Parashat Tazria discusses the laws regarding Sara’at – a type of skin infection that brings Tum’a (impurity) upon a person. The Rabbis explain that in ancient times, Sara’at would befall a person as a punishment for the particular sin of Lashon Ha’ra – gossip and talebearing, disseminating negative information about other people. The Torah begins its discussion of Sara’at (13:2) by establishing that it comes in different shades of white, referred to with the terms “Se’et,” “Sapahat” and “Baheret.” Upon closer examination, these three terms allude to us the root cause of the sin of Lashon Ha’ra, explaining the psychology behind the tendency that some people have to share unflattering information about their peers. The word “Se’et” denotes “carrying,” lifting something up in order to bring it somewhere. Often, people indulge in gossip for the purpose of “elevating” themselves, in order to feel superior. There are two ways in which a person can feel good about who he is: to lift himself higher, or knock others down. The first way requires the hard work and discipline to achieve, to attain greatness, to be an accomplished person. The second way is far easier – to look down on other people, to focus one’s attention on their faults and misdeeds, such that he can see himself as better than them. Very often, the person stricken with Sara’at, with the spiritual ill of habitual gossip, is driven by “Se’et,” by the desire to elevate himself in his own eyes by speaking negatively about other people. The word “Sapahat” stems from the root “S.P.H.,” which connotes a connection or attachment. Many people who indulge in gossip do so with the aim of gaining social acceptance, to improve their social standing. They feel that bringing “juicy” information about others will attract attention and impress the people around them. Finally, the term “Baheret,” a derivative of the word “Bahir” – “clear,” or “bright” – alludes to the natural desire to feel smart. The ability to share information about another person’s personal life, and especially about that person’s failings, makes one feel knowledgeable, as he is privy to information that most people are unaware of. These three terms thus teach us about the three primary reasons why so many people fall prey to the urge to speak Lashon Hara: 1) to feel good about themselves by focusing on other people’s faults; 2) the desire for social acceptance; 3) to feel and appear smart and knowledgeable. In this introductory verse, the Torah emphasizes that the Sara’at infection surfaces “Be’or Besaro” – literally, “upon the skin of his flesh.” This means that Sara’at affects only the outermost layer of the skin, the layer that is visible. Sara’at is, we might say, “skin-deep.” It appears on the outer surface of the skin, without impacting the inner layers at all. In light of what we have seen, we might suggest that the Torah here is teaching us about the superficiality of Lashon Ha’ra, how the benefits that people think they will enjoy from sharing gossip are, in truth, superficial; speaking Lashon Ha’ra appears to offer benefits, but in reality, it doesn’t. The first reason for speaking Lashon Ha’ra, as mentioned, is the desire to “elevate” oneself, to feel superior. But this feeling of superiority isn’t real, and it fades very quickly. The only way to truly feel good about ourselves is to work to achieve and accomplish. The sense of satisfaction experienced when sharing gossip is “skin-deep,” and does not actually give us a long-lasting feeling of pride and accomplishment. The same is true about the perceived social benefits of gossip. True, at the moment, the people are excited to hear what is being said. But will they really want to be the speaker’s friend? They certainly realize that if this person shared unflattering information about others, he would happily share information about them, too, when he can. Temporarily, the speaker is the center of attention – but this is no way to build long-lasting friendships. Finally, having the “inside scoop” on somebody, knowing about his faults and mistakes, does not make a person smart. It’s just the opposite – a smart person knows that he can’t judge people based on a small sample size, on the little piece of “juicy” information that he possesses. And, he understands that people are not defined by their faults, by their mistakes, or by their failures. After all, we all have our share of flaws. A person might feel smart because he knows something embarrassing about his fellow, but this is a superficial feeling. Real intelligence is the realization that people are complex creatures, and that it is impossible to cast judgment based on this story or that story. The lesson of Sara’at, then, is to focus our attention on striving for real greatness, for real accomplishments, rather than experiencing the fleeting, superficial feeling of pride that comes from speaking Lashon Ha’ra.

