavery. And it is this same ill – strife and in-fighting among our nation – that has kept us in exile for so many centuries. The Shela Ha’kadosh (Rav Yeshaya Horowitz, d. 1630) famously taught, “Mahloket Ahat Doha Me’a Parnasot” – a single fight can ruin one hundred opportunities for earning a livelihood. Many people mistakenly think that they benefit financially by “playing tough,” by insisting on fighting for every bit of money they feel they deserve. But our tradition teaches us that to the contrary, nothing is more destructive to the pursuit of a livelihood than fighting. One of the most important things we should be doing to ensure the success of our efforts to earn a respectable Parnasa (livelihood) is avoiding conflict, making sacrifices for the sake of peaceful relations with people, and trying to get along with those around us. On this basis, we can explain the meaning of Yahatz – the breaking of the middle Masa at the Seder. As we prepare to tell the story of our ancestors’ enslavement and eventual redemption, we break a single Masa into two pieces, symbolizing the breaking of unity, the split in Yaakob’s family which is what led to the Egyptian exile. The Berach Moshe explains that when we proclaim, “This is the bread of poverty which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt,” we are actually saying that we continue to experience “the bread of poverty,” the hardships of exile, because we are guilty of the same ill of strife and disunity that plagued our ancestors. The reason why our “Masa” is “broken,” why we still face so many difficult challenges, is the sin of fighting and divisiveness. The Berach Moshe adds that this is why we immediately proceed to announce an invitation, welcoming anyone who needs a place to eat: “Whoever is hungry shall come and eat; whoever is in need shall come and observe the Pesach.” As we reflect upon the sin of in-fighting and disunity that has caused and prolonged or exile, we resolve to work toward correcting this wrong by extending an invitation to everyone in need. We do not invite only those people whom we like, only those people who are similar to us, who think like us, who act like us, and who observe Misvot the same way we do. We invite anyone in need, no matter who they are, because this is how we correct the sin of baseless hatred – by loving and cherishing all our fellow Jews, even if they are different from us. This paragraph concludes with the prayer, “Now we are here – next year, in the land of Israel; now we are slaves – next year, free people.” The Berach Moshe explains that we express our confident hope that in the merit of our efforts to increase unity among our people, to extend love and respect to all our fellow Jews, regardless of our differences, we will be worthy of our final redemption, may it arrive speedily and in our time, Amen.