On the Shabbat preceding Rosh Hodesh Nissan, we read the section in the Torah (Shemot 12) which tells of Beneh Yisrael’s preparations for the night of Yesiat Misrayim (the Exodus from Egypt). This section begins with G-d commanding Moshe and Aharon, “Ha’hodesh Ha’zeh Lachem Rosh Hodashim” – “This month is for you the first of the months” (Shemot 12:2). We are to regard Nissan, the month in which Yesiat Misrayim took place, as the first of the twelve months. Rav Baruch of Medzhybizh (grandson of the Ba’al Shem Tob, Ukraine, 1753-1811) noted the fact that in this verse, the month of Nissan is referred to as “Ha’hodesh Ha’zeh” (“this month”). Later in this Parasha (13:5), the Torah commands, “Ve’abadeta Et Ha’aboda Ha’zot Ba’hodesh Ha’zeh” – literally, “You shall perform this service in this month.” The simple meaning of this verse is that Beneh Yisrael were to perform the same sacrifice which they performed on the night of the Exodus – the Korban Pesach – each year on Pesach. However, Rav Baruch offers a deeper interpretation of this verse, explaining that it speaks of two months – the month of “Zot” and the month of “Zeh.” The word “Zeh,” as mentioned, alludes to the month of Nissan. The word “Zot,” meanwhile, alludes to the month of Tishri, the month of repentance and atonement. The Torah in the Book of Vayikra (16:3) says about the special Yom Kippur service in the Bet Ha’mikdash, “Be’zot Yabo Aharon El Ha’kodesh” (“With this shall Aharon enter the Sanctuary”) – and thus the word “Zot” is associated with the service performed by the Kohen Gadol on Yom Kippur. Hence, Rav Baruch explains, the command “Ve’abadeta Et Ha’aboda Ha’zot Ba’hodesh Ha’zeh” means that we are to observe the service of “Zot” – the process of repentance that characterizes the month of Tishri – during “Ha’hodesh Ha’zeh,” in the month of Nissan. This month, like the month of Tishri, is to be a month of repentance, when we work to improve ourselves and draw closer to Hashem. Of course, these two months are very different from one another. Tishri is a time of solemn, fearful introspection, whereas Nissan is a time of festive celebration. In Tishri, we are to perform Teshuba Mi’yir’a – repentance driven by the fear of judgment, whereas in Nissan, we are to perform Teshuba Me’ahaba – repentance driven by love for Hashem, recognizing His abundant grace and kindness which He showers upon us. Developing this point further, Hashem freed our ancestors from Egyptian bondage without their having deserved redemption. Tradition teaches that Beneh Yisrael were submerged in the pagan culture in Egypt, and had fallen to the “forty-ninth level of impurity.” And yet, despite their low spiritual level, G-d mercifully performed miracles to redeem them. Nissan is a time of Hashem’s unlimited love and compassion, and we are thus to joyfully repent, recognizing His boundless mercy and affection. The Arizal (Rav Yishak Luria, Safed, 1534-1572) taught that the Name of Havaya, which expresses G-d’s attribute of compassion and kindness, can be configured in twelve different ways. This Name is comprised of four letters – “Yod,” “Heh,” “Vav” and “Heh” – and these four letters can be arranged in twelve different sequences. Each of these twelve arrangements, the Arizal established, corresponds to a different month. Tishri, the month of judgment, is associated with the reverse spelling of this Name (“Heh,” “Vav,” “Heh,” “Yod”). During this month, G-d’s quality of strict judgment – the opposite of His attribute of compassion – prevails, and thus this month is signified by the reversal of the Name of Havaya. Nissan, by contrast, corresponds to the straight spelling of this Name (“Yod,” “Heh,” “Vav,” “Heh”). This is the month when Hashem’s compassion and love are most clearly manifest, and so it is associated with the straightforward spelling of “Havaya.” Let us all ensure to take full advantage of the special Teshuba opportunity presented by this month, and commit ourselves during the coming weeks to work toward enhancing our relationship with Hashem, correcting our faults, and striving to be the best people we are capable of being.

Parashat Sav presents some of the laws relevant to the various categories of Korbanot (sacrifices). One of the sacrifices which were offered in the Bet Ha’mikdash was the Asham (guilt-offering). Unlike the Hatat (sin-offering), which was required after certain inadvertent violations, the Asham was brought after the intentional transgression of certain commands. The Torah says about the Asham, “Bi’mkom Asher Yish’hatu Et Ha’ola Yish’hatu Et Ha’asham” – it was slaughtered in the same area in the courtyard of the Bet Ha’mikdash as the voluntary Ola sacrifice (7:2). Rav Moshe Alshich (Safed, 1508-1593) explains the significance of this Halachic detail. He notes the earlier sources establishing that a person would bring a Korban Ola to atone for Hirhureh Abera (sinful thoughts), and for violations of a Misvat Aseh (affirmative command). When a person is guilty of sinful thoughts, Rav Moshe Alshich writes, he achieves atonement by doing just the opposite – by having thoughts of repentance and of love for Hashem. And with regard to violating a Misvat Aseh, the Rambam writes explicitly in Hilchot Teshuba that complete atonement is attained for such violations immediately upon repenting. These violations are less severe than the violation of a Misvat Lo Ta’aseh (Torah prohibitions), and thus the process of repentance is completed immediately once the violator repents. Clearly, then, if a person guilty of these wrongs goes even further, and offers a sacrifice, his atonement is perfect and complete. By commanding that the Asham be sacrificed in the same location as the Ola, the Torah conveys the powerful message that one who performs Teshuba for a grave, intentional transgression reaches the same “place” as someone who repents for minor transgressions. The Ola, which is offered in cases of relatively minor misdeeds which are easily atoned for, is slaughtered in the same location as the Asham, which is brought in cases of severe, willful violations – to teach us that repentance is equally effective in both instances. We mustn’t think that forgiveness and atonement are attainable only for sins of lesser severity, or for unintentional wrongs, but not for grave mistakes and serious breaches of Torah law. The Torah emphasizes that repentance brings a person bringing an Asham to the same place as a person who brings an Ola. As long as the sinner’s Teshuba is sincere and heartfelt, his repentance is lovingly accepted. In fact, the Sages famously teach that “the place where penitent sinners stand – even the perfectly righteous cannot stand there.” Nobody should ever feel forever trapped by the mistakes of his past. Teshuba works, and brings a person complete atonement, regardless of the severity of the sin which he committed. This must be our perspective on our own failings, as well as those of other people. We should never judge people because of things they said or did in the past. Even if someone had made grave mistakes, we are to follow G-d’s example of mercy, compassion and forgiveness, and recognize the power of Teshuba. If the person sincerely regrets his mistake and seeks to improve, he deserves our respect and admiration, and must not be forever defined by his past sins.

In the first chapter of Megilat Ester, we read that King Ahashverosh become inebriated during the lavish feast he hosted for the people of Shushan, and he invited his queen, Vashti, to appear before his guests. Ahashverosh was incensed, and he consulted with his team of legal advisors. One of these advisors was Memuchan, whom tradition identifies as Haman. Haman told the king that he, as the monarch, enjoyed dictatorial powers, and could respond to Vashti’s disobedience however he saw fit. Ahashverosh, of course, was quite pleased with Haman’s ruling. In essence, then, Haman was the one who empowered Ahashverosh, who granted him absolute, unconditional and unrestrained authority. His advice as a legal counsel paved the way for Ahashverosh to exercise unlimited power over his kingdom. Not surprisingly, sometime later, Ahashverosh promoted Haman to the position of vizier, second only to the king himself. This was the king’s reward to Haman for granting him absolute power. Ironically, this authority which Haman invested in Ahashverosh is what led to his own downfall. Later in the Megilla, Ester hosted a feast for Ahashverosh and Haman, during which she informed the king that her people were condemned to annihilation by Haman’s edict to kill the Jews. Ahashverosh was incensed, and, at the recommendation of one of his servants – Harbona – ordered that Haman be executed. In but an instant, Haman went from being Ahashverosh’s most trusted advisor to being hung on a tree by the king’s order. And what made this possible was the unlimited powers that Haman, as a legal advisor, granted to Ahashverosh. It was only because Haman had established the king’s unlimited authority that Ahashverosh was able to order somebody’s execution on a whim. In this way, Haman brought about his own downfall. This analysis underscores the theme of “Ve’nahafoch Hu” (“It was reversed” – Ester 9:1), which is among the prominent features of the Purim miracle. Not only was the Jews’ condemnation to destruction reversed to triumph and celebration, but the salvation itself unfolded in a manner of “reversal.” Like a boomerang, Haman’s efforts to win Ahashverosh’s favor came back to hurt him, leading to his downfall. Another example of this phenomenon is Pharaoh, who thought he could keep Beneh Yisrael enslaved by decreeing the murder of all newborn boys. The Sages explain that Pharaoh was informed by his astrologers that the person who would rescue Beneh Yisrael from slavery would soon be born. Pharaoh therefore set out to prevent the prospective savior from arising by ordering that all newborn boys be put to death. As we know, when Moshe was born, his mother decided to try to save him from the authorities by placing him in a basket in the Nile River, where he was discovered by Pharaoh’s daughter. The princess brought the infant and raised him as her son. It thus turned out that Pharaoh’s efforts to prevent Beneh Yisrael’s savior from emerging resulted in the savior being raised by Pharaoh himself! One of the more famous passages of the Haggadah text we read at the Seder is “Ve’hi She’ameda.” In this paragraph, we proclaim that in every generation, we have enemies who rise against the Jewish People and try to annihilate us, but “Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu Masilenu Mi’yadam” – “The Almighty rescues us from their hand.” The term “Mi’yadam” (“from their hand”) could be understood to mean that Hashem saves us through the hand of our enemies. The salvation actually comes “from their hand” – as a result of their efforts to harm us, which then backfire and bring about their downfall. This is what happened to Pharaoh and Haman, and this is what happened to many of our enemies throughout the ages. We hope and pray that today’s enemies, too, will soon meet their downfall, and that their vicious attempts to destroy us will turn around on them and lead to their defeat, Amen.

The opening verses of Parashat Pekudeh present an accounting of the precious metals that Beneh Yisrael donated for the construction of the Mishkan. The Torah introduces this section by saying, “Eleh Fekudeh Mishkan, Mishkan Ha’edut” – “These are the calculations of the Mishkan, the Mishkan of testimony.” Rashi explains that the Mishkan is called “Mishkan Ha’edut” (“the Mishkan of testimony”) because it testifies to G-d’s having forgiven Beneh Yisrael for the grave sin of the golden calf. The fact that He agreed to reside among them in the Mishkan demonstrates that He granted them forgiveness. Rav Eliyahu Mizrahi (c. 1455- c. 1525), in his work on Rashi’s commentary, adds that the Mishkan showed that Beneh Yisrael were still beloved to G-d. Even after G-d rescinded His decree to annihilate them, and gave them the second Luhot (tablets) as a symbol of the covenant, it was not evident that He still loved and cherished them. This was confirmed by the Mishkan, by the fact that G-d commanded Beneh Yisrael to construct a special site when He would reside in their midst. Rashi also notes the seemingly repetitious phrase in this verse: “Mishkan, Mishkan Ha’edut” (“the Mishkan, the Mishkan of testimony”). Rather than refer to the Mishkan simply as “Mishkan Ha’edut,” the Torah repeats the word “Mishkan,” speaking of the structure as “Mishkan, Mishkan Ha’edut.” Rashi writes that the double expression alludes to the two permanent Bateh Mikdash which were later built and then destroyed. The Bet Ha’mikdash is called “Mishkan,” Rashi explains, because “Nitmashken” – it was taken from the people like an item is taken from a borrower as collateral (“Mashkon”). Just as a creditor can take the debtor’s possession as collateral if the debt is not paid, Hashem likewise twice took the Bet Ha’mikdash away from us due to our “debt” of guilt arising from our misdeeds. Rashi’s reading of the phrase “Mishkan, Mishkan Ha’edut” seems jarring in this context. This verse speaks joyously of the precious materials which the people generously donated for the construction of the Mishkan, and of how the Mishkan testifies to G-d’s continued desire to reside among them despite their wrongdoing. Why would the Torah allude to the destruction of the two Bateh Mikdash here, in speaking of the Mishkan’s testimony to G-d’s unbreakable bond with Beneh Yisrael? How is this an appropriate context for a subtle allusion to the Temples which were taken from us because of our nation’s failings? The answer given by some commentators is that the Torah specifically compares the Temples’ destruction to a “Mashkon,” an object taken as collateral, because collateral is, by definition, a temporary condition. A lender’s intent when seizing collateral from the borrower is not to keep it permanently, but rather to ensure the repayment of the loan, whereupon the collateral will be returned. Similarly, we are assured that the Bet Ha’mikdash was taken from us temporarily, and will eventually be restored, once we “repay” our “debt” in the form of repentance. This is why the Torah in this context alludes to G-d’s having taken the Bet Ha’mikdash from us as “collateral.” Just as the Mishkan testifies that G-d continues to love and cherish Am Yisrael despite our occasional failings, the temporary state of our exile proves that our bond with Hashem is unconditional and everlasting. We must never think that our mistakes and indiscretions permanently sever our relationship with G-d, that He has lost interest in us because of our wrongdoing. Any strain on our relationship with Hashem caused by our misdeeds is only temporary. No matter what mistakes we have made, we can look to the Mishkan and to G-d’s promise of redemption as proof that He loves us unconditionally and eagerly awaits and anticipates our Teshuba.

The Shabbat before Rosh Hodesh Adar is called “Shabbat Shekalim,” because on this Shabbat, after the normal Torah reading, we read the section from the Torah (Shemot 30:11-16) that introduces the Misva of “Mahasit Ha’shekel” – the annual half-shekel tax. Each year, starting on Rosh Hodesh Adar, the officials in charge of the Bet Ha’mikdash would begin collecting this tax from the people, because one month later, on Rosh Hodesh Nissan, the public sacrifices should be paid for from new funds. We commemorate the Misva of “Mahasit Ha’shekel” by reading this section from the Torah on the Shabbat preceding Rosh Hodesh Adar. We must ask, what is so significant about this Misva that we make a special commemoration in the synagogue? There are many Misvot which applied in the Bet Ha’mikdash which do not receive this kind of public commemoration. We might assume that if the Sages instituted a special Shabbat to remind us of the “Mahasit Ha’shekel,” there must be some aspect of this Misva which bears relevance to us even now, in the absence of the Bet Ha’mikdash. The explanation, perhaps, emerges from the comments of Rabbenu Bahya (Spain, 1255-1340), in his commentary to the verses presenting the Misva of “Mahasit Ha’shekel.” He addresses there the question discussed by many commentators as to why the Torah required paying only a half-shekel, rather than a whole shekel. Once the Torah was establishing a mandatory annual tax, why didn’t it require paying a whole unit of currency? Rabbenu Bahya offers several answers, one of which sees the “Mahasit Ha’shekel” as symbolic of one “half” of our lives. Our lives are divided into two areas – the physical and spiritual. We need to care for our physical and material needs, by working to support ourselves and our families, and by eating, sleeping, bathing, seeking medical attention when necessary, and doing everything else needed to maintain our health and strength. The other “half” of our lives is the spiritual dimension, the purpose for which we have been brought into this world – studying Torah and performing Misvot. Rabbenu Bahya writes that we must ensure to live a balanced life, responsibly caring for all our physical needs, but without overindulging such that we neglect our spiritual obligations. Moreover, Rabbenu Bahya adds, we need to carefully consider all our actions in the physical areas of life, so that they are all done appropriately and for the right reasons. Inside the synagogue or Bet Midrash, as we focus our attention on learning and prayer, it is relatively easy to stay on course, to do what we are supposed to do. But once we leave the synagogue or study hall, and we venture out into the world, we run the risk of being misled and lured. As we work to support ourselves, and as we enjoy food, drink and recreation, we need to tread very carefully, and ensure that we conduct ourselves appropriately, following the laws and values of the Torah, and with the intention of serving Hashem. Our mindset must be that we work to earn a living so we can raise happy, healthy children and provide them with a Torah education, and that we eat, and sleep and care for our health so that we have the ability to serve Hashem to the best of our ability. Rabbenu Bahya writes that the root of the word “Shekel” – “Sh.K.L.” – means “weigh,” or “consider.” The phrase “Shikul Ha’da’at,” for example, denotes the process of arriving at a well-informed, reasoned decision, carefully and sensibly considering the options and acting in a wise, calculated manner. The “Mahasit Ha’shekel” donation teaches us of the importance of “Shikul Ha’da’at” in the “half” of our lives spent on physical pursuits. We cannot feel free to do as we please once we leave the synagogue or Bet Midrash. To the contrary, outside these sacred halls we require extra care to ensure that we pursue a livelihood and tend to our physical needs in the appropriate way and with the proper mindset, for the purpose of serving the Almighty. Specifically in the mundane “half” of our lives, we require a heightened level of “Shikul Ha’da’at,” special care and attention to make the right decisions and conduct ourselves the right way. The Torah commands donating a half-shekel to the Bet Ha’mikdash, Rabbenu Bahya explains, to teach us that even the mundane “half” of our lives must be directed toward Kedusha (sanctity). Although we are allowed – and in fact required! – to work hard to earn a livelihood, and to responsibly care for our physical wellbeing, these activities must be done for the sake of Kedusha, for the purpose of serving Hashem, and in a manner which is consistent with the lofty goal of Kedusha. This perhaps explains why a special Shabbat is observed to commemorate the “Mahasit Ha’shekel.” The message underlying this Misva extends beyond the practical function of providing funds for the Bet Ha’mikdash. This is a concept that must inform our decisions each and every day of our lives, under all circumstances. We are to donate the mundane “half” of our lives to Hashem by carefully considering all our actions, ensuring to live in strict accordance with the Torah’s laws, and to serve Hashem through everything that we do throughout the day.

Following the sin of the golden calf, G-d decreed that Beneh Yisrael should be annihilated, but Moshe successfully interceded on their behalf, and Hashem repealed His decree. Moshe began his plea by asking, “Why should G-d be incensed at Your nation, whom You took out of the land of Egypt with great strength and a mighty hand?” (32:11). Rav Moshe Alshich (1508-1593) raises the question of how G-d could be described as bringing Beneh Yisrael out of Egypt “with great strength” – which implies that the Exodus entailed some degree of exertion on His part. It goes without saying that Hashem can do anything He wishes without any effort, without having to work hard. What, then, is the meaning of this verse, which speaks of Hashem rescuing Beneh Yisrael “with great strength”? Rav Moshe Alshich notes that this question arises also with regard to the Gemara’s teaching (Pesachim 118a) that a person’s livelihood is “difficult like the splitting of the sea.” Elsewhere (Sanhedrin 22a), the Gemara similarly comments that matching couples for marriage is “difficult like the splitting of the sea.” These sources, too, imply – at first glance – that Hashem needs to struggle to accomplish certain things, a conclusion which clearly cannot possibly be considered for even a fleeting moment. The Alshich explains that the “difficulty” implied is Hashem’s granting kindness to those who are not, strictly speaking, worthy of kindness. When Hashem seeks to bless a person with a comfortable livelihood, the Alshich writes, that person’s misdeeds stand like soldiers to block the blessing. Likewise, people may not always be deserving of a happy, fulfilling marriage, because they do not act as they should. But Hashem has the “strength” to overcome these obstacles, to bestow kindness upon people even when they do not deserve it. In His infinite mercy and compassion, Hashem hears our prayers and is prepared to grant us what we need despite our past mistakes. As long as we turn to Him in sincerity, and truly wish to serve Him, He is prepared to forgive us for our wrongdoing and grant us blessing and happiness. The Sages teach that as Beneh Yisrael stood trapped against the sea, the angels argued that they were not deserving of a miracle, because they, like the Egyptians, worshipped idols in Egypt. Nevertheless, G-d mercifully heard Beneh Yisrael’s prayers and split the sea to rescue them. This, the Alshich explains, was Moshe’s plea after the sin of the golden calf. He pointed to the fact that Hashem had brought Beneh Yisrael from Egypt with great “strength,” forgiving them for the grave sins they had committed. Therefore, Moshe argued, Hashem could forgive them now, too, after the grievous sin of the golden calf. We should never desist from praying because of our mistakes and failings. Even though we realize that we are not worthy of Hashem’s blessing, we are still able – and urged – to appeal to His unlimited mercy and compassion, and plead for all that we need. If we pray genuinely, with sincerity, then we are able to access His infinite kindness despite the unfortunate mistakes that we’ve made.

Many commentators noted that Parashat Tesaveh is unusual, in that Moshe Rabbenu’s name does not appear anywhere in this Parasha. It is one of the only Parashiyot since the account of Moshe’s birth (in Parashat Shemot) that omits his name. The explanation given is that after the sin of the golden calf, G-d decided to annihilate Beneh Yisrael and create a new nation from Moshe, but Moshe interceded on the nation’s behalf. He demanded that G-d forgive the people, adding, “…and if not, then erase me from Your book which You have written” (Shemot 32:32). A righteous person’s words are so powerful that they have an impact even when spoken on condition – and therefore, although G-d indeed forgave Beneh Yisrael, Moshe’s demand to be “erased” was fulfilled in some way, through the omission of his name from Parashat Tesaveh. The question naturally arises as to why Parashat Tesaveh was selected as the Parasha through which Moshe’s plea would be fulfilled. What is unique about Parashat Tesaveh that Moshe’s name was omitted specifically from this piece of text? One possibility is proposed by the Hida (Rav Haim Yosef David Azulai, 1724-1806), who noted that Moshe asked G-d to “erase” him from “Sifrecha” (“Your book”). This word could be read as a combination of the word “Sefer” and the letter “Chaf,” which in Gematria equals 20. Meaning, Moshe asked to be “erased from the 20 th “book” – and Parashat Tesaveh is the 20 th Parasha in the Torah. Therefore, his name is omitted from this Parasha. There may, however, be an additional explanation. Parashat Tesaveh begins with the command that pure olive oil be provided for the kindling of the Menorah in the Mishkan. The Gemara makes an enigmatic comment about olives and olive oil, teaching that eating olives has the effect of compromising one’s ability to retain his Torah knowledge, whereas consuming olive oil has the precise opposite effect, enhancing one’s ability to remember the Torah that he learns. The holy books explain the meaning behind this Talmudic teaching. An olive contains its oil within it, and thus represents the student of Torah who keeps his Torah knowledge for himself, without sharing it with others. Olive oil is what the olive has shared with the world, by allowing itself to be crushed. Hence, olive oil symbolizes the person who shares his Torah with other people. Scholars might be reluctant to teach because this takes precious time away from their own growth and development. The Gemara here instructs that to the contrary – it is specifically the “olive,” the person who keeps his Torah to himself, refusing to invest time and effort to teach, who is prone to forgetting what he has learned. But a person who resembles olive oil, who humbly takes the time to share his precious knowledge with other people, is guaranteed to be rewarded with the ability to retain the material he studies, despite the sacrifice he makes for the sake of teaching other people. The first time the olive is mentioned in the Torah is the story of Noah, who sent a dove to determine whether the waters had subsided after the flood. The dove returned with an olive branch, informing Noah that indeed, the world had again become habitable. In light of what we have seen, we could explain the significance of the olive in the story of Noah. The prophet Yeshayahu (54:9) refers to the flood as “Meh Noah” – “the waters of Noah,” and the Zohar explains that Noah is blamed for the flood because he did not pray to G-d to save the generation. The Arizal (Rav Yishak Luria, Safed, 1534-1572) taught that Noah’s soul was reincarnated in the person of Moshe Rabbenu so that this mistake could be rectified. Moshe achieved this rectification when he petitioned G-d on behalf of Beneh Yisrael following the sin of the golden calf. In direct contrast to Noah, who made no attempt to save his generation, Moshe appealed to G-d to save Beneh Yisrael, going so far as to declare that he was prepared to be “erased” together with them. Appropriately, then, Noah is presented with an olive branch, a symbol of his failure to concern himself with the needs of others, and focusing on his own wellbeing. Moshe, by contrast, embodied the message of olive oil, the notion of sharing one’s blessings, and looking out for others. Therefore, in Parashat Tesaveh, the Parasha which speaks of the olive oil used for the Menorah, Moshe’s name is omitted, expressing his selflessness and boundless concern for others, the way he was never concerned only with himself, but rather looked out for the needs of the people he led.

Anyone who has attended a fundraiser and browsed through the dinner journal knows that the largest donations are always featured first. The journal begins with the special full-page ads, and ends with the small quarter-page ads and smaller ads which cost much less. In Parashat Teruma, it seems, a different policy was used. The Parasha begins with Hashem listing the eleven materials that Beneh Yisrael needed to donate toward the construction of the Mishkan. As we would expect, this list begins with the precious metals – gold, silver and copper, in that order. But by the time we reach the end of the list, we find something surprising. The most expensive materials which were donated are mentioned last. These were the “Abneh Miluim” and “Abneh Shoham” – precious stones which were affixed to the special garments worn by the Kohen Gadol. These were far more expensive even than the gold, and yet, they appear last in this list of materials (25:7). This question was addressed by the Or Ha’haim (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743), who offered several different answers. One of his answers is based on the Midrash’s discussion of these precious stones which were donated for the garments of the Kohen Gadol. Later, in Parashat Vayakhel (35:27), the Torah tells that these stones were donated by the Nesi’im, the leaders of the tribes. The Midrash explains that the Nesi’im did not think that the people would donate everything needed for the Mishkan, and so they decided to wait and see what would still be missing after the people brought all their contributions. They would then bring whatever was still needed. As it turned out, the people donated so many materials that Moshe needed to tell them to stop donating (36:6). All that remained were the precious stones, and so this is what the Nesi’im donated. Upon reading this account, we would, at first glance, feel great respect and admiration for the Nesi’im. They essentially “underwrote” this project, promising to donate everything that was lacking after the rest of the nation brought their donations, and they ended up bringing the most expensive items – the precious stones. Surprisingly, though, the Midrash is critical of the Nesi’im for delaying their contribution, donating only at the very end, after everyone else brought their donations. The Midrash comments that because the Nesi’im delayed, and brought their donation only at the end, the word “Nesi’im” is written in this verse (35:27) without the letter “Yod,” indicating that their contribution was deficient. For the same reason, the Or Ha’haim writes, the Torah mentions this donation last in its list of materials needed for the Mishkan. Although these stones were the most valuable of all the materials, nevertheless, since this donation was tainted, they are placed at the end of the list. We must understand, what could possibly be wrong with the Nesi’im’s decision? They generously volunteered to donate whatever was needed, and brought the most precious materials. Why did the Sages find this improper? The Rabbis of the Mussar movement explained that the Nesi’im’s decision was, indeed, generally noble, but it was marred by a slight tinge of laziness. G-d determined that the Nesi’im’s plan was partially motivated by laziness, by the convenience of delaying their donation. There was nothing inherently wrong with the decision per se, but the motivation stemmed, if only somewhat, from a desire to comfortably wait, rather than rushing to come forward and donate. This insight, then, teaches us of the unique importance of Zerizut – alacrity – in the performance of Misvot, and the gravity of laziness. Even if we do something intrinsically noble – even generously underwriting a project and giving the largest donation! – the action is deficient if it is done with some degree of laziness, without passion and zeal. The Gemara (Berachot 47b) teaches that one should endeavor to be among the first ten people to arrive in the synagogue for the Shaharit prayer in the morning. No matter how many people arrive after the first ten, the Gemara states, each of the first ten receive rewards equal to them all. The work Ateret Zekenim mentions a custom practiced by some especially pious individuals to observe a fast on a day when they failed to be among the first ten in the synagogue. It is important not only to come to the synagogue and pray with concentration and feeling, but also to come with Zerizut, without delay, promptly, showing our enthusiasm and passion for the Misva. We all, thank G-d, are involved in “building” a “Mishkan” throughout our lives. We all perform many Misvot, and are involved in many wonderful projects, and we should take pride in the beautiful “sanctuaries” that we are privileged to build. The Or Ha’haim’s comments remind us, however, that we must approach every Misva we perform with alacrity and zeal, rushing immediately to seize every opportunity that comes our way, thus showing Hashem – and our children – how much we value and cherish the Misvot, such that we do not want to delay any Misva for even a single moment.

Parashat Mishpatim presents a lengthy series of civil laws governing a wide range of circumstances. These laws deal with situations such as theft, property damage, bodily harm, lending money, people entrusted with somebody’s object which was lost or ruined, and other cases. The Torah introduces this section by stating, “Ve’eleh Ha’mishpatim Asher Tasim Lifnehem” – “These are the statutes which you shall place before them.” The simple meaning of this verse is that G-d commanded Moshe to “place” – that is, to present, or teach – these laws to the people. Rav Moshe Alshich (Safed, 1508-1593), however, offers a deeper explanation of this introductory verse. He writes that people might wonder why we need the Torah to provide us with a system of civil law. After all, the goal of resolving civil disputes and maintaining peace in society can be achieved through man-made laws, devised by wise legal scholars. We readily understand that the way to serve G-d, our ritual obligations and restrictions, require divine commands, because only He can decide how He should be served. But why was it necessary for the Torah to introduce its own system of civil laws, if human beings are capable of formulating their own set of laws? Rav Moshe Alshich writes that this question is predicated on a fundamentally mistaken assumption – that the Mishpatim, the Torah’s interpersonal code, is aimed solely at maintaining peace and harmony in society. If this were the sole purpose of the Torah’s civil laws, then indeed, we would rightfully wonder why such a system is necessary. But this is not true at all. Rav Moshe Alshich writes that the Torah’s civil laws are Misvot, spiritually charged obligations, no less than the Misvot Ben Adam La’Makom (between man and G-d). Just as we perform a spiritually powerful act when we put on Tefillin, recite Kedusha, and fulfill other Misvot, we likewise perform a spiritually powerful act every time we pay a worker on time, lend without charging interest, compensate for damages we caused, and fulfill our other obligations to our fellow man. The Torah’s interpersonal code is inherently sacred, laden with spirituality, just like the ritual Misvot that we observe. And, Rav Moshe Alshich adds, just as we create an angel every time we perform one of the Misvot Ben Adam La’Makom, so do we create an angel every time we perform one of the Misvot Ben Adam La’habero (between man and his fellow). This, Rav Moshe Alshich writes, is the meaning of the verse, “Ve’eleh Ha’mishpatim Asher Tasim Lifnehem.” G-d was telling Moshe that observing these laws – just like observing the Torah’s other commands – has the effect of creating angels who remain with us and protect us for all time. Moshe was told to “place” these laws “before” us, meaning, to empower us by teaching us these laws, through which we have the ability to produce new angels. The Alshich here reminds us that we must never distinguish between the two basic categories of Torah law – our obligations to Hashem, and our obligations to one another. Both are integral components of Torah life. Treating other people with kindness, respect, courtesy and integrity is no less a Misva than prayer, Torah study, Tefillin or Mezuza. The Misvot we fulfill in our interpersonal relations are sacred, and bring us great merit and great rewards, just like any other Misva.